Have you ever spent 100s of hours on something, working and grinding just for the feeling that it creates? Rather than the product? I bought this guy in a way different state and at a way different place in my life.
I learned to ride a motorcycle shortly after my mom passed away in 2014 and this was a time in my life to heal, 2015. I bought this 1981 Suzuki gs550 as a second bike, to learn to work on something without wrecking my then beloved Harley. This bike has become more and more meaningful to me. It’s not perfectly planned or perfectly tuned. To me it’s perfect in its own way. Perfect in its blemishes. In its erratic jetting. In the mistakes I’ve made and the things I’ve learned. But each time I put my head down, one step at a time, and it seems like I’m closer.
I’m not gonna pretend there weren’t times where I dug something bigger than I could handle. A number of times on the side of the road trying to figure out what it was “this time.”
I keep this bike for the memories and blemishes that shape what it is and what I see–not for what it is on paper or to others. And somehow I’ve come to know this bike better than I know the back of my hand. I think most motorcyclists see their bike as some odd reflection of themselves—that they think they know and think they can change.
Maybe there’s always something new that comes. But isn’t that life?