Of bikes and cameras.

It’s easy to wax poetic about the mechanical age and the great machines which were created back when. And while it’s true that the pleasure of operating a wholly mechanical device vastly outweighs modern all electronic creations, it’s not all sweetness and light.

The main problem is that machines of that age were not especially reliable when new and time has hardly been an ally. So the feel when reverting to the use of something old is akin to that of the Windows user who has that palpable sense of fear every time he turns the power on. “Will it start?”

Defenders of the mechanical age will praise its machines not just because of their charisma but will invariably go on to add how all the parts are still available and how these things can be fixed ad infinitum. What they omit to mention, of course, is that the products of the electronic age which we live in hardly ever need fixing and are so inexpensive to replace that fixing makes no economic sense.

I was the happy user of Leica M2 and M3 cameras for some 35 years and they were a delight to use. Sure, each had its quirks and sometimes they just did not like to be rushed, but they were beautiful to behold and wonderful to use. They were visceral. You got tactile and aural feedback. Heck, you even got olfactory feedback if you fried the thing in the sun. But do I need to mention the constant round of repairs, realignments and lubrication services? Still, this was the very best there was so you smiled and put up with it.

While the Leicas have moved on, usurped by a Canon 5D, there is little comparison. The 5D is superior in every respect, from its drop dead awesome sensor to its auto everything options and vast ability to tailor settings if you so please. It never breaks, can bang away all day, the plastic and magnesium body shell is far less prone to damage and …. the thing has all the charm and efficiency of a refrigerator.

Motorcycles are like that. There has never been a time in my life that two-wheeled powered transport did not fascinate me and the one motorcycle I have ridden throughout these past twenty years of ownership is my BMW Boxer twin.

My 1975 BMW R90/6. A product very much of the mechanical age.

It has many comparisons to a Leica M. It needs frequent maintenance. Things go wrong – nothing major that would leave you stranded but still these things have to be attended to. It wears out its spark plugs. The carburetors are 1920 technology. The air-cooled, horizontally opposed motor, which does so much to contribute to a smooth ride and a very low center of gravity, was conceived by BMW in WWI for aircraft use. To this day, the blue and white roundel, designating a spinning propeller against an azure sky, is used on all the factory’s products. When mine was crafted in the old Berlin factory (by German mechanics, not Turkish gastarbeiter) its pinstripes were applied by the ladies in the finishing shop, by hand. The early use of alloys throughout the machine makes for a fully fueled weight with luggage of under 550 lbs – half that of your neighborhood Harley. And while I putter off in near silence, the pig on the Hog will have woken all and sundry with his foul, polluting noise. He needs the enormous engine just to haul his beer belly around.

Yet, for all its quirks, I have kept the BMW whereas the Leicas moved on three years ago. The reason is simple. I have ridden the latest machines and owned a couple. Like the 5D they are insanely competent and reliable as a refrigerator. Fast beyond anyone’s need for speed. Brakes to die for (or not, in this case). But, whereas I expect that sort of boring reliability in my camera, it’s hell on earth when riding. The modern machines simply do not speak to me and when I’m riding, that’s a conversation I desire to have. It completes the plot comprised of wind, weather, scent, touch, feel and smell and that, I suppose, is why I ride.

One of the few remaining modes of transportation where the journey truly is greater than the destination. Yes, the chances I may die are far greater than sitting in my airbaggedoutofsight car but only one of those two passengers will have enjoyed the final journey.