11-6-5

2000kms in 3 days on a motorcycle.

There are some things that are more romantic in theory than practice. The last stretch of this trip involves driving two lanes of arrow straight divided highway that's always throttled by traffic.

I used to mountain bike fairly regularly though time and energy, lack of both, has gotten in the way of me doing much of anything anymore, and mountain biking out west usually involves a long slog up the side of a mountain followed by a blissful descent back to the trailhead. It's a delicate balance of effort followed by reward but if it were the other way around, if the reward came first and then you had to ride your bike up some hellish ascent to get home you'd find yourself second guessing the merits of such activities.

That's how riding a motorcycle feels. There are blissful moments involving twisty roads and beautiful scenery, but it's always concluded with a $50 ferry ride or an hour of traffic choked roads perpetually under construction. The bitter aftertaste clouds the deliciousness of the experience.

I swore up and down I was going to sell both of my motorcycles the whole way back into town. I still think I might. Not because I don't like them but because Vancouver is just about the worst town in the world to own such things.

There are other such nonsensical vices that may replace them. Perhaps a convertible sports car. It's not that it would be any more practical though it might cost less which is a perk. It's hard enough to come back to Vancouver at the end of such adventures, at least sitting in a car instead of atop a motorcycle I might find something interesting to listen to on the radio, a coffee in a cup holder, and if I'm extra lucky, someone sitting in the passenger seat to have a conversation with.

But, damn, that Triumph is a good looking bike. And my Ducati is stellar to ride. But is that romanticizing what the motorcycles represent? Would I be just as happy with a Che Guevara t-shirt and a leather jacket? I could still walk around the mall (if I did such things) with a motorcycle helmet in my hand and look down upon the rest of the mini-van driving shoppers for their base form of transportation (as long as they don't see me hopping on the SkyTrain after I've had my fill of Orange Julius and New York Fries, how embarrassing would that be?)

That, and I really like this photograph. And I don't say that often.