[lit-ideas] Re: … or let's talk about our vehicles …

  • From: JimKandJulieB@xxxxxxx
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Mon, 24 Jul 2006 07:16:12 EDT

but, but., but.......I saw this amazing gorgeous huge powerful FUN looking  
vehicle in a parking lot recently.  It was a MASSIVE motorcycle except that  it 
had three wheels -- 2 in back. It said, surrealistically, "tryke" on it  
(which usually denotes a child's first tricycle.  I THINK it said something  
about 
"wing".  I approached it a saw that the speedometer went over 120  mph.  It 
had two seats and a compartment to hold stuff.  
 
I WANT ONE.
 
I don't think you could tip over in it (which has always been my fear re.  
motorcycles).
 
So.  If I ever win that Lotto Ticket I'm buying a Lotus, a Hummer, and  a 
"Tryke".
 
Julie Krueger
powerful vehicles are so sexy
 

========Original  Message========     Subj: [lit-ideas]  
=?WINDOWS-1252?Q?=85_or_let's_talk_about_our_vehicles_=85?=  Date: 7/23/06 
5:57:19 A.M. Central 
Daylight Time  From: _bruce@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (mailto:bruce@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx)   To: 
_lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx (mailto:lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx)   Sent on:    

On 22. Jul 2006, at 05:08, Robert Paul  wrote:

> The highly sophisticated (German) sensor which allegedly  measures the 
> temperature outside our car hit 111F on one stretch of  pavement when I 
> was out and about this afternoon.
>
Is it just  the sensor that is German (and highly sophisticated)?  Are 
you driving  a Porsche? Mercedes? BMW? Or â?

One of my first postings (I see with  astonishment that it was 14 July, 
1998) to Lit-Idea's 'precursor' was made  in response to a 'thread' with 
the subject heading: Automobile Poetry.   I 'countered' with Thomas 
Gunn's 'On the Move' (what the heck - 'cut &  paste' is handy, so I'll 
reproduce the gist of that post in a postscript  below).

I'm sorry to say that since then I have (regretfully, oh so  
regretfully) sold my 1983 BMW R100CS (with ported and polished heads,  
customized carbs and significantly improved suspension) to a friend.  
(Said friend ensured me that it would remain in the family to be passed  
on to his - then 3-year-old - son, and that I could ride it whenever I  
wanted; he then turned around and sold it within a year. Last I heard 
it  was 'sitting in a warehouse somewhere in Hamburg'. Hamburg's harbour 
is  Europe's second-largest. I leave it 'as an exercise for the reader' 
to  determine what that means about warehouses in Hamburg, and former 
friend is  currently 'incommunicado':)

Times (and motorcycles) change (last evening  in the twilight I 
momentarily mistook a BMW K1200LT for a Goldwing!).   It was parked 
outside one of Kiel's more 'upscale' hotels, and I commented  to my 
partner about  fantasies of touring in such a fashion, which  
immediately led to reminiscences of our very different type of touring  
(on a very different type of bike - the aforementioned beloved R100CS)  
across (East-West) and up and down (North-South) comparatively large  
parts (especially by European standards) of North America.  In  
particular a trip from Calgary to Arches National Park and back (via  
Yellowstone, Flaming Gorge, Craters of the Moon, etc.; including a  
midday crossing the plateau country between Moab and Springville [Utah]  
when the air temperature was 40 degrees Celsius - 104 Fahrenheit - in  
the [non-existent] shade) loomed large in the reminiscences.  (I will  
never forget the curious looks on the faces of the neighbouring  
operators and occupants of recreation vehicles the size of not-so-small  
homes at Craters of the Moon National Monument when we pulled up to our  
campsite on the bike and unpacked tent, sleeping bags and  
'self-inflatable' pads, change of clothing, food and cooking gear and  
made ourselves very comfortable indeed before touring the geological  
attractions.)

I remember little response from fellow motorcyclists  (or motorcycle 
aficionados - neither identical sets, nor is either  necessarily a 
subset of the other).  List membership (to say nothing of  the list 
itself) has changed in the last 8 years (and 9 days) - perhaps some  
would like to talk (favourably) about motorcycles and motorcycling now  
â.

Cheers,
Chris Bruce
Kiel, Germany

P.S: The (gist of  the) aforementioned posting:

Date:         Tue,  14 Jul 1998 09:31:57 +0200
Subject:      Four wheels good, two  wheels BETTER ... [was Automobile 
Poetry]

I've read with great  interest the various postings of poetry concerning 
the [4-wheeled]  automobile; as an avid motorcyclist I offer the 
following:

On the Move -Thom Gunn

'Man, you gotta Go'

The  blue jay scuffling in the the bushes follows
Some hidden purpose, and the gust of birds
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows,
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.
Seeking their instinct, or their poise, or  both,
One moves with an uncertain  violence
Under the dust thrown by a baffled  sense
Or the dull thunder of approximate  words.

On motorcycles, up the rood,  they come:
Small, black, as flies hanging  in heat, the Boys,
Until the distance  throws them forth, their hum
Bulges to  thunder held by calf and thigh.
In goggles,  donned impersonality,
In gleaming jackets  trophied with the dust,
They strap in doubt  - by hiding it, robust -
And almost hear  meaning in their noise.

Exact  conclusion of their hardiness
Has no shape  yet, but from known whereabouts
They ride,  direction where the tyres press.
They scare  a flight of birds across the field:
Much  that is natural, to the will must yield.
Men manufacture both machine and soul,
And  use what they imperfectly control
To dare a  future from the taken routes.

It is a  part solution, after all.
One is not  necessarily discord
On earth; or damned  because, half animal,
One lacks direct  instinct, because one wakes
Afloat on  movement that divides and breaks.
One joins  the movement in a valueless world,
Choosing  it, till, both hurler and the hurled,
One  moves as well, always toward, toward.

A  minute holds them. who have come to go:
The  self-defined, astride the created will
They  burst away; the towns they travel through
Are home for neither bird nor holiness,
For  birds and saints complete their purposes.
At worst, one is in motion; and at best,
Reaching no absolute, in which to rest,
One  is always nearer by not keeping  still.
--
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