Bonnie veered off the A142, leaving the newly formed pack of Trumpeters as we rolled up a hill to come to a small workshop where the Henry Watson pottery is made. It is safe to say that I have never been well versed in the world of pottery but my wife is and she loves being able to shop right at the place where the Henry Watson collection is made. I guess it would be the same if I was able to grab my shopping cart and stroll down the aisles of the Hinckley plant, pointing out the items that suited my fancy for the day. I took the liberty of parking Bonnie on the only piece of concrete located at the shop; right by the front doors as the wife drove the car further down the dirt road to the parking lot that stood in front of a Guernsey pasture. Perhaps it was egotistical of me but I did not want all the loose stones “tinking†up underneath Bonnie possibly damaging her pretty chrome. Having her displayed in front of the store turned out to be a very rewarding choice…
After a record breaking twenty minutes of keeping the shopping spirits up, my patience soon began to fade. The race was on…who could fidget and let out anguished sighs the most; my son or I…my wife was quick to point out that I was in the lead by a full length. I tried to reflect on the ride that I had just come from and that Bonnie was parked in front of a place so well known in the pottery world to subside my child-like anxieties of: “do we really need to keep on shopping??!!†It was this adjustment towards my reflections that made me stop and look at the big picture as I bought a coke and went outside to stand alongside Bonnie and that was Bonnie and Henry had a lot in common. The Henry Watson shop is by no means fancy; it is nestled way back of any major road on a dirt road and the original brick dome where the first set of clay was fired up still stands. It finally began to dawn on me as I had a Coke and a smile and reflected even further. This pottery can be purchased from America to Japan and all over Europe but yet it is nothing fancy, as a matter of fact, there are only three or four color choices that the buyer can pick from. The design of the pottery has not changed for over a century but yet it is not only functional but very pretty. This is the testament to the fact that fanciness does not always equate to beauty and that craftsmanship is at times all that is needed. I smiled as I stepped back and thought now it was appropriate for Bonnie to be parked directly in front of the store. Bonnie has gone through minimal changes over the past fifty years and she still remains a beauty even though her design as a café bike is one of simplicity. Like Henry’s pottery, Bonnie is not one to stand out from the crowd because of her newness or because she is the latest fad to hit the free world but rather she offers a sense of history and refinement. There is value in honoring the heritage of the past and to keep that thread along the way.
I quickly went back into the store with a renewed interest to find my wife and sister to confess to them that I love this Henry Watson shop! My wife looked at me dumbfounded and shook her head as she replied, “How can you even say that? You haven’t been in the store long enough to even know what is on the shelves!†I simply shrugged and told my wife that I still loved the store and that she should take her time as I went to my son in his stroller. It was easy to see that my son was beyond the exhales of boredom as he was trying to make a break from the stroller. Understanding his pain, I quickly went over to him and tried to keep him occupied by giving him my buff and riding gloves in which he quickly donned. This seemed to settle him until he began looking towards the window and started making his famous “vroom vroom†sounds. I scooped my son up from the confinements of the baby cage and told the wife and sister that we were going to go hang out with Bonnie. My wife has stopped trying to argue with me each and every time I refer to Bonnie as a person and gratefully smiled knowing that she would have some quiet time to shop to contemplate how she would spend more money.
I sat my son up on Bonnie where he immediately stretched out as far as he could to grab onto the throttle, a gesture that would make any motorcycling father proud. I smiled and kept a hand on his back so that he wouldn’t fall off Bonnie and observed him as he smiled and looked Bonnie over with amazement. I thorough enjoy observing my son like this whenever him and Bonnie spend time together. It is a natural trigger for me to zoom off into my reflections and ponder things such as if there is a child-like innocence that allows us all to enjoy motorcycling the way that we do. The ability to drop our day-to-day guards and enjoy something without the restraints that often come associated with things in adult life. I kept my hand on my son’s back, serving as his protector that I have always known was my role since the first day of his arrival to me. I observed his enthusiasm and genuine interest as he sat on Bonnie and played with her throttle along with taking time to pause and use his hand to follow her tangerine stripes that runs down her tank. I smiled inwardly and realized that I have done the same exact thing before as well despite the fact that I am much older and supposedly much more mature than my son but I suppose that could be argued as well. I have often been asked why I am so emphatic on allowing my son to become interested in motorcycles; that they are dangerous and nothing but trouble can come from them. As his protector, I should be shielding him from such dangers and this interest towards motorcycling is something that is not healthy for him. I quickly reflect back to the time I was a child and trying my first motocross race with my father standing out to the side watching with great apprehension and excitement. Like the one time I got swallowed by the pack as I dropped my little 75cc in a berm and was literally ran over by a dozen different little 75cc monsters. I remember my father racing out onto the course without any hesitation, dodging all the little 75cc nats that were swarming all around him to make his way to me; a look of determination and sheer terror on his face. He began grabbing the toppled bikes with one hand and tossed them to the side until he made his way to me as he ensured I was alright. He gave me the official “once over†that instinctively comes installed on any father towards his son. “Can you move alright? Does this hurt…does that hurt?†I quickly responded from the adrenaline rush that I was fine and not hurt at all. I remember this as clear as it happened today; my father reached over and grabbed onto the handlebar of my bike that was laying sideways a few feet away and propped it back upright for me and responded; “well then, get back on this bike and go get ‘em son!!†I jumped back onto my 75cc and re-attacked as if General Patton was ordering me to re-take that hill! My little bike sped forward with the sound of a lawn mower wound out that was being used to mow the grass of a field rather than a small backyard. I was back in the hunt and it was my father that gave me the proper boot in the keyster to get me back to it. I smiled warmly remembering this thought from my father that has since passed away now and look back down to my son who is making the “vroom, vroom†sounds as he sat on Bonnie. I know already that my son has the same adventurous spirit that his father and grandfather have and that it would be more of a disservice to him if I tried to kill that. Perhaps one day I will be racing towards my son with nothing but sheer terror running through my body hoping that he is alright but I realize that I need to follow suit and give him the kick in the pants and tell him to get back into it, too never give up and apply himself. This is the independence that motorcycling has to offer, whether on the street, the motocross track or just the backyard. There are dangers associated with it but there is danger in every aspect of day-to-day life. It is best for my son to learn this and not to be sheltered away from life. For him to start out on a little 50cc in the bike yard and bounce off the ground a few thousand times just like his father did. But with this hardship of learning and assessment, teaches independence and the value of practicing to overcome something so that we can better ourselves. This is a value that is far greater than any overtly act of protection that I may be inclined to administer over my son. I know that my son will have motorcycles in his blood; it runs through his family and his responses towards Bonnie starting at 12 months old has already proven this without a doubt.
I took a seat on Bonnie behind my son and watched him with joy and in silent as he continued to make his motorcycle noises that transfixes him so much when a comment from behind me immediately brought me out of my contemplations: “Now that is exactly how a real motorcycle should look like.†I turned around half startled by the comment to see who made the statement and saw an elderly couple standing behind us. I got off of Bonnie and picked my son up as I greeted the person and introduced myself. The person introduced himself as Ken, the whole time his eyes were glued to Bonnie. The wife smiled gracefully and took the opportunity to enter into the Henry Watson store to shop in peace and I knew instantly that Ken and I had something in common. Ken was one of the people that you would feel lucky to meet; a man that is 81 years old but didn’t look a day over sixty. A calm and relaxing demeanor surrounded him but Ken also had a strong air of confidence mixed with a level of humility and grace. I believe this comes from a life of honesty and hard work where experiences of your life ultimately end up forming the person that you are. I immediately felt comfortable in Ken’s presence and knew he had to be a good guy because of his immediate reaction to Bonnie.
Ken began gliding around Bonnie, eyeing her up and down the whole time as he stopped by the tank after making a complete circle. “Triumph makes such a beautiful motorcycle; I look at your bike and I can still see my Speed Twin in her. It is nice to see Triumph making motorcycles with keeping in the traditions of how they used to make them.†I smiled as I nodded and told Ken that it is one of the reasons why I love my Bonnie so much and immediately registered to Ken’s comment about having a Speed Twin. I asked him when he had his Speed Twin and how did he like it. Ken told me that that he was in the Royal Air Force (RAF) and was a WWII veteran. One of Ken’s many duties was a courier where the RAF issued him a Speed Twin. He said that he had his Speed Twin for a couple of years until the RAF decided to phase them out and go with a different model but Ken dug his heels in and wouldn’t make the switch. He kept on performing his duties on the bike of his choice regardless of the policy. “They wanted me to change but the Speed Twin was a better bike; I could get to 60 M.P.H. in second gear. There was no way they were getting the Speed Twin back from me.†I chuckled and could identify to Ken’s passionate and rebellious nature but more importantly, I immediately felt a deeper respect and admiration once learning that he was a WWII veteran. I extended my hand out to Ken a second time and said to him; “thank you sir for what you have done and your service.†I also took my son’s arm and aided him in shaking Ken’s hand as well; Ken smiled broadly as he shook my son’s hand and accepted my words of thanks in a humble manner, as if it made him uncomfortable hearing the words.
