As I sit and watch all of the newest, greatest, wildest, gnarliest, most billet laden pieces of mechanized street fighter insanity roll out, I can’t help but wonder, “how far and where are we going”? It’s the same question people who enjoy any type of modifying hobby have asked for years and I’m sure they’ll continue to lie awake at night trying to one up the builder across town for years to come, long after I’m gone. Seriously, does one need a 2,650cc turbocharged inline six with titanium frame rolling on unobtanium 16.5” wheels carrying 400mm beryllium infused rotors machine cast from dust recovered by the Mars rover? ABSOLUTELY! Hell, why stop there? The guys at NASA didn’t get where they are with a “good enough” attitude. Granted, a billion dollar budget would be enough to encourage me to build a land based cock rocket capable of warping the space time continuum at the drop of a hat, and let’s face it, that money would help keep my beer fridge fully stocked (which is an ordeal in itself).
Any red blooded motorcyclist worth his salt and not currently trapped in a doo-rag wearing OCC cult like trance will tell you that nothing short of two Victoria’s Secret supermodels engaged in a ferocious game of Olympic styled Swedish massage can arouse and excite like the roar of a well tuned two wheeled steed. Now take that same machine and drape it in a cloak of 6061 aluminum bits, gloss black paint upturned exhaust, and a general “fuck you” attitude and you’ve found the thing dreams are made of. The kind of dreams that can drag a man from a sound slumber on a cold and blustery January night, only to sit atop his roller chair in the middle of his garage and stare at his project that is 3 years in the making. There he might sit for hours on end and eventually he may shuffle his way back to bed a little colder, but better for it if even one wild and poorly aimed idea can evolve from it because whether he knows it or not, that builder across town i doing the same thing.
But, what about green technology and the fate of this rock we call home? Do I want to be skimming along the roads surface someday with nothing but the noise from the wind rushing over my helmet as my 1.21 jiggawatts of electrical orgasm pulses beneath me? HELL NO! Give me unadulterated internal combustion powers the likes of an atom smasher forcing me into the seat for pure, blissful, forward propulsion. Burning fossil fuel is what I was born to do, and god willing someday I will be fossil fuel myself.
Nobody has ever accused me of being politically correct, socially acceptable, or mild mannered and that’s just how I plan on keeping things. Status quo.