Last night, I took a long look at Mandelbrot resting peacefully in my garage unmindful of the moment around it. I thought that tomorrow night it will be parked in someone else's garage quietly. I thought of floating beside it and looking at it through all the times I've enjoyed riding it in the late hours and early mornings from Quezon city to south and back. After a brief blast through EDSA I would tap on the tank and say "good boy.." like the obedient puppy that it is.
It has never failed to turn heads wherever it cruised. My first bike. I remember having it delivered to my place of work and staring at it excitedly with a dumbfounded look and an impending question: "How the heck am I going to take this home?" - I have never in my entire life ridden a motorcycle, much less sit on one.. and here I am looking at this big brute that was suddenly thrust under my care. How am I going to tame it? It died on me six times on the way home. Ahh, sweet tragedy.
Fast forward two and a half years, I stared blankly as the new owner - a very young kid - rides away on it. It looks good from this view. I've always wondered how we looked together or sounded from a distance. It was a loud monster - who even now fades silently into the afternoon as I see it round the corner for the very last time.
Who knows, I might see it zipping through some highway any time in the future. But I'd be an audience for a change. And if I do manage to catch it blow by me like the wind, I'd smile inside - thinking "good boy.."
