Kevin's Watch

A Sacred Cycle

My father left me a valuable cycle on his death. A "Matersicle" of overance of some renown.

To his credit my father never looked down on my profession and never got nervous at my ability to stay under the radar.

He, as with any man in his waning, whistling years, had rheumatoid arthritis is both hands and feet. He was a "snarled" man.

The bike had a total number of owners over the years but my father's rheumatoid arthritis stopped him from selling. It, was unused.

Look up that bike in any trade catalogue and you, will see the value that he betrayed with his sickness.

Can you honestly take apart a man and a motorcycle and put them back together? When their parts are worn out?

My father never hit me or, he never grabbed me or, he never hurt my body physically. His arthritis was so severe.

A man came over to the house when I was about ten and he revved the engine of my father's dear bike. Its sound was never so good.

At my father's funeral, we took out pictures of Dad's bike and laid them on the front pews and had people kneel down to look at them.

The muffler was totally rusted through by the time I got the bike. The southern air had vanquished the insides.

I wonder, now that I'm older, why my father was so brazen about his relationship with his "best friend", but still lied to my face.

I sold the bike and got nearly nothing for it. It was a joke but I didn't care, because it was a worthless, rusted burden.

by bbf

For Ananda

Ananda, if you read this, please post a picture of what you believe my father's motorcycle looked like in its prime and also what it looked like when I sold it.

Thank you,

bbf

That was lovely, Beebs. I thought of the motorcycle looking like this:


and then this:


But it only looked like that because it is how you wanted it to look. If you had appreciated it, it would still look like the first picture.

Moving, bbf.