A tale of two bikes

​If this title sounds familiar, it should. I took it from Charles Dickens novel, I just substituted cities for bikes.
As Bono, the one of the U2 fame, famously said every poet is a thief and every writer is even worse.
I stole a lot of my writings from others over the years, but I added some original content to it, I am sure. 
I am convinced that’s how progress happens and besides, science works the same way.  You build on what is already there, it doesn’t make any sense otherwise.
I stole most of my texts from Kurt Vonnegut, he is gone now, but I don’t think he would mind. I like his dry sense of humor, just read “God bless you Mr. Rosewater” and you will see what I mean.
A bit of an issue is that I am running out of things to read, and so I write. 
People seem to like it.
Now for the bikes, and let’s keep it light in these confused times - I have two, one in Europe and one in Canada.
The red bimmer in Switzerland is a masterpiece of technology, it shows on the display really everything, from temperature to tire pressure and all the stuff in between. It’s got the boxer engine, which nobody understands how it works except for the people who make it. It’s also pretty rough when you start it up.
It just sounds like nothing. Half the experience with motorcycles is how they sound, that’s what made Harley-Davidson big. 
I crank it up entering the highway to the point that the front wheel gets light, but I still can’t hear much. Goes very fast though.
The Yamaha in Canada is a perfect opposite of it, it shows just the speed and the lights comes on if it just a gallon of fuel in the tank. I think the word to describe the experience is “visceral”. 
The world describes me too, and it takes two to tango.
And the bike sounds amazing, so guess my preference.
One day a black 911 Turbo pulled beside me at the stop light.
The young guy behind the wheel was looking at me smiling.
I thought “You really want to flex with me? – don’t be silly. I can do 0-100 in three seconds.”
Kids these days. 
And I think a Porsche is a girl car, can’t take a guy in it seriously.
I am a fan of British sport cars, but I make the exception for the Lamborghini Urus.  

The business are closed, it’s an eerie feeling, my two-for-one favourite pizza lunch is not happening, lights are out.