This is completely off-topic regarding looms, although there is some connection. I’ve lived this winter in a constant state of worry over finances. “The whiskey stream’s light, and the money tree’s low,” in the words of singer and poet James McMurtry.
At times, when opportunity arises, one has to take the “bull by the balls.”
This bull image is far more palpable on my end. I grew up on a farm. We kept bulls. I have a visual. It’s not a comfortable one.
I have a dream of riding a classic motorcycle east to west through Canada. I adore Canadians, and could be deeply in love with one in particular. I want, before my strength and manilhood fades, to motor through Thunder Bay, Nippising, Sault Saint Marie and all those other small, welcoming towns in our last best country on earth. If I had my druthers, I’d start up in northern Newfoundland, and “bimble” my way over to Vancouver and up into the territories. I want to say I’ve slept in Yellow Knife.
In the past three days, I searched through my finances, and purchased a 1976 BMW R 90/6 in good condition. The bike is old enough to have at least a Master’s Degree, if not a Doctorate. It has a cafe fairing, luggage bags, Napoleon mirriors, and “the right sound.” I’ve wanted one since when. Guess my convergence came this year.
She was built in 1976, as I entered fifth grade. At that point (I remember it clearly) the last of the wounded were arriving back from our military adventure in Vietnam. Disgusted with subterfuge and dishonesty, we’d just elected an honorable man by the name of James Earl Carter as our president. We didn’t understand Mr. Carter then, but through the absolute strength of his character, he has become a national treasure through his good work in diplomacy and humanitarian causes. ‘76 was another hopeful time, the Bicentennial of our nation, and as important to my family, the time that social programs loosened up to a point where we could get food stamps and a delivery of WIC cheese, eggs, milk, and boxed cereal on the farm’s doorstep weekly. That made a difference. I remember going to bed hungry prior to ‘76.
In the words of Jerry T, my kayak paddling mentor and the oldest of seven, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” Jerry raised his six siblings after his father passed, and always greeted me with a ready smile on the rapids. I intend to follow his example.
Aesthetics are important. What was as important in my decision was that the gentleman who decided to pass this torch was a fellow traveller, a pilot, had a sound aesthetic, cared for his machinery, and asked a reasonable price. I didn’t tell him through our conversations about film and literature, but I’d have stayed and talked with him if he’s been offering me a clapped-out Yugo.
Here’s eye candy, the new flagship of the Warped Warriors Motorcycle Club:
Dead sexy.
Shame she’s got nil for front brakes. My genius resident wrench Evs will sort that out, I hope.
In other news, and likely more meaningful to most of my readers, I’ve designed the “drawbridge” on the damask loom, and begun the not-very-thrilling job of drilling in the bolts that will keep her frame in position. In the next version, I’ll use glued joinery on some parts of the frame, and wedges on others. For the current model, the steel bolts will allow me to modify things without having to do surgery. A prototype always incorporates compromises.
I’ll try to post pictures tomorrow. It’s been a long few days.
Best,
Tim