Thursday, March 7, 2013

Sump Magazine

I came across a website I rather liked relating to the esoteric subject of elderly British motorcycles. It reeks of old engines and oil and stubborn old cranks doing what they love. Thus the opening page of has this rather eccentric opening message. I find it endearing when compared to the aggravating appeals from slicker websites. I appreciate the ability not to take oneself  too seriously.

 We could spend a lot of time telling you what we are, and what we're not, and where we're going, and where we've been. Etc. But what would be the point? You'd only go and press one or more of the buttons (above or below) and you'd find out anyway—and without all the propaganda.

So we'll pretty much leave you to it. But before we go, we've got to put a few keywords on this page to keep Google happy (they whinged at us recently because all we had was a big Sump logo device on a black background, and they felt it was a bit thin). We told them that—hey!—that was how we liked it.

Big and bold. But did they listen? They did not. So we've now got to mention words like Triumph, Norton, BSA, Royal Enfield, Vincent, Ariel, Panther, Douglas, Brough, Greeves, AJS, Matchless, Villiers, Francis Barnett, Cotton, Norman, Scott, Rudge, Velocette, Sunbeam, James, Excelsior, Villiers, and so on, and so forth.

We've also got to mention things like classic bikes, and motorcycling, and British, and motorcycle news and shows and events and autojumbles and stuff like that. It's all pretty tiresome, but in this life, you're always dancing to someone's tune. Are we right?

Anyway, we've done it now and Google has given us the thumbs up, so we're signing off. We've got a lot to do, and bikes to ride, and places to go, and beer to drink and women to ... well, you know how it goes. Hope you like what we have and get something from it.
If not, you'll just have to look elsewhere. —Sump

A Golden Morning

I didn't have to filter the pictures to get this incredible golden glow. I chose to take Cheyenne for a walk on an old Flagler footbridge near my home and the sun obliged by rising at the same time and making me feel like a million dollars.

The hundred year old railroad bridges are quite solid but these days they are reserved for bicycles and pedestrians and many of them have been refurbished to form part of the cycling heritage trail the length of the islands. Anglers use them and abandon bait fish to bake in the sun. Cheynne thanks them.

Commuters use the "new" main road built in 1982 which means I get to watch them rush by to daytime jobs while I, who just finished my overnight shift have the day to myself.

Some people like their mountains and I agree they have their place, but this scenery isn't too bad either. I know that because this time of year visitors tend to slow down more than usual as they cross the open water bridges. I can only imagine they are gawping at the water.

People baffle me. This old dude stepped onto the bridge and started stepping sideways, staring down at his feet as he placed them sideways, one next to the other, crabbing his way along the bridge, carefully following the white line. He passed me without a word, his skin parchment brown with a big peaked baseball cap and clear plastic rims on his round glasses, he reminded me of Sir Francis Chichester, the yachtsman of a bygone era. He got to the end of the bridge and started mincing back towards us one sideways step at a time. It's true what they say about the lack of dignity in old age and the struggle not to yield to it. I take my exercise indoors out of public view.

It looks like sunset but it was sunrise. All missed by the man walking sideways.

Perhaps tomorrow he will look up from his feet.