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September, 1992.
Times of recession, when an unskilled University drop-out was barely employable. People with fresh degrees were being denied McJobs, and were weathering out the economic storm in their parents' basements. Mowing lawns, working part-time at under the table family acquaintance BS construction jobs. The girls went back to babysitting to get party money. I was fortunate. I had a full time job wearing a goofy uniform delivering prescriptions in a Chevette for a west-end pharmacy. I lived on my own in a Walkerville hovel with lawn furniture and home brew in the living room.
I had a Kawasaki 550 LTD, and was thinking about making a move up a few ccs to a 750.
My ex-roommate had a 78 Suzuki GS 750, which provided him freedom. He had just started his last year of Political Science at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, when I got the call.
?I was at the bike shop today, and heard of a guy selling a bike just like mine for $400. You have to pick it up in Ottawa, but I hear it's in good shape.?
?I'll think about it.?
Which I did. For a few seconds, and in my youthful exuberance and naivete, the wheels of the excursion were set in motion.
In 1992, I was still quite stupid. I decided to hop on an east-bound train with my Kawi licence plate, and a helmet, to do a death-ride- uninsured, and totally illegal from Ottawa to my home in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. It's just south of Detroit, if you look at a map, and at BEST, it's an eight hour ride- no breaks.
I did, in fact have $400. I also had a Petro-Canada gas card, but that was the extent of my finances. For a short-term thinking 22 year-old, I was still rich, because my friend said that if I showed up, he'd spring for Bronson Pizza, and some Labatt's 50. Who needs all- inclusive resorts, eh? Pizza, beer, a good buddy, and a new motorcycle. This weekend getaway would put Club Med to shame!
The train departed at 6:45 am Saturday from the Windsor station, which was walking distance from my home. I loaded up my army-surplus backpack (remember- army surplus was en vogue in the late 80's-early 90's) with a change of underwear, socks, a few t-shirts, my crappy camping rain-gear which was waterproof if you didn't move too much and the Cat's Ass.
My Kawasaki didn't have panniers, saddlebags, trunk, tank-bag, or any of that touring stuff, so when I inquired about bungee cords at the local Harley-gang re-marketing (fencing) shop, the crotchety, old tattooed guy said, ?This is all you need,? and gave me a bungee-cargo-net to purchase, ?It's the Cat's Ass.? It cost twelve dollars. To this day, I call my net the Cat's Ass. It is quite useful, but a feline hind-quarter? Yep, that's what it is.
Rolling along the rails with the rising sun visible to the front and right of the train car, I contemplated the adventure that was to come. In my 22 year old mind, it would be pulled off without a hitch. Ahh, the delusions of youth. Don't get me wrong, I'm still quite delusional- but I'm working on it.
Clackety-clack. I was getting closer to my newest acquisition. New and faster found freedom. My newest love.
Ahh, the delusions of youth...
Times of recession, when an unskilled University drop-out was barely employable. People with fresh degrees were being denied McJobs, and were weathering out the economic storm in their parents' basements. Mowing lawns, working part-time at under the table family acquaintance BS construction jobs. The girls went back to babysitting to get party money. I was fortunate. I had a full time job wearing a goofy uniform delivering prescriptions in a Chevette for a west-end pharmacy. I lived on my own in a Walkerville hovel with lawn furniture and home brew in the living room.
I had a Kawasaki 550 LTD, and was thinking about making a move up a few ccs to a 750.
My ex-roommate had a 78 Suzuki GS 750, which provided him freedom. He had just started his last year of Political Science at Carleton University in Ottawa, Canada, when I got the call.
?I was at the bike shop today, and heard of a guy selling a bike just like mine for $400. You have to pick it up in Ottawa, but I hear it's in good shape.?
?I'll think about it.?
Which I did. For a few seconds, and in my youthful exuberance and naivete, the wheels of the excursion were set in motion.
In 1992, I was still quite stupid. I decided to hop on an east-bound train with my Kawi licence plate, and a helmet, to do a death-ride- uninsured, and totally illegal from Ottawa to my home in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. It's just south of Detroit, if you look at a map, and at BEST, it's an eight hour ride- no breaks.
I did, in fact have $400. I also had a Petro-Canada gas card, but that was the extent of my finances. For a short-term thinking 22 year-old, I was still rich, because my friend said that if I showed up, he'd spring for Bronson Pizza, and some Labatt's 50. Who needs all- inclusive resorts, eh? Pizza, beer, a good buddy, and a new motorcycle. This weekend getaway would put Club Med to shame!
The train departed at 6:45 am Saturday from the Windsor station, which was walking distance from my home. I loaded up my army-surplus backpack (remember- army surplus was en vogue in the late 80's-early 90's) with a change of underwear, socks, a few t-shirts, my crappy camping rain-gear which was waterproof if you didn't move too much and the Cat's Ass.
My Kawasaki didn't have panniers, saddlebags, trunk, tank-bag, or any of that touring stuff, so when I inquired about bungee cords at the local Harley-gang re-marketing (fencing) shop, the crotchety, old tattooed guy said, ?This is all you need,? and gave me a bungee-cargo-net to purchase, ?It's the Cat's Ass.? It cost twelve dollars. To this day, I call my net the Cat's Ass. It is quite useful, but a feline hind-quarter? Yep, that's what it is.
Rolling along the rails with the rising sun visible to the front and right of the train car, I contemplated the adventure that was to come. In my 22 year old mind, it would be pulled off without a hitch. Ahh, the delusions of youth. Don't get me wrong, I'm still quite delusional- but I'm working on it.
Clackety-clack. I was getting closer to my newest acquisition. New and faster found freedom. My newest love.
Ahh, the delusions of youth...
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