Thursday, October 27, 2005

Project sighting

I left work the other day and instead of going straight home I went to the Mega-Lo-Mart to pick up some sundry items for the garagemobile. Sitting at a stoplight, I spot a motorcycle. Sitting in the parking lot behind some crappy apartments is a shitted up sportbike. There is a tarp slumped alongside that most assuredly blew off long ago. It looks as if it was looped out, broken plastic, small parts pile maybe...... This is exactly what I do not need.
The light turns green and I head off to buy a sheet of melamine and some hinges. Last night I decide to return to the Mega-Lo-Mart to pick up some more crap. Rerun of the previous trip. The smashed sportbike is still there. Now it has entered my head like one of those songs you hear and cant stop hearing. The shitted up sport bike is calling to me like the sirens from Homer's Oddesey. It's Karen Carpenter luring me in, trying to crash my figurative boat on the rocks that would be the wallet draining shitted up sportbike.

Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby,
you said you'd be coming back this way again baby,
baby baby baby oh baby
I luuuuuhhhhvvvv yoooouuu...

The light turns green and I floor it. It's a sickness I tell you. I'm drawn to fucked up old junk like a fly to a big steamy pile. Now, I could probably find the owner and strike some sort of deal. Of course that would be a huge time killer and the guy would be some methed out tweaker or something. Then I'd pay too much for it. Nobody ever has a title for something like this. "Hey, I'll have Grandma co-sign so I can drop ten grand on this new bike and then toss the title in the trash like its a White Castle reciept" Then I would get it home and get the stink eye from my wife for paying too much fo a piece of shit. Yeah, that's never happened before. Then I'd spend weekends chasing parts, learning about all the intricasies of the XYZ4700 and locating the owners club and .................
Ulysses strapped himself to the mast and gave all his rowers earplugs. I put this on the blog.
Just say no, Surly. Just drive away.


red said...

It doesn't help when your friends call and say things like: "I saw a sweet KZ for sale, good shape too" or the worst is the old "I have an old bike in my barn/garage, do you want it?".

Of course I want it, I'm a freaking addict.

Grumpyunk said...

Yesssssss. We wants it, precioussss.

You may as well go see about it. You know you're gonna eventually. Maybe if you get close enough, it'll look bad enough to scare you off.

HA HA HA!!! Fat chance. You're doomed, Surly.