“Okay, we are now, officially, the lamest motorcycle gang in the history of history.”
Quick: Tell me what does better lap times around a race course, one that somewhat resembles a fast mountain road, with a nice mix of elevation changes to go with all the lefts and rights.
It’s the middle of winter and I am recently returned from the motorcycle shows in DC and NYC. Ground zero for Snowmageddon 2010 and not far north of it.
Pretty much anyone reading this blog knows or suspects that riding a motorcycle feels good. Really good. Can it also make you feel good about yourself?
Just look at the mutant motorcycle in the photo above.
A 750cc two-stroke road racing engine. Dirt track frame and tires. No front brake, of course. A garish, yellow Frankenbike with 120 horsepower. Built to win on the one-mile long, horse-racing style flat tracks that were part of the Grand National Championship circuit, the premier two-wheel series in mid-1970s America. This abomination was an act of engineering desperation.
Actually, I'm lying. I got not no car. However, it’s not breaking my heart, as in the famed Lennon-Macca tune. I don't want a car.
Hey, New York, wipe that wee bit of smug off of your lip, eh? A little lower…to the left a bit. Right there. Got it.
Of course, OK, sure, when it comes to a vibrant, 24/7, global mixing pot of art, politics, media and high-finance you’ve got it all going on. In so many ways, granted, you’re the happening place to be.
