The Tale of a Boy and His Trumpet (Part I)

I like to think of myself as a non-materialistic person.  I mean, I often sacrifice things like money and prestige for things like enjoyment and comfort.  Not exactly the mindset of a person to whom the almighty dollar dominates.  I've never put much care or pride into clothing choices or haircuts or even the straightness of my oh-so-yellow teeth - things which could all easily be improved with a dollar or two placed in the proper cash register.

And then there's motorcycles.  My pride, my joy, my one and only love.  My weakness.  As the astute follower of this blog that you undoubtedly are, you probably have me pegged as a car guy.  And I am.  Except for the fact that I drive a rusting '99 Chevrolet Cavalier, which is quickly closing in on three hundred thousand kilometres.  How could a self-proclaimed car guy possibly be willing to show his face behind the wheel of that?  Well, the honest truth is, I'd rather spend $5000 on a vacation than I would on having a slightly nicer car.

That, and I make up the difference with motorcycles.

As much as I love cars on paper, in the real world, I love motorcycles that much more.  The exhilaration is much more raw; the thrill much more palpable.  And most importantly, the very pinnacle of it is within my means.  I could never own the best the automotive world has to offer.  Not even close.  But motorcycles?  Maybe not the very best, but I can certainly come close.

And it was in that constant quest for perfection - for finding the best balance of performance, style, and affordability - that came to find me in possession of two motorcycles in the spring of 2010.  I had just been coming off five years of solely sportbike usage, starting with a Yamaha R6 in 2005, before eventually landing on, in my opinion, the best sportbike for use in the real world - the Triumph Daytona 675.  Now when I say real world, I mean, sure, it's not going to destroy the litre bikes in terms of raw power and on-paper performance numbers.  But, honestly, those bikes are pure over-kill, and while being two-tenths of a second faster might mean something on a racetrack, in the real world, on real streets, I'll take slightly less power, far less weight, much more usable (as in, not bouncing the tach needle off of the ceiling on the rev limiter before every shift) torque any day of the week.

Of course, at it's core, it's still a performance oriented machine, and with that comes a compromise: comfort.  Around town, for a couple hours, three or four times a week, it's fine.  But try putting down any sort of distance on the highway, and after a few hundred kilometres, your wrists, your back, and your hind quarters will be screaming for sweet relief.

Which is why my eye started to wander.  And the object of my desire was the sweet middle ground that is the Naked Standard.  In it's essence, the theory is to give you a much more upright (read: comfortable) riding position, while not sacrificing too much of the performance that you would get in a sportbike.  This, combined with the poor American economy, lead me to buy the Moto Guzzi Griso 8V.  A bike I never thought I could afford (even second hand) and oozing with style and sexiness, while still maintaining a good chuck of power and performance.  The aforementioned dip in the American economy opened the door to the possibility, and I sprung at the first chance I got.

This, of course, lead to the favorable dilemma of having two motorcycles parked in my garage.  I ignored sound logic, keeping both for the summer of 2010 - riding whichever one happened to strike my fancy that particular day.  In the end, however, I only hampered myself.  When I finally gave into the cold hard truth that I was a fool to own two motorcycles, especially in a climate such as Edmonton's - that I was living in an unrealistic fairy tale - by the time I finally got around to offering up the Triumph for sale, our economy had, for the most part, caught up with the Americans. Suddenly,  having frivolous toys, such as motorcycles, was no longer as commonplace for the casual rider.  Which was exactly the sort of person to whom I would be hoping to attract.

In the fall of 2010, I listed the Triumph once, just to see what the interest was, fully expecting my best chance for a sale to come during the following spring.  Almost within hours, I was on the phone with my first potential buyer.  A guy from Calgary that had convinced his brand new wife to allow him to buy a treat for himself once they returned from their honeymoon.  In this case, the treat he was after was his own sportbike.  My sportbike.  At the time, I was listing for $7800, expecting $7300, and not willing to go lower than $7000.  After going back and forth for a couple days, his final offer was given: $6800, no questions asked.  No inspection, cash in hand, he'd drive up, load it on the truck, toss me the cash, done and done.  At this point, I was unwilling to consider less than $7000, and I had nothing to hide if he wanted to have the bike inspected.  It was in flawless condition, and an inspection would only come out in my favour.

So, even though he made a strong case, claiming I would be losing the equivalent money by keeping it insured and depreciating in value as it sat over the winter, I stuck to my guns.  This was my first offer - mere hours after I had listed it, no less - and knowing that 80% of buyers don't even start looking until the spring, I figured I could easily get the $7300 I was hoping for once the snow had come and gone.  So, I took the ad down, covered the bike and parked it out of the way.  Unfortunately, I couldn't have been more wrong, and the Calgary buyer had been right on all counts.

(to be continued...)