Winston Churchill once said that “Never before in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.†This quote was running through my head the entire time I visited with Ken as he confessed to me when I asked him about his service. Ken told me that he was still in school when the bombings began in the UK. He told me that the schools in London were forced to do two roll calls every day and that the same amount of “here†were not recorded in the afternoon as they were in the morning. These are children Ken was speaking of that didn’t make the roll call. The bombings got so heavy that the school began alternating schedules in attempt to provide a disruption in scheduling. If you went to school on Monday morning then you would return to school Tuesday afternoon and so on. I listened somberly and looked down to my son trying to imagine the horror that must of went through each mother and father not knowing if their child was going to be killed. Schools are a sacred institution; one where our children are safe so they can learn and play to broaden their horizons so they can grow up to be educated and productive adults; not a place for a child to endure the sirens of a bombing raid by an opposing force attempting to bring repression and evil. Ken said that he finished school but the war was still going on where he started off in the RAF by operating the anti-aircraft guns that defended London against the German air raids. I quickly realized where Ken’s air of confidence with a graceful humility came from upon hearing this. The famous quote by Winston Churchill belonged to Ken; Ken was one of the few that so many such as my son and I owe deeply. Ken stood his ground next to his fellow man and looked evil in the eye and vowed to push it back or die trying. This evil that would of stripped away liberty and freedom and replaced it with oppression and dictatorship. Ken manned that anti-aircraft gun and vowed that this was not going to happen; that he would stand by on his own constitution and perform his part to ensure this evil would not win. In short, Ken was nothing less than a hero. It was later on after the bombing raids were repelled when Ken became a courier and was issued his beloved Speed Twin. Perhaps the Triumph was a symbol of something good during a time of such wickedness for Ken and why he felt so passionate towards them.
“I bet this old girl doesn’t scream at 8,000 R.P.M.s when you are doing 70 M.P.H. down the road like those Japanese bikes do!†Ken quickly changed the subject and we were back googling over Bonnie. I chuckled heartily and replied; “no sir, she is at 4,000 R.P.M.s at that speed.†Ken let out a proud and boastful “HA†as I told him and said that his Speed Twin was just about the same despite how old of a bike it is. Then I did something that I am not known to do but I offered to Ken if he would like to give Bonnie a run. This is not something I am known for but something resonated with me while I was in Ken’s presence. This man was the real McCoy and I made the offer without any hesitation. Ken thanked me emphatically but said that he would be afraid that he wouldn’t have the strength anymore to take her for a quick spin. I felt a little bad for making the offer but still did not regret it as I then let a sly grin out and told Ken; “Well…I can fire her up and let you sit on her. You can tell me if she still has her true sound.†Ken beamed brightly and quickly confessed that he could still perform that task. I put the key in Bonnie and turned her over; Ken was amazed by the electric start. I got off Bonnie and re-positioned my son in my arms as I motioned for Ken to have a seat on her. Without hesitation, Ken took his position on Bonnie with a grin and gave her a few short and quick bursts of throttle; even more testimony of an experienced rider. Bonnie’s parallel twins instantly responded back with her roar each time Ken demanded it of her as he let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh lord, she sounds the same. This is still a Triumph.†I know that there is much discussion and debate with the new generation of Triumph owners to this dilemma but Ken’s grace of approval was the best proof to me that Bonnie still has her essence intact. That Triumph has respected their history and has shown homage to it through Bonnie even with the change of factories and owners. This made me feel as though as I was a part of something as Ken sat on her and plainly reminisced over her sound and feel. Both wives came out of the store together and in stereo, told us “boys†that it was time to go. Truth be told, I would have stayed in that parking lot several more hours to visit with Ken but I offered my hand one last time to him. “It was an honor to meet you sir and is something I will remember.†Ken smiled and retorted; “You as well young man. I have a story as well now; how many times do you meet a Yank on a Triumph over here!†I chuckled one last time as Ken’s rebellious nature came through and I accepted his ribbing with grace. I fired Bonnie back up and rolled down the private road, giving her throttle an extra twist to release her roar through the air of the English countryside; the sound resonating in my ears more than it had ever did before.
