Many, many motorcycles have come and gone through our lives.
Some stay for but a short time. Others last for years.
Some carry special memories while other are never to be spoken of again.
They have ranged from the little 'suitcase' di Blasi to scooters of every size, cruisers, sport bikes and 1100cc sport touring bikes.
It was no surprise when this little vintage bike showed up a few months ago.
This model was produced in 1982-1983. It's a 450A, and the A stands for automatic. Yes.
Back in the day when I was dating The Not-Yet Husband, he was encouraging me to become a rider. I grew up riding horses, not motorcycles, and so was a bit intimidated.
Then one day in 1982 I saw a brand new 450A in the Grande Prairie dealership.
I called The Then-Boyfriend, all excited about the bike, and he promptly popped my bubble with a disdainful "That's not a real bike!"
Fast forward 35 years, and imagine my thoughts when one of those not-real bikes came into our garage.
"What?" was his genuinely surprised question when seeing The Look on my face.
"Really? You have to ask?" And then I reminded him of the incident back in the day, which apparently left a bruise which still twitches when poked.
"But it's a classic!"
Ah. From not-real to classic.
Never mind. He loves it and it stands proudly beside the Triumph sport tourer and the Kawasaki Widow Maker.
He left early yesterday for the Kootenays to meet up with a friend from Calgary. I'm sure the friend is going to stain his knickers with laughter when he sees the Mighty Mighty Honda charge down the road.
I've taken it for a spin, and it's alright. Turns out it really isn't my kind of ride after all.