My Garage Box


I shared this with very few people, thus far. My father gave me an old garage box once. As a young and strong man, my father was in his garage box very often and tinkered with his scooter, an old 1958 Vespa. When I was a boy, he took me with him on his Vespa several times. Short trips into town, to the hardware store to get screws, to the butcher for sausages and smoked meat.

A road with a fast lane connected the city to our neighborhood. I remember we once drove back home at top speed. From behind, I moved up a little to look over my father's shoulder so I could see the speedometer. We drove 85. As a boy I thought this was the coolest thing, I felt like my hair got blown from my scull.

Ten years ago, my father stopped working. By that time he was lucky to suddenly have a lot of money. In an overconfident mood he bought a motorcycle, a beautiful Harley Davidson. He called me on the phone and I went to take a look at Harley..

We were both men now. I was a young man, my father a somewhat older man. With pride, but not as smoothly as in the old days, my father opened the garage door. Next to the old Vespa, I saw the shining tyrant. Harley's engine seemed like the same size as the entire Vespa.

My father turned his head and looked at me with an expectant look. Three old timers: The Vespa to the left, my father in the middle, Harley to the right. I saw it in a glance, my father would never ride Harley. 

The Lady

The garage and Harley are mine now. The Vespa is no longer there. In springtime, from the moment the temperature is heading the right direction, you can find me outside in front of the garage, working on the engine and polishing Harley.

One day, a lady walked past my garage. Beautiful, just a little too beautiful for our neighborhood. Still young, but just old enough for me. We got to talk. It was summer, holidays were almost there. We were both on our own and without plans for the holidays. 

It was the first time that Harley left the garage for weeks in a row. On my own I made day trips, two days at most. Now we took the whole summer holidays, the lady went with us. We left the city and stayed away as long and as far as possible.

Six weeks later I put Harley back in the garage box. The holidays had left their mark. Only some spots of chrome were shining, for the most it had become dirty and dull. We had left most of the tire profile on thousands of kilometers of asphalt. 

And Harley had some scars, scratches and bruises. From an innocent-looking collision, he got tipped over once and in high-pitched quarrels, the lady had attacked the tank with the heels of her boots several times.

The next morning I started the cleaning and restoration work. I prepared the Harley for the day trips we used to do together. Trips with the lady were taken of the agenda.

She had bought herself a camper and rented the garage box next to me. We did one attempt, we went a day and a night with the camper, it did not work either. The lady is now traveling with the camper. By herself, I guess. 

The Woman

Two seasons have gone by. I have expanded the repertoire of rides, I regularly pull out two or three weeks with Harley. It is the time again that temperature is heading in the right direction.

A few weeks ago, a woman passed me by. Beautiful woman, new to this neighborhood. Every time she walks by, we talk. Just for a moment, but long enough. I like her looks and the way she looks at me and Harley.

Yesterday, after a day of cleaning and tinkering, Harley was shining in the sunlight. I started the engine and put on my helmet.

Just when I wanted to drive away, I felt someone from behind. The woman had taken the back seat and put her arms around me. We stood there, just for a minute. For a short moment, I closed my eyes and imagined our first ride together.

It is summer, holidays are almost here…..