Might have done an underboob conversion setup like the 77 BMWs, they had the master cyclinder in the crack of the taco under the tank. It cleans up the bars, but then gives you one more cable to worry about.
Seeing stuff like his little movie clip makes me think that motorcycling culture is having some sort of a midlife crisis. It's no wonder. The tech is turning into nerdwizard mythology and it's getting so complex that soon you won't be able to fix it unless you have a team of programmers and mainframe computer that can shmaltz directly with the factory. Cars are going driverless, maps digital and the laws of man are being engraved into the hardware without understanding they cannot overwrite the laws of physics. All of this Moto hipster bullshit is trying to keep it kosher because it's easier not to eat the bacon than it is to build another temple.
forsaking enlightenment for heritage? Maybe too harsh, but although it's sometimes neccisary to rebuild a carburetor, that ritual is specific to a machine, not to the act of riding it. NOS Tomaselli clubmans are nice, but not needed. All of these little details are like manscaping. A lot of work to make something look like it was meant to be that way. And while most of the six billion people on the planet don't care if you've shaved your balls, it sure feels nice at speed on a warm Summer's day.
Brother Jaeger, you once threw me the pondering of how interesting it was that motorcycle culture was so thickly entwined with images of death and fire. Skulls fucking everywhere, even on scooters and dirt machines. Why all the fire and death? You said it had something to do with us being different from the rest of modern society, that we were looking in the mirror and trying to grok our own mortality, to understand that nothing is forever and today might not become tomorrow. More honest to die too young than to live too long. Being stuck in a world we don't understand, hooked up to machines, lorded over by white coats, having our mobility and freedom controlled by committee and all mystery of the roads ahead taken away. The midlife crisis and the end of life crisis may not be the same, but they do rhyme.
Moto culture is searching for its soul but doesn't want to go outside. Dressing up in its finest Sabbath hats and beards, doing no work while its chomping down on burgers and fries...hold the bacon please. There is no spirituality in pretending to be something from an imaginary feeble hope that if we do it all properly the sun will rise. That today will become tomorrow. This is all ritual based on ancient myth created by people more pious and inexperienced than us.
The myth is there as a mneumonic so we'll remember the ritual. The ritual is there so we can analyze and reinterpret the myth for the new age. Everyone here has pretty much always understood that it's not about the destination, and it's not about what you rode to get there or how authentic all the greebles were. It's about today, because the sun still shines today. Eat the bacon, build the temple.
They swore it was the correct one, but swearing doesn't make a sprocket fit where it doesn't want to. --WeAintFoundShit