It’s been one year since I bought my GSX-R. How I remember that first morning well. It was a sunny Saturday that I rode my CBR to Langley to look at a (blue) R6 with an ultra-fucked subframe and a big dent where the previous owner’s crotch had hit before he rag-dolled into the asphalt. It was a no.
The next bike in the area was a mint black GSX-R. It was clean and black and sleek and I wouldn’t have been able to leave without thinking to it, so I bought it. We loaded it into the trailer beside my CBR and drove away in Dave’s big Cummins and I was glad.
That evening Dave and I went for a ride up the canyon. It was a clean and crisp evening that night soon folded into. The moon was crescent, a thin sliver in the clear sky. Though it was cold, the bike was warm.
Dave on his bumble-bee R6 and me on my shiny black GSX-R, riding through vast canyons at the end of September. That is what I remember and that is what I shall not forget; how it was to have that bike, a shiny new bike to take me through that winter.
When January came it was time to part and I spent five months in the frigid north.
In those that I did not have her, I missed her. There she was parked in a garage with my (former) CBR, thousands of kilometers away as I trudged through the snow and sheet ice of the far north. I dreamt of that bike, dreamt of riding everywhere in the snow, dreamt of being the first to ride, even in the snow. So many dreams of the mint black GSX-R.
When the day did come to pickup the bike, it felt good. 1200 kilometers in a long-folded day, city to canyons to desert and back again.
And the rest of it turned to something, (turned to nothing?). I went another month in the north without a bike. I came back and rode to california. In California I learned to ride canyons, learned to ride canyons on that bike. I broke down a few times, crashed once, got pulled over twice in one day. No, the bike hasn’t been cheap, but are passions ever? I crashed again a few weeks ago, highsided on slick new tires the evening before school. It was there as I lay on asphalt and looked to the headlight in the night as she lay down beside me that life became an anaglyph arcade and Everything was Beautiful. Dark like the canyons that first evening, dark like the afternoon rides to Squamish in the pissing rain, dark like all the nights spent in a disheveled disarray, smoking beside my bike, and, lastly, dark like the nights in the north, dreaming only to the black GSX-R. Perhaps the rest will be as it has been, a strange whirlwind of life; (non)false pretenses; pretend near-deaths; the sheer ecstasy of life.
it’s been a good 11,576 kilometers. I cannot fathom what the next will bring.