I don't recall posting here before. I don't own a bike currently. I've owned a GSXR-1100 which was stupid-scary fast. I actually inherited that bike when my BIL was murdered. It was too much bike for me. Went faster than I ever wanted to go, and cost a fortune to insure. I sold it after riding it for several months.
I also had a '68 BSA 650 Lightning. Fucking cool, but honestly, a POS. Always with electrical problems. Electrical system was "Lucas", which, I suppose, is the Limey version of "Motorola" or some such. I owned and restored this bike before the internet was a thing, so parts were a motherfucker to source. There was a "British Bike Shop" in East Los Angeles, owned by a grumpy old fucker. I used to make the drive up there periodically to look for parts, or ask him to keep on the lookout for parts. One day I was bitching about an electrical problem, and he says to me "do you know why the British drink warm beer?"
"No"
"Lucas Refrigerators".
I've owned a bunch of dirt bikes, and I've got my original 1976 Honda XR75 here, and it's fucking worn out from me (and every relative younger than me), riding it. I intend to fully restore it for my grandson in the next year or two. He's 5 now, so I've got some time to get it done, and it should be a fun project.
Now, here's a story about another guy I met.
My girl is from Miami, and her family is still in the area. We visit her sister in Coral Gables. She belongs to the yacht club, and we go there for drinks. I'm introduced to a few of her friends, and I pull up a barstool and get a beer, and start with small talk. Somehow, the guy I'm sitting next to is talking about a health problem he had...cardiac. He's telling me that they are putting a stent in, and going though his leg to do so. Right before they put him under, he asks the doctor, "which leg are you going through?". The doc is an Indian fellow. Doc says "your right". He says "please go into my left. I need my right to kick my motorcycle". The punch line is the doc, with the thick accent asking "why would you kick a motorcycle?".
So we are getting along pretty well by this point, and laughing and drinking. I say to him that you must have and old bike if you still have a kick start. He says "I have a few old Harleys". My SIL is within earshot, and she's had a few drinks, and she's got a big mouth even when sober. She start in with "A FEW? YOU'VE GOT A FEW? YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING HUNDRED".
He calmly says "I don't have a hundred". She, as naggy as possible, keeps pounding at him: "HOW MANY...IF NOT A HUNDRED HOW MANY". She finally broke the dude, and I think the answer was "94".
She finally leaves to bug somebody else, and I'm going "you've got 94 fucking Harleys"?
Turns out, yeah. he does. We keep drinking and keep getting along, and he invites me (and by extension, the GF and the mouthy sister) to the "clubhouse". It's a fucking tilt-up warehouse where he's got a kickass bar setup that will hold about 25, the biggest TV I've ever seen, and all the bikes. He's also got a couple corvettes, an old porsche, and an El Camino. Oh, and a Mack 3 axle tractor, fully restored, from the '50's.
Dude is a VERY successful developer of high-rise residential projects all over Florida. He also owns a Bell "Long Ranger" Helo, and a King Air, which he uses to get from project-to-project.
Nice guy. There were no museum pieces among the bikes. They are all ridden (as regularly as one can ride that many bikes).