|Anna posed with me on my dual-seat Honda,|
years ago, but never went for a ride.
Didn't want the responsibility and, besides, I'd promised the insurance company I wouldn't carry passengers.
Little did I know!
The other day an interesting looking letter arrived here from an insurance company, addressed to daughter Anna (long since grown up, moved out and married).
"Who's as passionate about motorcycles as you?" the envelope demanded.
I couldn't resist opening it. Inside, I read:
"Dear Anna, This letter is to inform you that we know what you're up to."
Anna? Up to something? What could it be?
"You think about motorcycles a lot."
Anna? Really? I had no idea. She never said a thing to me about motorcycles.
"When you got up this morning, did you look out the window and wonder, 'Can I go riding today?'"
"When you hear a loud bike go past, and your spouse complains about the noise, you think, 'Sounds like the exhaust baffles are missing.'"
I'll have to ask Anna's husband if she ever mentioned that.
"When you get dragged to a party, you scope out the vehicles in the parking lot to see if there's any chance another enthusiast will be there so you'll have someone to talk to, right?"
Something amiss here. No one ever had to drag Anna to a party.
"At GEICO, we have insured motorcycles for more than 30 years — back when Shovels were new, two-strokes were tearin' up the mud, and British bikes still had sketchy electronics."
Now I know something's wrong. British bikes with sketchy electronics 30 years ago?
I don't believe they had them at all.