Youtube is an interesting place, turning up things you hadn't looked for or anticipated. My mortality is to be found there, among a lot of copyright infringement.
I ended up in the Youtube World War I blind alley, with a lot of original footage and later interviews with aged vets. There's quite a lot there which you're likely to see here in a week or so for Remembrance Day. But it made me start pondering the Great War v2.0. You see, when I was a wee lad, the old veterans were from the Great War, like "The Last Tommy". The town Dads were veterans of the Great War v2.0. Now the last of the veterans of the War To End All Wars is gone, and so our gaze shifts to veterans of v2.0.
And in that gaze, I see my own mortality.
You see, the age of the oldest veterans is remarkably constant around 111 years old. This goes all the way back to the 17th Century, and so is a good benchmark for when WWII vets will finally muster for the last reunion.
I was born 13 years after the end of World War II. Assuming that the youngest veteran of that war was 17 when he got issued his M1, that would make him 30 years older than me. 111 years minus 30 is 81. Dad was 2 years older than that when he reported for his last muster.
Bah. This sort of analysis makes me want to get a Ducati. And a smoking hot Italian girlfriend. Live fast, die young and all that.
That there is 3am speaking back to you, from the dark windows.
ReplyDeleteWhile mortality certainly figures into our plans and endeavors, stop worrying about it and buy the damn Ducati.
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't replace Mrs. Borepatch, however, just teach her to ride and get her whatever bike she wants. While a long weekend at the beach with Muffy might be memorable, there's a huge value difference between Partner and Plaything.
Nosmo is right on BOTH counts!!! :-)
ReplyDeletehttp://youtu.be/JpcsFCjY4ms
ReplyDeletesuggestion: go to a good motorcycle school and learn to ride on the track. At the least, you'll learn stuff that you might never learn on your own; and if there's a track near you, you'll be able to "let it out" safely (and maybe show the 20-year-olds something. That's good for some perspective.). Best wishes, and remember the wisdom of the ages: "This is not a rehearsal."
ReplyDeleteI suspect if you got a smoking hot italian girlfriend you would find yourself with a very short life and your sons would find they had a hot italian father soon there after.
ReplyDeleteTo rehash LoFan John's comment, you live near Road Atlanta. I've raced RA (quite a few years ago), and I'd be surprised if there wasn't a motorcycle school that used it. Go. Learn. Practice race. And take Mrs. BP with you, after she's graduated the generic Motorcycle Safety Class. At the very least she will have an understanding of why you ride, at the most she will make you buy her a bike. Neither option should be avoided. Both your lives will be better for it.
ReplyDeleteRemember your worries about mortality? 1) She has them, too; 2) Screw mortality - Life beckons.
Sit down and ask yourself what you wanted to do with your life that you haven't yet done.
ReplyDeleteHope that the list is pretty short.
If it isn't there's no time to start like now
Oh yeah and didn;t someone suggest Ducati to you months ago? Oh yeah I did ;)
ReplyDeleteDo the race track thing. It will make you MUCH safer on the road. (most crashes are the result of rider incompetence/lack of skill)
ReplyDeleteAnd, no, having umpty-years riding experience does not automatically make you a good rider. Most never really learn much beyond their first year of riding, if that.
Talking to 30+ year riders who argued about what makes a bike steer convinced me of that!
The most important thing to learn is to not ride at, or beyond, your skill level ON THE STREET. The track training is to bump up your skill level so you have some in reserve for those nasty moments.
The sad fact is most riders are running right at their limit of capability most of their time on the road. The BIKE'S capabilities are far beyond the typical rider's, and has been for many many years now.
Get a Duc, or something Italian. I'd still be riding mine, and racing, if not for the stroke at age 47.