It’s the middle of January, and here in the frozen north the temperatures struggle to get above –20C (-4F) and the unrelentingly gray skies are wearing pretty thin on the psyche. The snow continues to accumulate.
Biker mags are all well-thumbed, having been read several times while waiting for the next issue to hit the newsstands or arrive in the mail. The stack of catalogues have numerous dog-eared pages highlighting the next must-have bling or serious mod, and every on-line mail-order site is faithfully listed in “favourites” and visited on a regular basis.
While there’s absolutely nothing attractive about sweltering in a Texas or Arizona summer, it’s that time of year when I can’t help but wish, if only momentarily, that my ancestors had selected some place to live that didn’t freeze the balls off a brass monkey for 5 months of the year.
The short days are spent in the garage (heated, of course) either daydreaming or installing some essential component that was discovered in an obscure on-line catalogue or the result of a fortuitous eBay buy. Two weeks delivery might as well be a lifetime, especially at this time of year.
Even dealer visits fail to break through the doldrums. Shops are quiet – too quiet – and the staff seem lethargic and resigned to just getting through the next couple of months. ‘Sold’ signs accumulate on bikes on the showroom floor as their new owners not so patiently wait for the day they can ride the new toy home.
The lucky few who will be going to Daytona for Bike Week seem to weather it a bit better as the excitement builds for a week of sand, sun, bikes, and babes in whatever order of importance is most significant to each individual. But all look forward to escaping winter’s grasp, even if only temporary, like a day pass from the Big House. Sadly, I will not be one of them this year.
And then, just in time to prevent a total breakdown, show season arrives.
Only 4 more sleeps! I think I can make it! I think I can, I think I can.