Recapturing the elusive past is often a risky business, whether it is skinny dipping into romantic waters with an unrequited high school crush at a 40-year class reunion, or acquiring that long sought after motorcycle you lusted for during your undercapitalized youth. The collision of hazily distorted memories with the unflinching starkness of current reality is an ugly accident not so patiently waiting to happen. Perhaps it is a wiser choice to pursue a contemporary item that possesses the essence of your memory, rather than the original object of your affection.
39th Motorcycle Assembly
A lazy afternoon in late August. The Irish Rally. Southwest Ireland. We could hear the music long before our engines were killed, we had dismounted, or our helmets were removed. About 170 of us, starting in pairs at 30-second intervals, had been in the saddle since before 10 am; sure, we had enjoyed a convivial lunch. But by now, after riding the moors for over an hour, we needed a break.