|[drawn by Mike Russell, obviously]|
|When she was brand-new (to me)|
|Down the road a piece|
|So long, little buddy!|
But...well, now I'm worried that the Hawk* will be lonely. Technically I also own half of an SL175, but it lives clear across town and I never see it (joint custody thing, it's totally amicable). Which means it's time to start daydreaming about my next motorcycle! Mind you, I do not currently have a job or any money, so when I say daydreaming, it is not a euphemism for planning, or browsing Craigslist for six hours, or asking artificially casual-sounding questions about interest rates.
But that's OK: there's nothing like total impossibility to really open up the field of possibilities. What sounds good to you guys? Sky's the limit!
Last night at the Neu Sandy Hutte we saw a candleholder on a nearby table catch fire (beyond the usual) and spurt a stream of hot wax into the air like Old Faithful. A guy who worked there tried to blow it out but it fwoomped into a fireball and scorched off half his beard. No one was hurt.
Be careful out there, everybody.
*The Hawk might finally have a name. Last week I got together with a bunch of fellow and former Lonely Planet authors -- Portland has maybe the highest concentration of LP folk in the known world, outside of company headquarters, plus we had a few visiting. At some point a couple of them strolled over to look at the bike, no doubt drawn by its ragged majesty. One of the guys nodded at the peeling Hawk logo on the side of the gas tank and said, quite reasonably, "Hank." So there we go. Hank.