MacDuff is NOT a happy dog…
Thursday, I received a call from the Texas Sidecar Company: could I bring the Nighthawk down so that they could work on the fittings?
There is much about the sidecar project that makes absolutely no sense; very few people want to ruin a perfectly fine motorcycle by taking away its ability to lean. Those that do rarely put a sidecar on a bike where the cost of the hack is more than the value of the bike. Even less are willing to drive six hours one way to just have the fittings that attach the hack to the bike custom made, then repeat the trip to pick up the rig when it’s finished.
But to me and Charlie, it somehow makes sense. Although my CB750 Nighthawk is 31 years young and not the most powerful bike on the planet, she is the type of bike from which the name “Charlie Bravo” originated. And the twelve hour road trip down into Texas? Merely an excuse to go on another adventure. But what about giving up the most important of all of the features of motorcycling, the art of the lean? I’m thinking that the ability to continue take Charlie on the bike as she ages, the chance to take Downs kids, Jude and Theo, and even the odd New Mexican Mother Superior(more on this ridiculousness later) for rides is an opportunity NOT to be missed. My favorite character in literature is Don Quixote, and if this misguided project isn’t worthy of the old knight, well, I don’t what is.
So, why is the Duff upset? Because I took Charlie on the trip and left him to guard the Casa. I figured the old girl deserved some windshield time alone with Dad without being constantly harassed by an obnoxious Duffster. As it turns out it was a wise choice, as even twelve hours in the CRV turned out to be hard on the Charles. But it was a good trip, with Charlie reverting to her old obnoxious ways; even holding court at the Texas Sidecar Company like she owned the place.
Then we turned and burned, arriving back at the Casa late last night. MacDuff lost his everloving mind when we pulled up into the driveway, resolving to never let me out of his sight again. And Charlie is still sprawled out in bed, no doubt dreaming of the wind in her ears as she’s snoring and kicking me in the ribs…
It’s always a party at the Casa.
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