Retrospect: motorcycle man 1

Self-tutoring about people and events from the past: the tutor recalls one.

I found Victoria a difficult place to understand. Unless you were in government, or affiliated with it somehow – or rich already, of course, but I wasn’t – it seemed challenging to make it there. I eventually left for the north island, where things seemed more straightforward – for a couple of decades.

One thing Victoria was great for, though, was the random people one would meet unexpectedly. Those people were very hard to find, but they’d find us occasionally, out of the blue.

My friend down there really liked a few specific motorcycles that were fairly rare. When we’d see one, he might stop to go take a look. One such day, in late spring, on a residential block that was one of many in all directions, he happened to notice one. Parking was easy, so he pulled over. We walked back to take a look at the motorcycle.

My friend was very observant. He had noticed, driving by, a modification to the motorcycle which he pointed out as we stood beside it, looking it over. A couple of minutes later someone came out from the front door of the nearest house. He was a big guy. “Looking at my bike, eh?”

My friend looked up as he approached. “I love what you’ve done here,” he said. “I always thought of doing this when I owned one….” Being two enthusiasts, they started chatting about the modification he’d made, and about others that would be good ideas.

I didn’t know much about mechanics back then, but it was the interaction that interested me between my friend and this stranger. Their love of this motorcycle cleared the boundaries that would normally separate two unfamiliar people. They talked for about an hour and a half while I listened, intrigued.

Eventually, my friend and the owner of the motorcycle sat down on the curb. My friend asked him how he’d gotten into the mechanic business.

“I was a bicycle mechanic at my friend’s shop, years ago,” he answered. “It’s surprising how much transfers over.”

Twilight arrived. The motorcycle owner, a big man wearing a jean jacket, finally stood up. “Well, I guess I need to go,” he said.”

We all said our goodbyes. There was no exchange of numbers, nor plans to ever meet again.

Encounters like that were surprisingly common down there.