Monday, September 10, 2007

Fixin' the Dream

I decided to get my dad's Honda Rebel motorcycle fixed for his birthday. Normally, a project like that calls for a typical father-son(s) weekend. But with things being so busy lately, I decided to let the man they call "Cycle Pete" do the voodoo that he does so well.

Cycle Pete is a man, nay, a myth throughout the country roads of our little town. Recommended to me by the owner of the local hardware store, his name is kinda whispered to you and then echoes in the air around you, lingering like...like...a complex metaphor.

He lives in a land populated by trees. I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but this man comes from a place where green is all around him, where "neighbors" are down around the bend and all you hear for miles is the sound of the leaves playing innocently with the wind.

I have to admit---it was pretty f*ing awesome!!

Cycle Pete is one of those people who looks like his job. Weathered skin from years of riding, American flag bandanna, chin strap beard, shirt tucked into blue jeans with work boots and a big brass belt buckle. The man had motorcycle written all over his hands, in the grease under his nails and the calluses on his fingers.

I'll say again---it was f*ing awesome.

Knowing that the Rebel would be back to its bad-ass self very soon, it was decided that, when we got home, it was time to Re-Live the Dream.

The Dream is representative of all that is simple and beautiful in this world. It's a classic bit of machine, stylish and subtle. It was my grandfather's bike and it's the only object my dad has left to remind him of his father.








I'll have to admit, I was speechless. That bike is all I'll ever know of a man I never really met. A man who helped shape the person my father is today. A man who has shaped me in turn. With all that it represents, the Dream left me feeling a little in awe. I felt like a kid again, standing before a mythical Grandfather, listening to his heroic stories from the lands of lore.

It was powerful.

Even more so when I saw the look on dad's face. He just stared, a slight upward curve at the mouth, a wetness to his eyes. He stared smiling, as if he was saying, "Hey dad. I brought the boys up to see you. Thought we'd spend the afternoon with ya'."
I still tear up a little when I think about it.

So much history that I never knew, but is coming back in threads my dad spins out. That bike brings it all back for him, helps him remember and share. That bike has always been in the family from the day it was made. It's an honor to work on it.

So my new goal is to rebuild the Dream so dad can ride with his dad once again. And hopefully, when the Rebel is fixed, so can I. The Rebel and the Dream flying free.




Pretty f*ing cool.

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