"Are you getting my finger? Crap, I'm sitting side-saddle again!"
Is there a single device in the history of the world that says as much about its operator as the motorcycle? Whether it's the single-minded focus to risk it all to win a race. Or the irreverent impulse to snap on a really dark face shield and flip-off the camera. Or a bravado-infused, raked-out rebellion against the shackles of the oppressive, suit-wearing overlords. No question, there's not a single device that enhances human expression quite like the motorcycle.
"Any of you guys got any buck urine? I'm running low."
No lawn tractor says, "I'm young, invincible and tired of Modesto," quite like a Yamaha TZ250 swathed in the scent of hot castor oil. Show me a kitchen appliance that evokes the cool sophistication and swagger of a well-crafted cafe racer. And no Pneumatic Master Series Rutting Buck Simulator(tm) from the Cabela's hunting catalog can flush the hot, receptive females out of the thick cover quite like a rumbling Harley. Generations of gritty, hands-on research and sweaty natural selection have proven it so. Save your angry postcards and telegrams; we don't make the rules, we just live by 'em.
Ken: "I'm intense and focused. Like a friggin' laser." Kel: "Really? I was lost in inte
Yup. On this planet at least, motorcycles are the optimum hunk of lifestyle tackle. Part functional tool, part overt statement and all attitude. So it's no wonder that in this very special biodegradable commemorative "Summer of Love" issue of Motorcyclist, we'd lay a wreath at the wheels of the noble motorcycle. Oh wait, we do that every month. It's almost like we're biased or something.