Today I made a new friend, who happened to know an old friend who I haven’t communicated with in many years. Six degrees of separation….
I was looking to buy a motorcycle that a guy posted on a forum. The bike is on the other side of the U.S. Through conversations emailed and ‘texted’, we discovered we had a mutual friend – a fellow I lost touch with many years ago.
I’m still giggling about this. I find syncronicities like this to be wonderful. Another friend of mine doesn’t find it all that amusing, just logical: it’s a vintage bike, and a specific one at that. It’s a small community of fanatics. We are likely to cross-paths on occasion.
My pop used to say that when you lose your wonderment, or surprise at how things work, you have become a cynic.
So, my friend is a cynic and I am happy to burble along in wonderment at how things happen.
This kind of synchronicity is one of the reasons I love the motorcycle community (vintage especially). There is a certain type of person drawn to riding, and a very specific type who is into vintage bikes, and an even more specific type who is into vintage two-stroke motorcycles. They are a bunch of weirdos. Who else but a freak would love smelly, smoky, noisy, finicky bikes with spindly frames and way too much power to weight ratio? We tend to recognize each other.
These motorcycles strum some chord inside me. The classic ring-a-ding-ding of a tuned two-stroke is music to my ears. It speaks loudly of demented speed on the light frames and narrow tires. There is a devilish grin that takes hold of me when I ride one of these bikes. I think anyone who rides RD’s, or TZ’s or those mad Kawasaki triples knows the wild-eyed crazy that takes over the brain once foot connects with kick-starter.
So, “to all my friends”, as Mickey Rourke’s character in Barfly would say while hoisting a whiskey into the air. May the wind be at your back, and your roads be twisty.