Like Tom Sawyer convincing people to pay him to whitewash his fence, and think they were getting a bargain to boot, I have managed to finagle Mr. Oilburner into washing my bike. How? I'm not quite sure. It just seems that he is very offended by a slightly dirty bike. Now, I'm not saying the bike was covered in mud or anything. It's just that there was a little sand and road grime on the frame, the highly polished can was not quite identifiable as reflective and the rims were somewhat marred with brake dust. The rest of the bike is this sheeny crystal gray that doesn't really show dirt.
His bike is of the Biarritz Blue variety. And it is a lovely color, but shows the slightest hint of dirt. Coming from a Harley, he likes the cleanliness and sparkles. At least he doesn't have all of the chrome to worry about with the RT.
He convinces me to come out and sit on the driveway while he soaps my bike. I oblige by setting up the reclining chair and bringing the camera. He is a very uncooperative washer or model. He is ungracious when I point out areas of bug gut accumulation that he misses. He refuses to pose in a little tank top and cutoff shorts while soaping up the bike. He declines the wet t-shirt contest. All told, I am probably quite grateful that I didn't get those. ;-)
I did appreciate all of his hard work and how pretty my motorbike looked. I showed him my appreciation by letting him admire his handiwork all weekend from about 30 feet behind.