The problem with our Morocco moto trip with Tim Skilton and Edo Mossi of Loco For Motos, there was no problem. The problem is, after the trip, I never really did a very good job of sharing all the wonderful photos that were collected from this trip. Dude, you should do an ADVrider post. No time for that. I’m starting a new feature here on the old IAATB blog: Morocco Moto Trip Photo of the Day, or POD, as my friends at Snowbird call them. I may not post one every day, see. I may forget, or have other important stuff to do. But I’m going to post as many as I can, in no logical order, with a few notes about each one, so followers can get a sense of what a great trip this was. So great, that even a year later, we’re still thinking about the places we went, the people we met, the windows that got kicked in during street riots, the stimulating massages, well, you get the picture. The first Morocco POD needs no commentary. You figure it out.
This was supposed to be a 2012 New Year’s Resolution post, all about looking forward to riding more, drinking less, being helpful to fellow mankind, all that altruistic looking forward type of stuff. I’ll be honest. After how 2011 closed down for me, it’s hard to muster any sort of goodwill and cheer. I lost my father to cancer in the darkest days of December, and I still haven’t come to terms with what that means in the long haul. I miss him, and yet it hasn’t sunk in that he’s gone.
While back at my mother’s house, my childhood home, we were going through some old photos my mom had been given by her mother and her aunt. In this age where everything is digital, like images, we sometimes forget where certain terms in our language came from, for example “thumbing through old photos.” There we were, putting our thumbs on the corners of these little pieces of history, many of which I had never laid my eyes on before. One photo stood out, of my grandfather on an old vintage motorcycle. I wish I knew more about him, his motorcycling habits. You see, my mother never knew him. He died in Europe in World War II before my mother was born. Pretty common back then. He was in a bomber, shot down behind enemy lines, and was later buried in a military cemetery in Belgium. My mother only knew of him what my aunt (his sister) told her: he was a free spirit who liked to ski and ride motorcycles, and I think that’s why my mother’s aunt always had a soft spot for me.
So as I look at the photo below, I have no idea what year or make and model my grandfather’s bike was. From casual online research, people tell me it’s likely a late 1930s Harley Davidson. I also heard a story that at one time he had an Indian, but it must have been a different bike. All I know as I look at this photo and try to make out the details, my grandfather was ready for adventure. The boxes on the back sort of give it away.
Deal O’ The Day
Words I’ve Heard
"I'm not a businessman. I'm a business, man." --Jay-Z
"The only thing keeping us from going is leaving." --Ewan Mcgregor
"Adventures suck, when you're having them." -- Anonymous Rally Car Driver
"It is, absolutely, without question, unequivocally, about the bike. Anyone who says otherwise is obviously a twatwaffle."--RULE #4, Velominati.com
"Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore always carry a small snake."--W.C. Fields