Crazy, they called me.
"You're going to RIDE a motorcycle to work in New York City? [insert snarky phrase relating to Insurance here]"
And yet mad am I not. In the grim days of 2020, when the personal risk associated with public transportation was decidedly nonzero, and the Manhattan traffic was a shadow of its formerly horrific self, the three-way calculus of convenience, risk and fun factor all pointed in the direction of. . .
. . . a 1981 R65. A repaint, probably over Turkis, in a Factory color from the cars, I think, Iceland Green.
I was smitten with the bike and not knowing much about them, decided to plunge headlong into buying one. But for the life of me, late last summer, couldn't get anybody within 500 miles to call me back. Considered an LS that needed some work. Salivated over a blue '79 out in Brooklyn that wouldn't start. Both easy enough. . . but no responses.
So finally I get a live one, from the PO of the '81, he's up in Vermont. So I bought it. . . sight unseen. (I KNOW, I KNOW)
The short version is that it's been a great adventure, not only enjoying the bike, my first one, riding around NYC, but also in learning the intricacies of Airheads and the particular nuances of the SWB bikes.
I'll end the first post there. . . and will continue with the "rolling restoration" that I have not been able to resist. . .