Well that happened to me today. I watched the new owner of my VTR1000 Firestorm float away on a cloud of noise and satisfaction. The satisfaction being all his for some reason though it should have equally been mine.
He was a young bloke. A Frenchman. In Australia a mere 2 weeks, with grand plans to travel, explore and fulfil the promises of youth. Full of enthusiasm he was. He could barely contain his fizzing when I flicked the switch and the VTR boomed its glorious v-twin note through the staintune pipes.
On the phone, he had said he would not make an offer before he rode the bike. When the bike started, the strain, of having to physically control himself from ejecting bodily fluids from multiple orifices, was apparent on his face. He immediately said “Yeah I’ll take it”. I said “Do you want to ride it?” He said, breathlessly, “I’ll take zee bike now”. He had already zoned out as I explained the procedure of transferring ownership to himself. His eyes were screaming, “Just take zee fucken moneez and give me zee keez, CUNT!”
He could taste the freedoms.
Motorcycles, eh. They do that to you. I understood and took sadistic pleasure in intentionally drawing out the counting of the money and the signing of the papers.
I left him there, shakily trying to light a cigarette, admiring his glorious acquisition.
Why the fuck am I sad about getting a wad of cash for the fucking shitbox VTR? The VTR has never evoked any strong emotions in me and I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while so I can buy a more fun bike for my commute. Gradually the realization hit me. Adrian, the fizzy French bloke, was exactly the same age as me (22) when I first came to Australia. His reaction to the VTR was exactly the same as mine when I first sat astride the shitbox XJ600 that was to become my first bike in Australia. And his dreams of travelling and hooning around on a proper motorcycle were also exactly the same as my aspirations had been 12 years ago. He turned up without a helmet or gloves or boots. Without any idea what to look for in a used motorcycle or the technicalities of transferring vehicle ownership or the road back to his place from mine. When I asked him “Do you know how to get back to Bondi?” he just smiled, pointed north and said “It’s that way isn’t it?”. This goofy French bloke reminded me of a younger me in a simpler, more innocent and carefree time in my own life. It is funny how the analysis of your own emotions sometimes leads to startling insights.
I wasn’t sad about losing the VTR, I was just emotional about being shown a mirror to my own youth (well, early youth, I’m still young!). The kid was just so full of enthusiasm and dreams that I threw in my helmet and ventura bag for free even though I had planned to charge extra for them. I let my heart overrule the bargaining tendencies of my Indian mind!
I'm reminded of the cliche "One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure" and it really stands true here.
I’m glad that the FireStorm has gone to someone who will truly appreciate it. It’s not a bad bike at all, I’m just spoilt and ungrateful.