The red bike behind this one is mine, but I had to snap a quick pic of this Triumph Speed Triple dressed in matte black. If one like that could be had for the price I paid for my bike, I might have ended up with one. I don't know how the shorter wheelbase would feel in the car pool lanes, but I can guarantee that this thing would be a lot more fun than my bike if I had a curvier commute! I just think these things are sexy. It looks like little more than a motor and two wheels, emphasizing the essence of what a motorcycle truly is. I wax poetic at the thought. Blame my uncle Danny, who got me started when I was probably only 6 years old. He took me for a ride that would land anyone in jail today--helmetless, sitting on the gas tank because I was too small to sit on the back and reach the passenger pegs, gripping the middle of the handlebars for dear life. I remember him laughing in his high-pitched laugh as he accelerated. I was terrified, and I could be wrong, but I could have sworn I saw the front wheel come off the ground. I think I was hooked on motorcycles from the moment I got off the bike. Ironically, as much as I like them, at the end of the day, I really don't disagree with my physical therapist dad's reasons for hating bikes.
I spent an hour at the local Triumph dealership trying to get Margo used to the idea of another motorcycle.
ReplyDeleteDidn't you get a burn on your leg from that ride? Remember the three-wheelers at Bear Lake in January? You got to ride your own. That was pretty fun! Mom
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