People who knew me when I was still fifty percent of a married couple know why my bikes are called Linny, but, increasingly, I meet new people who only know me as widowed or, frequently, only as single, having no knowledge of my history (why should they?). People often ask me why I have called my motorbikes Linny II and Linny III. There is a whole spectrum of questions or statements relating to having the name of my bike stencilled on the 'tank'. I have been welcomed by the proprietor of a B & B where I have stayed previously with: “I can’t remember your name, but I know you have your late wife’s name tattooed on your foot and your bikes are named after her”. Believe it or not, I’ve also had someone pose the question: “What’s a Linny?”. Somewhere between these two extremes there was: “What’s happened? Last time you were here, you were on Linny II; now you’re on Linny III”. Recently, in Klaarstroom, three young males walked past me (I was stationary; I don’t ride that slowly) and one asked (insightfully): “Who was Linny?”. I was impressed at the deep thinking of a young resident of a little dorp in the Karoo. He was the first person in four years to make that connection. We had a long conversation, during which I told him the story. When I decided to name my motorbike after my wife, it wasn’t with an eye to attracting attention. However, to my surprise, that’s how it has worked out. Linny the First The first Linny was my wife. I fell in love with her the night I met her in 1976; I married her in 1978, and I still loved her the day she died in October 2011. We had a wonderful marriage, produced three amazing children, and generally enjoyed life together, even in the difficult times. Her name was Linda, but I always called her Linny. She was diagnosed with brain cancer and, within a month, was dead. I was left wondering what to do with my life. Linny the Second Having lost the love of my life, I decided to return to another of my loves, one that predated my wife, in fact—motorcycling. I first rode a motorbike when I was 14, and I bought my first bike when I was 17. But, Linda had had a friend who was killed in a motorcycling accident when she was in matric and, as result, was not terribly keen on the idea of having a husband who rode motorbikes, particularly in addition to working in mountain rescue, which carried a few risks of its own. I promised her that, as long as we were married and had dependent children, I would not own a motorbike. About a year after Linny had died, I finally felt capable of actually making decisions. One of the first decisions I made was to buy a motorbike. I didn’t want a fast bike, or even a road bike; I wanted an adventure bike. I even planned to ride around Africa (an idea that has now faded into the background). I found a 2003 BMW F650GS which seemed to be just what I needed. Amazingly, the person from whom I bought it had lost his wife to brain cancer ten years earlier, and he had returned to motorcycling as a sort-of escape. He was selling, at age 68 (I was 58), in order to upgrade to an 800. He also knew what it was like to return to motorcycling after thirty years out of the saddle. I don’t think Jerry ever realised how much he did to help me emotionally. I don’t recall making a decision, but it just seemed obvious that the new bike should be called Linny II. I got vinyl lettering in order to emblazon it on the tank. Thanks to modern technology, the blazon is actually in my own handwriting. This is from the same template as was used for the tattoo on my foot and on Linny III, as witnessed by the photograph. Linny II and I had some great adventures together. The first one was riding from Cape Town to Jeffreys Bay with my youngest daughter on the pillion, only two months after I had got the bike. Somewhere in the middle was a trip through all nine provinces of South Africa, including riding up the Sani Pass. The last one was a wonderful trip through the length of Namibia and the breadth of Botswana, culminating in an accident in Brits (my first day back in RSA) which brought about the demise of Linny II. I shall never forget her. Linny the Third While I was at the home of my daughter and son-in-law in Centurion, trying to recover physically and psychologically from the effects of having my 61-year-old body slammed into the tarmac at speed, I felt convinced that my biking days were over. My children didn’t think so, and helped me find a replacement for Linny II. A day or two after the accident, I started to feel that my biking days were, perhaps, not over, despite my having suffered a spiral fracture of the right fibula and a broken 4th metacarpal, also on the right, plus vast amounts of soft tissue injuries. The problem was that my youngest daughter and I had planned that she would join me on her scrambler and we would ride to Cape Town together, via all the dirt roads we could find. I really didn’t want to let her down. Thanks to the efforts of my son-in-law, we found a 2005 BMW F650GS that bore an uncanny resemblance to Linny II, even down to the yellow colour scheme. We collected her and, by the time we left on 4 July 2014, thanks to my youngest daughter, she had her name--Linny III—emblazoned on her tank, again matching my foot tat. We had a wonderful trip to Cape Town, including crossing the Breede River on the old hand-drawn pont at Malgas and visiting Agulhas. This is the bike that I consider my last bike. I am glad that there was never a need for a Linny IV.
