First Glance

I met the motorcycle several years ago. He wasn't much to look at as he had been left outside to rust and rot for years before being hauled away for scrap metal. Most motorcycle enthusiasts would have left him there in the scrap yard as he wasn't what most would consider to be a collectable but when I walked over to him and shook his battery cables I heard a faint whisper of a voice, "Please, you look like the kind of man who appreciates tired old motorcycles, don't leave me here to die and I'll tell you my life's story."

Then, with a few sparks and a huge puff of arid black smoke, the battery went up in flames.

Continue to When The Smoke Cleared