By Charles P. Eberson
Senior Moments
One recent afternoon, my wife and I decided to take a Thermos of tea and a baked goodie down to Longport Point where the city has thoughtfully installed a few strategically placed park benches. It’s a beautiful spot to relax while watching boaters and fishermen as the sun is setting.
As I got out of the car, that’s when I saw her across the street: slim, athletic, and for now, alone. Perhaps my gaze languished a little too long and I got the headshake from my wife, but it’s not what you think. She was a gleaming, new Triumph motorcycle. I have always loved motorcycles. Since he is no longer around to defend himself, I blame my father.
When I was 8 years old, he brought his new object of desire home to meet us. She was a motorcycle, a now obscure German manufacturer, NSU. One of his Army buddies told me later that they used to ride motorcycles together and my dad rode so fast, nobody could keep up.
Much to my mother’s chagrin, he took me to Union Avenue School in Margate on the back. My metal lunch box was wedged between my chest and his back. I must have been the only kid in school who arrived on the back of a motorcycle, but I didn’t think much of it.
Years passed and I was living and working in the Montclair area of North Jersey. I finally had the means to purchase my own motorcycle and had a friend who was more knowledgeable than I accompany me to a Honda dealership in Plainfield. I made my choice, paid my money, and pushed my sweet ride out the door.
It was then the realization hit me that I had never operated a motorcycle before in my life. Route 22 at night was not the optimal place to learn, but I made it home bathed in sweat and euphoria. That was my transportation to work in all kinds of weather until the winds of change blew into my life.
A relationship and a job ended. I loaded all I could onto the bike and returned to my parents’ home in Margate. I don’t know if my father was happier seeing me or my motorcycle. In a touching role reversal, my dad would approach me and ask if he could borrow the motorcycle and go for a ride. I soon got reports of people seeing him chugging around Margate in fifth gear. The bike was my escape and brought me years of enjoyment.
Then, some friends who were avid dirt bike riders encouraged me to sell the Honda, so I purchased a Kawasaki trail bike. Together, we rode the gravel pits in Egg Harbor Township, Estell Manor, and the trails in Mays Landing. My dating relationship with Rubye over a few years was reaching its natural conclusion, and I decided to make an honest woman (and I an honest man) out of her. I had to sell my bike to raise money for an engagement ring. But before you go “aww,” I really just traded one thrilling ride for another.
Decades rolled by without owning another motorcycle. A few years ago, I went to photograph a tattoo convention at Showboat and, of course, there were motorcycle dealers. My longing for a bike returned when I saw a beautiful 650 Royal Enfield. I have always had an affinity for British bikes (even though the Enfield is now made in India) regardless of their unreliable electronics and propensity for leaking oil. They just had a timeless, graceful design.
I climbed aboard and felt the familiar weight, grip of the handlebars, and muscularity of the bike. It wasn’t horribly expensive, and I knew that dealers would rather sell at the convention than bring their merchandise back.
The devil on my right shoulder was whispering, “go ahead, you deserve it.” The angel on my left, “don’t be irresponsible.” The devil, “c’mon, life is short.” The angel, “your wife is going to kill you!” I dismounted the bike with a sigh and walked away, giving the bike one last look over my shoulder, leaving with the small satisfaction of a few decent photos.
With eternal optimism, I still maintain my motorcycle license. You never know… a sleek, curvaceous Triumph might end up in my garage one day, and the romance will continue.
Charles Eberson has been in the newspaper business for over 25 years. He has worked as a writer, advertising executive, circulation manager and photographer. His photography can be viewed at charles-eberson.fineartamerica.com
