Here's something I wrote a couple of years ago. It might say something about all of us.


"Is there some sort of SAE directive on how older motorcyclists should look that I was unaware of?" (KiwiTK)
Oh man, I wish I had pics from inside The Geoduck yesterday. I used to go there years ago because it's only a mile or so from my favorite clamming grounds. It's also a destination watering whole for motorcycle types and they were all there. At one time.

Look at me.

I seem to display the traits of the older sport rider. You can spot this type in the crowd. We walk with a limp and a bent back for some time off the bike. Unkempt, dishevelled, slightly drunk, but seasoned and made hard from pounding out the miles anywhere and in any weather. We keep to ourselves and recognize each other with merely a nod.

We know each other and have shared the same pain and some skin to the road. We're wiser than the rest and we know it.

ADV riders. You can spot them easily. All hi-vis and standing at the corner of the bar. They stand with that straight backed, almost marshal bearing, with which they ride. They stare off into the distance as if planning their route to Kiliminjaro, but you know damn well that most would cry if they got even a speck of mud on their bikes or heaven forbid their expensive gore-tex riding outfit.

I like their boots though.

Beemer rider all seem to look and come across as Teutonic as their machines. All superior and disdainful of the rest of us. Seb said it best. 25 years later and my CBR still cuts the mustard. I let them leave ahead of me so I can pick them off later down the road

Then there is the younger set. All buzzing about on Hayabusa's with extended swingarms and extensive body piercings. What's with that stupid ****'s-comb thingie stuck to your lid? They all want to talk to me as if I'm some grand sage. Yes, I think your bike is cool.

Now just go away and let me brood over my beer. You'll be me one day.

If you live that long.

Then a group of about 30 Harley riders come along. You can hear them before you see them. The bar staff all roll their eyes as if to say, "Here we go again" Even off the bikes you can hear them. All loud voices and puffed out chests. Then there's the chaps, bandanas and Paul Sr. mustaches. Badges and patches all over every leather and/or denim surface of their uniforms.

They're here for some sort of organized circle-jerk with prizes awarded for god only knows what. Some leather bedecked hausfrau with a nasal twang yells in my ear that she's selling raffle tickets to win a genuine Harley Davidson leather vest from one of the franchise H-D outlet where these games seem to originate every weekend, but only if the sun is shining.

I bet they trailer there sh*t to Strugis

And another question

How many H-D logos can these people attach to themselves? I lost count at 50

A Band of Brothers?

Right

More like a Brand of Brothers.

I finish my beer and hit the road.

__________________

 

Brilliant!

One final question, how can two pistons the size of dustbins produce so little power, A TMax scooter is more powerful.