I started life as a 1949 panhead, a beautiful piece of Milwaukee steel, if I may say so without false modesty. And where the manufacturer did not provide, various mechanics have improved upon factory specifications.
There are those, in polite society, who sneer at chopper jobs for being artificial, but who, when the truth comes out, has not an engine bore widened, a more advanced set of shocks put in, or arranged for the addition of a set of brakes?
My early life was unremarkable, save for a brief moment in the spotlight at the Springfield Mile in 1950, and after many years spent languishing in various garages, I began to fear that I would end up an old maid, left alone to gather dust and rust while trashy little Japanese bikes with perky rear fenders drew all the eligible riders.
And then, he found me. For it seems, dear reader, that fate had not consigned me to the scrap heap of life after all.
Tall, blond, and possessed of a quite dashing pair of leather boots, he recognized my quality immediately. I waited, breathless with hope and anticipation as he and the garage owner discussed my family's sterling American pedigree and valient record of military service. With joy did I hear that he had been acquianted with my uncle, the WLA, who had served with distinction during the Second World War.
These things are so much easier when one has a relative to make introductions.
...I don't know why my brain went to Regency novel land there.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-05-02 08:21 am (UTC)I started life as a 1949 panhead, a beautiful piece of Milwaukee steel, if I may say so without false modesty. And where the manufacturer did not provide, various mechanics have improved upon factory specifications.
There are those, in polite society, who sneer at chopper jobs for being artificial, but who, when the truth comes out, has not an engine bore widened, a more advanced set of shocks put in, or arranged for the addition of a set of brakes?
My early life was unremarkable, save for a brief moment in the spotlight at the Springfield Mile in 1950, and after many years spent languishing in various garages, I began to fear that I would end up an old maid, left alone to gather dust and rust while trashy little Japanese bikes with perky rear fenders drew all the eligible riders.
And then, he found me. For it seems, dear reader, that fate had not consigned me to the scrap heap of life after all.
Tall, blond, and possessed of a quite dashing pair of leather boots, he recognized my quality immediately. I waited, breathless with hope and anticipation as he and the garage owner discussed my family's sterling American pedigree and valient record of military service. With joy did I hear that he had been acquianted with my uncle, the WLA, who had served with distinction during the Second World War.
These things are so much easier when one has a relative to make introductions.
...I don't know why my brain went to Regency novel land there.