The Oppenheimer Report 2/23/15

Last Saturday, I drove down to Toronto to meet my buddy Bob for our semi- annual boys night out. For the last four or five summers, I have joined Bob in the Western New York Offshore Powerboat Association Poker Run. For the winter session, we usually attended the Toronto Boat Show, but every year that show has become a little less interesting. As much as I enjoy examining new boats in the winter, ones that are not covered in snow, it seems that more and more pontoon boats and fishing boats were creeping into the show. There are only so many floating living rooms I can inspect before I get bored. After waiting in long lines last year in order to board some of the bigger cabin cruisers and sailboats, we decided that this year we’d find a different winter diversion. As neither of us drinks alcohol anymore, we seek entertaining distractions that don’t involve bars. This year we decided to go to the Toronto Motorcycle Show, and it was my first motorcycle show ever.

 

Bob and I used to ride motorcycles together. He’s owned a motorcycle almost as long as I’ve known him. In keeping with his love of classics, he still owns the immaculate (1975-76?) Kawasaki KZ 900 he’s owned since it was practically new. Back then, that bike was considered one of the “superbikes”, boasting about 85HP. Jump ahead thirty years, and motorcycle technology has come a long way. These days, the bikes are all sprung with high tech mono shock suspensions, come equipped with powerful anti-locking disc brakes, and much more powerful motors. Even the smaller four cylinder bikes would probably beat Bob’s classic KZ900 off the line. I bought my first of two Yamahas, in the mid 80s,  largely because I got tired of riding on the back of Bob’s bike. I enjoyed our motorcycle adventures, and while we never made any Easy Rider trans-continental road trips, we did take some memorable day trips. During my motorcycle riding years, I put about 14,000 miles on the two bikes I owned. I only remember one minor mishap in all the years I rode (I dropped my bike at low speed once when I hit a gravel patch turning into our driveway). I haven’t been on a motorcycle in twenty years, although I am still licensed to ride one, and these days, it becomes less and less likely that I will buy anything two-wheeled that does not require me to peddle. or push. Bob is a far more experienced rider than I, but even he has slowed down a bit. Last summer, there were several stories on the news about the preponderance of serious motorcycle accidents involving senior riders in the Greater Toronto Area. Aging baby boomers, intoxicated with the illusion of freedom that motorcycles represent, buy fast, powerful bikes, often their first motorcycles, only to find out the hard way that motorcycles require much more hand eye coordination than cars. Defensive driving takes on a whole new meaning once you start driving around the city in a motorcycle. That was the deal breaker for me. When I married Shauna, and moved up to Toronto, I quickly learned it is not a place I wanted to ride a motorcycle.

 

After we walked around the show for a few hours, we decided to head over to the Ripley’s Aquarium, situated near the CN Tower. I do not recall ever having been to a big aquarium before, and I’d recommend this one to anyone visiting Toronto. It really is spectacular. Finally, we stopped and had dinner downtown, and then walked back uptown to where we were staying. Walking up Bay Street from downtown, I could not help noticing how much Toronto has changed in the past year. Almost overnight it seems as if seven or eight new high rise condo buildings have sprung up, and my apprehensions about change visited me once again. While I do not consider myself over the hill just yet, I had just spent the day with my former drinking buddy, looking at fast motorcycles neither of us had any intention of buying, and I was now walking through a city I’d lived in for over 15 years, but now hardly recognized. Am I any wiser than the thirty-something that once pegged his Yamaha Radian at 115 MPH? Perhaps, a little. Certainly I am more uncoordinated,  a little more forgetful, and definitely more cognizant of my mortality. As I watch the high rises spring up around me, seemingly as I walk up Bay Street, I wonder, am I keeping pace? Bob says we should get tee shirts printed up that read: “Ape Shit at Eighty!”

Maybe that old saying is true: "slow and steady wins the race."   

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED