When I was a child, this is how I thought things were manufactured. Great things came about organically, requiring human intervention to mature into something usable. At some point, on the road to adulthood, the fancies of our dreams are left on the curb. As adults, when we see the exposed fringes of these memories, we run from them, as if they will drag us away from the trappings of our matured selves.
The fact that this happens to be expounding on a motorcycle just makes it extra tasty.
Like it would be a bad thing.
Hurray to Triumph for making my childhood dreams a reality.
-nn
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