You either get it or you do not.

My right wrist is shot.

My gluteus maximus* (aka my left bottom muscle) is stressed to an extent that makes me walk with a limp.

And my neck is so far gone that a look over my shoulder makes paying taxes seem like fun.

In other words, I have been riding an old motorbike in the twisties and couldn’t be happier. What’s wrong with a couple of aspirin and some internal bleeding, after all?

And when I say ‘old motorbike’ I suppose I really should write ‘old BMW motorcycle’ because that’s the only brand that speaks to me. And when I say ‘BMW motorcycle’ I really should write ‘BMW motorcycle with an air cooled, twin cylinder motor’ because like the Leica M2 and M3, they simply do not make them like that any more. A minimum of what you need, promising a maximum of its potential if you rise to the occasion.

So if you don’t ride, get with the action, take some lessons, learn what your sense of smell is really about (bikes have no air conditioning or air filters so you smell where you are, if you get my drift) and stop reading this. But be sure to take a camera.

Here’s where my bike took me for breakfast today.

1989 BMW R100RT at Alice’s Restaurant this morning.
Panasonic LX1.

* Two of the words in the Latin vernacular known to any schoolboy repeatedly caned for misbehavior in the English public school system.