Bike sale, ride and death

It has been a big week in motorbikes: my first sale, my first ride in a year, and the first death I've seen.

I sold my Honda CB900 Bol D'or to a lucky man on eBay for less than half what I bought it. I watched it go and said goodbye to an era, and also goodbye to a lot of repairs and risk I couldn't afford.

I rode on my friend J's Triumph Sprint tonight, when he gave me a lift home from work. It was welcome because it's quicker than the taxi I would have otherwise taken, and more fun.

And just beforehand, I saw a dead man. I assume it was a man - statistics let me do so. Just outside my building near Latrobe and William, a man - according to my colleague, who saw the whole thing on a smoko - hurtled east up Latrobe st doing a fast wheelie on what looked (to me, at night in the wreck scene) like an MV Augusta sportsbike. (Maybe another that comes in red and grey fairing.) He hit a four wheel drive. The bike went under it. When I saw him from my 16th floor window, from which I could see the whole scene, he had a sheet over him and was in the same position for hours, under the sheet, before an ambulance took him away on a stretcher. I assume he was dead.

Shocking and senseless way to go. It puts the sale and the ride in perspective: relieved for the first, but still grateful for the vicarious and occasional fun of the second. I don't think I'll be riding for a while.