This is a short tale of a man, his machine and the "friends" who led him astray. This story begins with me, a happy, contented Kawasaki Drifter owner. I bought the Drifter with the expectation of riding it for as long as I can ride. It was to be the last bike I ever bought. I loved my Drifter. It did everything I wanted a bike to do. As I said, I was content.
My friends, one day, led me on a ride to a neighboring town, about fifty miles away. They said we were gonna stop at this little bike shop just to look around.
I believed them. This was my first mistake.
Upon arrival at the "small bike shop" I found it was a Triumph dealer. No problem. I have seem Triumphs lately and they were alright as far as sportbikes go. I had seen the Rocket III and liked it, but could never afford a bike that expensive nor want one that big. I figured I'd just look around and kill some time and leave when the others were ready.
When I entered the dealer's door I was struck by then line-up of bikes on the right side of the shop. They looked like old Triumphs. I'd owned a couple of Trumpets in the past and liked them, but I'm older now and anyway, I have my Drifter.
I walked around admiring these classic looking Triumphs. As I spoke to the owner of the establishment, I was informed that these were 900cc modern masterpieces of British engineering. The more I looked at these bikes, the more I liked them. It was then that my "friends" convinced me to make a fatal mistake. "Go ahead and sit on it" they chided. I glanced at the owner, who nodded his okay. As I through my leg over the seat, I realized that my doom was sealed. I eased into the seat, reached for the bars, and placed my feet on the forward controls. At that instant I felt something I can only describe as electric.
I looked outside towards my once beloved Drifter and no longer saw the bike I would grow old with. What I saw was merely a means to an end. I knew the Drifter was soon to be a part of my history.
Now, I spend my days reading about Triumph Americas and my nights dreaming about them. My whole motorcycle mentality has been altered. I blame my so-called friends. I blame the dealership. I blame Triumph. They were all pushers determined to get me hooked. It worked.
The moral to this short but unfinished tale is simply this...Don't sit on a Bonnie unless you're ready to won one.
Dave
