Friday three weeks ago was a very big day for me. In the morning I put the handles on the casket, and then we installed dad, and put the casket, with all the flowers, in the back of the big silver station wagon with the dark windows, and took dad up to the Little Chapel to say goodbye to him.

In the afternoon I took the station wagon back to the hire company, really looking forward to getting back on the Ducati, which I had left in their showroom. This would be the first time for more than a year I could ride her for as long as I liked before going back home. For many months I had not been able to ride her for more than 20 minutes, unless dad was obviously not going to move for a while, and even then I wouldn’t stretch it for much more than half an hour.

I returned the keys, got my receipt, put on my helmet, wheeled the Ducati out into the yard, got on, and started her up. Her noise excited me more than it had done for a long time. But it was late in the day, in the middle of winter, and I didn’t feel like riding far – hell, I could do that anytime I wanted now – so I just tooled off down the road towards the centre of town, heading for … the supermarket! You never know what might happen at the supermarket. Man, it was good riding that Ducati down the road. No hurry, no need to count the minutes, no need to try and make the most of it, just taking my time, enjoying that sweet, smooth, responsive motor, that amazing stability with such light steering, so comfortable ..

I parked her in the underground car park, where she could sit and glow pearly-white in the dark, and not get cold. Went upstairs and bought whatever I bought, feeling a little strange without dad waiting in the car for me. I was half-way down the stairs again, when I stepped aside for a fellow coming up. He kind of stopped and looked at me, with my leathers and helmet, so I stopped and looked at him. ‘Is that your Ducati down there?’ he asked. He was a pleasant, ordinary-looking fellow, a couple of years younger than me. There was a sad look in his eyes.

‘Yes, it is,’ I said.

‘That used to be my bike,’ he said. There was no trace of a smile on his pleasant face.

Wow! The first owner was standing in front of me! After all these years, on this day!

I had spoken to him before. On the telephone. Six years before. Briefly.

When I bought the bike from one of the dealers in town, I saw his name on the papers as the previous, and first, owner. I had looked him up in the phone book, and gave him a call to let him know his bike was now with me. I remember him saying that he liked her handling, except he didn’t like the way she stood up in the corners under braking. ‘That’s because you’re only using the front brake,’ I thought to myself. I don’t remember what else we said during our brief telephone conversation those six years ago, but I did also know at the time that he’d replaced the Paso with a VFR800, because the dealer had told me.

He stood there on the stairs, looking at me, and said ‘You know, it took me a long time to replace that bike.’

‘It looks to me like you never did,’ I thought to myself.

I’ve ridden a VFR800, and I know that almost anybody can get a half-decent ride out of one in about ten minutes, and then you’re thinking, ‘What else is there?’

I didn’t ask him what bikes he’d owned since our bike, but I asked him what he was riding now.

I was very happy when he told me, ‘A DB1’, and then went on to tell me a bit about the bike. But there was not much enthusiasm in his voice, and I knew the DB1 was not as good for him as the pearly-white Paso had been.

I thought to myself, ‘It’s just as well you never rode our bike when she was running as well as she’s running now!’

And I knew, before he told me, that the iridescent pearl-white had been his idea, put on especially for him when he bought her, by a top out-of-town painter. The dealer had told me that also.

At the end of another brief conversation, I said goodbye to the sad man on the stairs, knowing I would never make the same mistake he did.

Another excellent bit, Skins. :thumbup:

dammit skins! here i sit with tears in my eyes. even when the end is expected and needed , i found it a feeling that is beyond words. i've had that feeling twice in my life with my father and melody's mother.
our deepest sympathy's. you should also know melody and i love ya man.
p.s. oh yes, good story on pearly also.

Skins, I just perused your gallery & I woud be very sad if that used to be my bike & now was not. A mighty impressive beast, hopefully many a Looooooong carefree ride to come.

Excellant & very emotive writing :thumbup: