Every stop sign is an opportunity to launch a little harder and let the two-stroke sing a little longer. Ed and his TL follow as I confuse commuters with my mutated-leaf-blower-on-crack exhaust note, my GPS giving instructions in my ear as we criss-cross the city. By the time we hit the Golden Gate bridge, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
Shortly after we dragged the gorgeously painted “Wicked Red and Twisted Cherry” Ultra out of the van here in Oakland, things got messy, Deepwater Horizon-style.
I always have mixed emotions about whether CityBike should report on the Progressive-sponsored International Motorcycle Show in Long Beach. The still-pissed-decades-later...