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While I was in Centurion, licking my wounds (and, believe me, they were—and still are—very painful), I battled with a few nagging thoughts: “Am I getting a bit beyond this? Could I have avoided the collision if I had been a bit (a lot) younger? Should I just pack up and catch a bus home, buy a car with an automatic transmission and power steering, and grow old gracefully?”. Nah! I am so thankful that none of my children ever made any of the above suggestions. In fact, initially, I think that they were more enthusiastic than I was about finding a new bike. My eldest daughter—Kathleen—and son-in-law—Gerrit—found a bike at the local BMW dealer that they thought I should go and see as a potential replacement for Linny II. My youngest daughter—Brigid—had no doubt that we were going to ride to Cape Town together, and that this was just a temporary set-back. My son—Patrick—350 kilometres away, encouraged me and never once suggested the “go home by bus” option. Thanks to a link sent to me by Gerrit, I found a bike that looked uncannily like Linny II, for sale about 40 kilometres from Centurion. We all went to see it, which was a new experience for me. I had tracked down and bought Linny II alone. Gerrit took it for a test ride for me, because my hand was really not up to riding at that stage. She is a 2005 model (2 years younger than Linny II) with a twin-spark Rotax 650 engine, ABS, and heated hand-grips. She has a full set of panniers, which are in far better condition than were those of Linny II. I took the plunge, and decided to buy it. Outsurance, unfortunately, would not pay out until they had the original registration certificate, which was in Cape Town; a certified copy—which I had with me—was not sufficient for them. Therefore, I had to put up R39000 in order to buy the bike, so that I could ride back to Cape Town. Somehow, I managed this and, on 1 July 2014, the bike became mine. Brigid arranged for decals to put on the “tank”, and the new purchase became Linny III. So, meet Linny III, my new mistress. I won't go into the details. The story of the accident is on my other blog; it may be accessed here: http://makwerhusmusings.weebly.com/basic-blog/i-could-have-done-without-this Suffice it to say that on Friday afternoon, 20 June 2014, on the outskirts of Brits, in North West Province, RSA, after 1½ years and 24000 Kilometres of faithful service, Linny II was hit by a pick-up truck, due to the actions of a thoughtless, incompetent driver. I was only slightly injured, but, for Linny II, it was terminal. She was a wonderful bike, very tolerant of the foibles of a rider who has had a bike licence for forty years, but who really only rode motorbikes for about five, and then returned to biking at age fifty-nine. Her 650cc Rotax single-cylinder engine was almost impossible to stall. I even had to hit the kill-switch to stop it after the accident. Even at idling speed, she seemed to put out enough torque to get one out of trouble. With her low seat and unusually low centre of gravity, she was ideal for a guy with short legs who wanted to ride dirt roads. We travelled round South Africa together, and visited Lesotho (via the Sani Pass), Namibia, and Botswana on five memorable trips. I'm not very strong on the concept of establishing emotional bonds with machinery, but I nearly cried when I find myself having to agree with the insurance company that she was irreparable. And so, with a heavy heart, I say: "Famba swinene, Linny II. Lala kahle!". This week-end marked the completion of a year of my association with Linny II. It seems like just the other day that I bought her. In the past year we have travelled about 12000 kilometres together, including three long trips, one with my youngest daughter on the pillion.
The day that I collected her was a beautiful hot Cape summer’s day, ideal for riding. The anniversary, Saturday, was punctuated by thunder, lightning, hail, and floods, so Linny remained under her cover. Soon we shall be off again—in 30 days’ time to Gauteng, to celebrate Christmas with the family. In the future, hopefully, there will a trip to Rwanda (June–July 2014), and a trip to Sakhartvelo (2015?). Last week my F650GS had to go in for her annual service. I was given this magnificent red BMW F800ST to use for 24 hours until I could fetch Linny II again. Did I enjoy it? You bet! Was I frightened? For sure. Was I tempted to be unfaithful to Linny II? A bit. When I returned the bike, the first thing that the reception at Atlantic Motorrad said was not: "Your bike is ready", but "Did you enjoy the F800?". My response was: "Yes, exceedingly; and, if I were at least 35 years younger I would now be making an appointment to speak to one of your sales staff. However, I don't think that my constitution or my adrenal system could really cope with it, not to mention a couple of sphincters". It was a thoroughly delightful bike to ride--beautifully balanced and capable of breaking all known speed limits in third gear, without leaving one's driveway. I only got into sixth gear twice. But, all that was what I wanted in a bike when I was in my early twenties, when I thought I was immortal. Now, I am more interested in riding an elderly gentleman's motorbike. I no longer need to get from zero to 100 kph in four seconds; six seconds is quite good enough for me. I no longer need a top speed that is airily listed in the spec as "over 200 kph"; 165 is quite adequate for my needs. I'm just not in that much of a rush any more. And so, the following day, like a returning philanderer, I was happily reunited with Linny II, falling in love with her all over again, and realising anew that she is the perfect bike for me, even compensating for my short legs by having a nice low seat. In any case, the F800ST is a road rocket, and wouldn't hold a candle to Linny II's ability to handle dirt roads. I love Linny II. On Monday I had an experience on the way home that has greatly enhanced my respect for Linny II's low-speed handling qualities.
Just after I had crossed a large intersection on my homeward route, a taxi “pulled a taxi on the crowd” and did a right-angle turn, in front of the the Lexus that I was following, from the outside lane to a stopping place on the left-hand side of the road. The Lexus, having ABS brakes, just stopped instantly, not leaving me much space to go anywhere, apart from down (which had limited appeal). Behind me was a huge 4x4, just about on my back wheel and looking as though it might squash me. I really wasn't sure if he would stop in time, so I thought that I had better do something quickly. I briefly locked my back wheel (I could hear it skidding), released the brake, pulled left, and got betwixt the Lexus and the kerb. I managed all this without even putting a foot down! The low centre of gravity of the F650GS really makes it a pleasure to manoeuvre, even at very slow speeds. I was then able to drive alongside the taxi driver and make him aware of my displeasure. I'm generally fairly polite on the roads, but I felt that this was a good opportunity to expand his German vocabulary. I called him an ar*****ch. I doubt that he understood what I meant, but it did give me some satisfaction. Come to think of it, I was also quite pleased to see that I haven't lost all of my experience and ability as a biker. I just knew what to do to prevent a disaster. If my shoulders weren’t so arthritic, I would have given myself a pat on the back (after I’d got off the bike). Instead, I just quietly congratulated myself. To conclude, I encountered a nice little quote yesterday: "Most motorcycle problems are caused by the nut that connects the handle-bars to the saddle". I'm trying not to take it personally! No, I haven't lost interest. In fact, tonight I am going to sign all the papers, and I shall be fetching my new steed tomorrow. Watch this space for further developments and pictures. By the way, I'm pretty nervous about getting back on two wheels, after an absence of about thirty years. Oh well, I suppose it's like riding a bike... |