Things got a little testy here recently and it's time for an ends-well story. I think the weather is screwing people up.
I just made the last payment on my 2012 Zee eX six are.... which I bought brand new in 2012
. This beautiful little piece of as... machinery is officially mine, and it's made me a bit nostalgic. See, I should have made the last payment over a year ago.
There's a point to this story. Kind of a punchline. Skip ahead if you're bored by verbosity.
In the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand Eleven (or probably Ten), I owned a 1987 Honda Shadow. It was the logical follow up to my first motorcycle ever... a 1983 Honda Shadow. I know, I'm wildly adventurous. I was a cruiser rider 4 life. I had fingerless leather gloves with gel inserts. I had a black leather jacket which I called my riding jacket, a faceless helmet and cool sunglass goggles. My motorcycle was, for all practical purposes, a very cool looking car.
Sportbikes were those hunks of plastic junk from the far east. I couldn't be bothered with those...
Enter the problem. I really, really liked going fast. I liked going fast in cars, but not straight lines... interesting, challenging curves that give you something to do other than mash the joy button. I liked motorsport.
Then, one night, I was walking through a huge parking lot to a movie that I saw something that would change my perspective forever. This is too hard to do on the phone and my battery is dying. This tale of struggle, heartache, pain and triumph will be continued... later. I CONTINUE.
What I saw was a 2xxx Ninja ZX6R. Understand that the only reason I knew that it was this was the beautiful black logo emblazoned on the fairing. It was silver and practically glowed in the night, moving 150 miles per hour as it sat in still silence in its parking space.
Then, it hit me. This machine had nothing extra. Even knowing as little as I did, I could see that this was the perfectly distilled product of exactly what was needed to defy death and physics at impossible lean angles... It was like meeting a shark for the first time. I was sold.
I admit, I didn't really look at other brands. That beautiful ZX6R had become "race bike" to me, and even since I've learned more about what a "race bike" is, that image remains burnt into my brain. I might as well have been looking at an F-16 on the road. Over the next few months I'd learn as much as I could about them, shop around, and finally decide that I needed a new one (because I'm so picky and people beat the HELL out of these...).
In 2011 (definitely 11) I found a red 2010. Red is not my favorite color but, by God, it looked fast. I sat on it, twiddled the controls and fell in love. Someone else bought it in the three days I was deliberating. Sigh.
This was going to cost me. I found a 2011 in Black, my real favorite color. I didn't wait this time... Got a loan the American way, walked in with my blank check and walked out with a key and a manual. You know how it goes.
Then, the learning began. I rode as much as I could from July until the winter months. I bought books and practiced the same roads over and over, dubbing them "my practice loop." I named the bike Sayomi, took pictures, and we were happy. That Christmas, people just gave me bike shit. Most of that bike shit is now gone forever.
That winter I didn't ride much. I covered the bike because I lived in a crappy neighborhood, and prayed that the streetlights would deter light fingers. I waited and watched as the days started to get longer, and FINALLY, (alot of people here know this next part of the story from when it happened), I was able to ride again! I took the bike to work, rode it around for a few days in the warmer weather.
Then, one morning, I woke up, walked outside, beaming and helmet in hand, and froze. Where did I park again?
Of course, I knew where I parked. My bike had previously been in the same space as my old shadow, side by side. It wasn't there, though. What the fuck.
I turned around and walked back inside. My girl was in there, looking at me while I was mumbling in near silence, and then I uttered the highly articulate and poetic phrase for the occasion,
"My bike isn't there."
She, also being gifted with dramatic prose, responded,
What followed was a blur of cops, leasing office, insurance and trolling the neighborhoods. To the world, it was nothing, but to me it was everything. I thought part of my soul had departed. Those hopeful tokens that adorned my bike were gone. The tweaking and testing and learning, gone. The name, the effort, the time, gone.
After a month, insurance cut a check. Back to square one. I already knew what I'd get. Just a year newer. I'd had the bike for about 6 months... maybe a bit more. Onto the happy parts...
I got a new bike! Learned how to ride better, track days, mods, almost forgot all about the old 2011 (except of course that I'd lost all that time paying it and roughly 2 grand that insurance didn't cover).
Then, two years after my old bike was stolen... I get a call from a tow yard. "Hey, we have this bike registered to you, could you come pick it up?"
WHAT THE FUCK
I called the insurance company. "Oh yeah, we know, we'll take care of it." WHAT THE FUCK. They found the bike. And the guy.
I'm rambling... I'll skip ahead to the good part. HERE BEGINS THE PUNCHLINE FOR THE PEOPLE WHO ARE BORED BY MY RAMBLING. Two subpoenas, calls from police in multiple counties, and finally a hearing later, I get a letter in the mail.
Hey, I'm getting 500 bucks! Sure it's not 2 grand, but it's 500 bucks more than I had. That's not the best part, though. The best part is this:
After serving time in jail, this guy will be on probation (or supervised by the probation blah blah blah something) until 2099. 2099. 2099. FTMFW. I've been sleeping like a baby.