In Requiem

It's gone. My beloved Yamaha motorcycle is gone.

I woke up this morning, looked out the kitchen window into my backyard and... this is what I saw. Or, more accurately, what I didn't see. No motorcycle. My baby was gone.

I reported the theft to the police. A detective told me there's a group of kids in the area who are stealing motorcycles for joy-rides. He suspects it was them because my bike is old and not worth a lot of money. A professional thief wouldn't have bothered with it.

I'm in shock. I can't believe my baby is gone. I still expect to be able to take it for rides.

I bought this motorcycle twelve years ago. It was the only bike I've ever bought new; all my others have been used and worn when I got them. This one shined like a bright penny. Every mile on it was put there by me.

The bike, a 2003 Yamaha FZ-1, was fast. Rocketship fast. I took it to the racetrack a few years ago and got it up to 140 mph. It was nimble and could lean into corners like a true racing machine. Those capabilities pushed me to improve my skills; the bike was always luring me into faster, more challenging riding. Honestly, the most exciting moments of my life happened while I was sitting in the saddle of this beast. As well as the scariest. Thank God the brakes on this machine were phenomenal.

It's gone. My baby is gone.