I washed both bikes this morning and was busy with the brush cutter when cleaning under the east pasture fence and took a break when I heard a motorcycle coming down the road. It was an odd sound, sort of sounding like the guy across the road when he had a bad muffler on his Ford 150 pickup. It was getting nearer and louder. Lo and behold, Brother-in-law Bart pulls in the drive. Of course the bike was covered with dust, remember I live on a dirt road where the speed limit on bikes is about 1 mile per hour (for the locals).
Me thinks I'll just keep the stock pipes and maybe dispense with the cat box. The TORS sound, well, different
Bart wanted to go for a ride but I declined. Instead I offered a grilled steak, grilled on real charcoal, I don't do that bottled gas sissy stuff, besides, I ain't eat'in no steak that got asphyxiated with gas. So I got the coals going, added a little Mesquite, and laid on a couple of T-Bones, Amy made condiments and we all chowed down. I was going to take a few pictures of the bike, but it looked like a farm tractor back from a dusty field so I didn't.
We ate like good Americans, sat around and told lies and Bart left a little awhile ago. I think he actually stopped by to sit on my bike with the Classic seat and the CruiserBag. He's ordering a new, Classic seat on Monday for his standard. He told me his standard R3 2 piece seat wasn't worth squat. I'll agree. I sat on his and the kick up is right in my tail bone.
Anyway Bart, if you read this, thanks for stopping. I like staying home on a holiday. Everyone around here goes away and it's real quiet, just like the country.