I am a monster.
I bought the bike in 2008, with no miles on the odometer. I didn’t have my license, but I knew the brand-new 2008 Ninja 250 — in flirtatious “candy plasma blue” — should be mine, and would be mine. I signed a big check and left her at the dealer for a couple of weeks while I made myself a worthy (and licensed) suitor.
That was more than seven years ago, and just a few months later I started this blog. I imaginatively titled it Ninja 250 Blog, and didn’t mind that I’d branded myself into a corner. Even after evolving into The Sunday Best, I was sure the blog would always have Mighty.
But early this week I sold the bike, with 62,000 miles on the odometer. The idea came in a fit of lust for a new commuter, and the Ninja was a logical casualty. It wasn’t until I received the first offer that the sadness of losing Mighty hit me. Oh, right; if I sell the motorcycle, someone else will take her from me.
I followed through, rationally sidestepping the emotional protests in my head. After the bike left with the new owner, I spent some hours reminiscing by flipping pages on this blog.
Even if I don’t update The Sunday Best with anywhere near the frequency I should, I cherish it. As I wallowed in the absence of my old friend, these scribbles from the past simultaneously twisted the knife and made me deeply grateful for the experiences we had. Goodbye, Mighty.
- “Somewhere between the Oregon border and Mount St. Helens I saw my bike’s saddle as more than a chair. I grew to love it like home.”
– I’ll take home with me
- “We stretch our necks at the mercy of chance. We believe life lives better practiced than preached. We ride motorcycles.”
– Libertarians should ride motorcycles
- “Unsurprisingly, the invention broke. The builder blames Stage Road and described riding the bike thusly as ‘frightening.'”
– The Sunday best: Dirtbags
- “‘Your hands are soft!’ my dad jabbed, and he was right. But next time I’ll bring gloves.”
– My dad’s Harley
- “If it goes right, I get to work on time. I sit behind a computer, and grin to myself. If it goes right, I can’t wait for the evening battle home.”
– Cracks in the clockwork
- “It’s a pile of parts, steel wrapped in plastic coated in dust, but some days I swear the bike is my friend.”
– 35,000 miles later