1969 Triumph 650 Bonneville

The Family Jewels

I was speeding through a quiet residential area in Toronto's Parkdale community, barely stopping at each intersection before once again accelerating on my Honda 500-4. Not far behind me was Walter on his classic '69 Bonneville, and perched behind him was our mutual friend Mike. We weren't racing or anything like that, just enjoying the summer day and the exhilarating freedom of our two wheelers. By habit, I would check my rear views regularly not only for any signs of the boys in blue, but also to ensure that my riding companions and I did not get separated by traffic. So it was not a big deal when I noted that they were no longer behind me.

And the wagon isn't doing too well, either...

I quickly pulled over to the side of the road, and waited for the laggards to catch up. After about thirty seconds with no sign of them, I became puzzled about their disappearance and turned around and headed back to look for them. Knowing how unpredictable the Bonny was, my first thought was that it must have broken down again. I was therefore not surprised a few moments later when I saw the bike parked by the curb. As I rode up closer, I was completely taken aback to see the front wheel crumpled and the forks pushed in. "How did this happen - did he drive into the sidewalk?" I remember asking myself. I spotted Mike first and queried him about what was going on. He shakily explained that a cager had blown a stop sign and that they couldn't avoid t-boning him. He pointed backhandedly with his thumb towards a side street where I finally saw the offending car parked with a huge dent on its passenger side.

A small crowd was now starting to gather to view the spectacle. Looking around some more, I found Walter sitting on someone's front lawn nearby. I was relieved to

Metamorphis.

see that he didn't show any signs of trauma, but then I suddenly remembered that he did not have a motorcycle license or insurance. This could be a serious problem. Luckily for Walter, Mike did have a license and when the police eventually arrived, he claimed to be the driver. An ambulance showed up soon after, but both Walter and Mike said they were ok and did not need their services. That is until Walter finally regained feeling to an area that had taken a pretty good hit. I imagine the pain must have come on very suddenly, because one moment he was walking around looking fine, the next he was horizontal and on his way to emergency.

That left Mike and I to take care of his bike. Looking it over it was obvious that we would have to transport it somehow. The wheel would never roll again, the forks would never steer, and the lights and the instrumentation were a hanging mess. The only other damage that I could see was to the gas tank where there were two impressions left by Walter as he bounced on his way over the handlebars. You no doubt can guess from what part of his anatomy that was. But don't be too concerned, he did father a pair of healthy and normal twins a decade later.

Going into Mike's backyard shed.

Mike lived only a few blocks away and happened to have a child's pull wagon. While I stood guard, he fetched the wagon and then we loaded the bike into it. By the time we got it to his place, the wagon was destroyed and we were exhausted. But it did get the job done.

A couple of weeks later, shortly after Walter was disconnected from the catheter and released from the hospital, I offered to buy the wreck. I don't think he was in any mood for riding anytime soon, and so a deal was quickly made. The battered Triumph was moved to my parent's garage and I started the rebuild process.