Dear Jimmy, A Letter.

Jimmy,

We have had some good times lately, yeah?  I mean, this summer was good; our travels to other states, up mountains and across rivers and into cities flung far and wide.  We carried so many people to so many shows and on so many adventures that I honestly believe that I have fully gained the 50 dollars worth of you that I paid out.

That being said, I don’t want you to go.  Not yet.  I believe that you have many miles left in you.  Your heart is still strong.  Your legs are creaky, squeaky and a bit off-kilter, your shocks are hard and leaky, but all of that be fixed.  I can make you stronger; straighter of leg and softer of shock you can get me through an entire winter without having to walk to the bus to get to work or bum rides from friends to get to shows.  Together we can cruise the witery NW and go camping or hiking or anythig that WE want because you still, I believe, have the mechanical constitution to do just that.

So no, I don’t want you to go.  I know that you are having problems right now.  You just don’t seem to want to go like you used to.  Like a septugenarian you have a little trouble getting up those hills and your power-band is far slighter than it was even a few short months ago.  I know that your nerves are frayed; your timing is off and your filters are dirty and there is a real possibility that your coils are coming undone.  But I won’t let you go.

Indeed, I have come to love you, my noble steed.  Like me, you are a little rough around the edges.  No one would ever refer to you as pretty or sexy.  People sometimes make fun of your noises, smells and temperamental ways.  But like me you keep on truckin, so to speak, and won’t give up on proceeding forward no matter how much it may hurt you, failing only when the last opportunity has been used up.  So yes, I love you, and I won’t let you go.

I’ll find your problems.  I will diagnose what ails you and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you hit that golden mark.  I will advance your timing and clean your filters and relace your coils.   You and I will have more and better summers, summers where you feel like the travelling workhorse that you once were and can make it up a hill on the highway without burning a half tank of gas in the process.  We will have a winter of contented show-going, you ferrying me and my friends in warm safety through the downpours and freezing cold of the Northwest winter.

So please don’t go, Jimmy.  Give me a chance to fix you and get you into the order that I know you will be happy.  Give me a chance to exercize my abilities and pay you back for the amazing times that we have had together by allowing you to be one of those rare vehicles that make it to the quarter-million mile mark.  We can do this, Jimmy.

Together.