Ghosts

Grief is a funny thing. You can't rush it and you can't dodge it. It seems like every time I go for a big ride I'm chasing ghosts. To be more specific, Johnny's ghost. We rode so many miles together to all the best parties. But he is gone. That's a cold, blunt fact.

On the way to The Trip Out I taunted myself with staying overnight at a place we went before on the way to The Hayride but plainly he wasn't there. I was chasing ghosts again. Guy pointed me in the right direction, straight after biker yoga. It was like a smack to the back of the head when I clapped eyes on it; Johnny's ghost. I spent a bit of time crawling around it in almost disbelief but a frame mount, then a brake rod, the rear axle nuts and on and on... this was Johnny's bike. I don't know what I expected to feel but I wasn't feeling it. I was a bit excited, a bit sad, a bit... dunno.

It was good to see it. There were no ghosts here either. This WAS Johnny's bike but it isn't any more. The new owner has done exactly as he should have done; he made it his own. Thereby exorcising the machine. To me it would have remained an heirloom but now it's a super sweet ride in a similar mold but different. I loved what he's done with it (but I would still put mini apes on it). I wished I could have caught up with the new owner to jibber at him a bit about the bike. He might have been really polite and listened to me for a bit and that would have been nice.