Sunday, September 19, 2021
EYA & CLYDE: END OF AN ERA
I bought my beloved motorcycle, Clyde, on impulse. In 2015 I was innocently looking online at what type of bike I would buy if I were in the market for a motorcycle. That's when I saw Clyde, only back then he was just some nameless Suzuki Marauder in mint condition at a downtown bike and scooter shop named Motoretta. I remembered something one of my staff at work had told me the day I took early retirement to care for Ivaan in his final illness. No one would give this guy marks for diplomacy, but what he said really stuck with me. He said, "The day after the funeral, you'll be the woman in the red dress at the motorcycle dealership". Nearly seven years had passed since Ivaan's death, and I thought it wouldn't hurt to look. I went down to Motoretta and basically it was love at first sight. There were all kinds of problems to overcome, such as the fact that I didn't have a garage to park a motorcycle, but I bought a folding aluminum ramp from a business that sold products for disabled people. That meant I could keep the bike in my shop. The young salesman who sold me the bike was named Clyde Gray, and since the bike was grey, and it was kind of retro looking, Clyde seemed like the right name for the bike. I still had my black leather helmet (circa 1992) and some Fiorentini and Baker biker boots. I got a new black leather motorcycle jacket and some riding gloves, and instantly I was a biker again. Out in the country, a motorcycle is not a serious method of transportation. Back in Toronto, if I needed to make a bank deposit, I'd hop on Clyde and I'd be there and back in a flash. Out here, if I leave the property, it's either because I need a couple of 5 gallon jugs of chlorine for the pool, a 20 kilo sack of water softener salt, or a few two-by-fours. None of these essentials can easily be transported on a motorcycle. I wondered if I could maybe get a sidecar. A combination of events made me realize that it was time to hang up my spurs for good. First was the expense of the doomed solar array for the swimming pool. I'd pretty well used up a year's property maintenance budget on that folly. Selling Clyde would put some of that money back in the coffers. Second, although I'm otherwise as strong as an ox and as tough as nails, my heart has been broken too often and too badly to be anything but the weakest link in my chain. I realized that if I didn't start paying attention to the condition of my heart, it was going to stop paying attention to me. So with a heavy heart (pun intended), I put Clyde up for sale. I hoped no one would buy him, but if someone did buy him, I hoped it would be a girl. The first people to come and see Clyde were a middle-aged woman and her husband. She didn't yet know how to ride a motorcycle, but she was registered to take the motorcycle course in two weeks. The minute she sat on Clyde, my heart and the shock absorbers sank in unison. Clyde looked like he was suffering. I felt relieved when her husband said he didn't think it was the right bike for her. This meant I didn't have to say it. The next customer was a very nice young guy who lived with his wife in a student housing building I was well familiar with in downtown Toronto. Clyde was above his price range but he really liked it. We were still in talks when I got a message from Josh. Josh was young, funny, confident, and he knew bikes. Actually, he was very funny and we exchanged quite a bit of banter before he ever came to see it. Best of all, he was helping his girlfriend, Katarina, choose her first bike. As soon as I met the two of them, I just knew Clyde had met his new owner. Katarina has long legs and she's slim, so she didn't even make a dent in the shock absorbers. Josh took Clyde for a spin, came back and said he was happy with it. I asked Katarina to take a photo of me sitting on Clyde for the last time, and then I took a photo of her on Clyde, with Josh standing proudly beside her. Katarina says she's going to keep the name Clyde. Josh and I are already joking about what's next for Katarina: should we train her up on the chainsaw? If so, I have just the tree in mind. Here's me, looking like I'm trying not to cry.