01/01/30

1948 Harley Davidson

Man, there's a smell that an old bike gets and in the depths of winter. You can need it like a junkie needs to cook up.

I was lying on the couch tonight and watching the rain fall outside. and realizing that it'll be a few weeks yet before any kind of riding weather happens. I felt  the yearning again, a yearning that rises as the days get just a little bit longer, and the sun rises just a little sooner in the morning.

There's a longing, a swelling just behind the sternum, I crave the feeling of twisting a throttle and holding on, I miss having the wind bite at my face. The crackling of the pipes in my ears  and the howl of the wind.

God yes, I miss twisting hard and passing cars and I miss bouncing as the hardtail frame rattles over potholes. I miss racing my shadow along the road and pitying those who have never known the feeling.

I miss ripping the silence in the cold darkness. I miss flying through the mist  between the fields on spring nights, my headlight reflecting back off the whiteness as I plunge headlong into it.

I miss old men looking at my bike and telling me they had one just like it so very long ago. I miss the wistful look in their eyes, I miss kicking her to life beside them and letting them feel the thunder in their chests again. I miss sharing a smile that's like a Freemason's secret handshake, both of us know what the other has felt, and both of us knowing we can never explain it.

I missed it so bad tonight I wandered out to the shop at 0230. I snapped on the headlight and saw a weak yellow beam. I prayed it was enough.

Turn on the brass fuel petcock, watch the gas fill the old glass filter.. wait a minute while the float bowl fills...

Key off, throttle wide, full choke..

Kick once, draw the fuel up the venturi...

Kick twice, spray fuel in the intake...

Kick three times, prime the cylinders with fresh, cold, raw fuel...

Key on, choke to the second notch, full throttle, spark retarded just a tad...

Bring the pedal up, jump high and come down hard...
 

The sweet sound of summer thunder fills and shakes the walls of my shop. She shudders and shivers underneath me. Snap the throttle a few times to warm her up a bit...

The smell.. exhaust and hot oil, the ringing of the clutch plates, like wind chimes. she snarls and barks, and her exhaust rattles the windows. 


I sit there awhile and close my eyes. I dream of a few weeks from now. The first rides, short ones where my fingers and toes will go numb, and the later ones where a t-shirt will be all I need in the hot afternoons and the wind, the smells of hay and flowers. Chasing shadows, chasing dreams, chasing memories.

After a few minutes, I snap off the ignition and shut off the lights, I go to the door in the dark and listen to the hot metal ticking quietly as it cools.

Now I can wait a little longer.
 
 

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