Paradise LOST
IT’S A CURIOUS FEELING. IT’S BEEN A while since I’ve ridden a motorcycle on the road and now, aged 61, I’m not sure how I would feel about doing it again after the brief absence. As I have noted before, we self-employed learn not to get too attached to our toys, so, during a slow business period, my collection of seven Italian thoroughbreds got eaten, one by one. All I have now is a 1964 Honda CT200 Trail 90 project I picked up as a non-runner at a yard sale, as one would take in a stray dog in urgent need of care. Not exactly MV Agusta territory, but even if I get it running, it’s unlikely to kill me. My MV Brutale had a strong chance of doing just that each time I took it out and while riding it was always an intoxicating experience, that fact that I somehow managed to survive it all seems more miraculous as time goes on.
The Honda is one of the few bikes that found me, rather than vice-versa. The opposite is true of
