PIT to BWI: an epilogue

an extension, three years later, to this post

Every time I enter my garage, I am unavoidably greeted by the blank space where my CM400 once parked. There are a few splotches of grease on the ground, rotten engine oil baked so deeply into the concrete that it will never be removed, serving only to remind me that there is no motorcycle there. I've mostly swept up the shredded bits of gaskets that ended up scattered all over the floor when I pulled that machine apart. The gas tank still sits on my improptu workbench, shelving board and milk crates stacked together two years ago when I got the bike back from the mechanic who was working on it. I called him my friend before; I don't now. Soon, I'll empty out the old gas and bring it to a hazardous materials disposal facility.

The CM400 isn't gone. Rather, it's been wheeled to our other garage, half a mile away, where no one has to trip over it while trying to get to the bicycle hooks in the back of the garage.

There are days when I'm honestly not sure if I'd be happier if it wasn't in my hands anymore.

Months ago, I decided to actually confront my problems, and in the process of doing that, I realized that I had two main ones: 1. I do not know if I can make the CM400 reliable again; 2. I do not have a motorcycle to ride. I realized that these don't have to be problems attached to the same object, but that some romantic drive deep within me forbade me from separating them.

That's a silly reason for self-inflicted anguish. I didn't realize how silly, though, until I shot an email to the previous owner of this bike (someone I contact infrequently, but maintain just enough hero-worship that his opinions Matter) to describe my situation, and his response was, basically, "Why don't you just get another bike, you idiot?"

The CM400 is mothballed. I'm looking for another bike. When I have wheels under me again, I'll be better equipped to figure out how to lay this ghost to rest.


20 September 2013 10:06

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