Letting go of another piece of the childhood

Way back in the day, around 1982 or so, I acquired my first mode of motorized transport, a Suzuki 125 cc enduro motorcycle. It was blue with knobby tires and a motor that sounded like a gnat playing a kazoo. When you rode it, it made you feel like Evil Knievel.

As you would suspect, there were a few sketchy moments. I went down once, on the street, and walked away from it. I went down once in the dirt, and walked away from it.

Then one day when I was returning home from college sailing practice, a nice lady in a stylish white Pontiac Fiero hit my back wheel, hard, as I was making a turn. The feeling of being launched into space with no prior warning is one that sticks with you. If I live to be 100 years old, I will never forget the sensation of soaring through the air while thinking, “this isn’t good.”

Upon the street I landed. The bike landed a few feet behind me, wheels spinning, motor running. Fortunately, as I was returning from college sailing practice, I was still wearing my dinghy suit and life jacket, as well as leather gloves and a helmet. The foam in the lifejacket proved to be quite helpful.

As I stood in the parking lot, gazing down at the bent bike, touching myself to see if anything was broken, I looked at the powder blue Suzuki, which was totalled, and said to myself, “I got off lucky. I will never ride a motorcycle again as long as I live.”

The resolution was a stern one, as I had a serious crush on a red Kawasaki GPz 550, and was scheming to get one. The insurance check came, the bike went away, and the only thing that remained of the experience, that stuck with me for the next 24 years or so, was the lock.

Motorcycle locks are much beefier than bicycle locks, and are also much longer. So when I started commuting by bicycle, I used the motorcycle lock to secure the back wheel, frame, and front wheel. Very nice.

The lock lived at the garage where I parked the bike, and served me well the past 6 years. Once, about three years ago, the lock became sticky and cranky. A squirt of oil, and it was fine. Then, last week, when I opened it, a spring-loaded part of the locking mechanism went flying and landed on the ground.

I put it back together again, and thought it would be all right. Then, that night, the lock did not want to open. This is a problem. Having worked a full day, I very much wanted to go home and did not savor the idea of running 25 miles in bicycle shoes to get there. After four attempts, the lock opened one last time.

With Rich the Righteous Wrench from Community Bicycle supervising, we conducted an autopsy upon my lock and determined it had died of natural causes, and it could not be resuscitated. This forced the purchase of a new lock, which came with multiple keys.

While the new lock is advanced and shiny, it is a horrible thing to put one more piece of the childhood into the ash bin. Again, we recall the words spoken by the sage house painter, Will Craig: “Nothing lasts forever.”