Age of the Bike

The years find us pensive. We reflect upon our joy and sadness, our health and pain, of those we love and have gone. The quest for something permanent resides in everyone's soul. An item, a thought, an action, from us to others, which remain reminders of our time on this earth.
Motorcycles are ridden, used in the performance of the mundane or sublime. We get a gallon of milk, or journey to and fro with our friends and ourselves. The bike, the scooter, becomes more than two wheels and a motor. It transports the mind.
I have quested this winter, now in my 51st year, for bikes to cherish, share and pass on. I have found a 58 BMW R60, built in a city which was frequent by my mother and her father after the war. I He, my grandfather, was an enterprising man, opening a cafe south of Munich in which my mother and her sister worked for several years.
I was built in 1958.
They are gone. The bike remains. Hopes, dreams, aspirations are never too late to realize. Regret is hollow.
It is as simple as a scooter, a bike, focusing transport to the soul.