Upon leaving The House of Tools on my way back from work this morning, I was shocked and slightly awed to find myself standing face-to-headlight with none other than the Ural Patrol.
Sadly, my camera is still in Killam from Canada day festivities; rest assured I would have taken pictures if I had brought it with me.
This wasn't just any ordinary Russian-Motorcycle-With-Sidecar, either. The owner seems to have made a lot of special modifications himself. (Not sure if she'd make .5 past light speed, but...)
I thought long and hard about stepping back inside the store and calling out a greeting across that hallowed sanctuary of milling machines and drill bits and industrial-sized wrenches to my new-found hero, but I decided against it.
For one thing, while the House of Tools is a place of free worship and creativity, not a place of stifling legalism, I thought it best not to risk offending those who might seek that place of sanctuary as a peaceful refuge of quiet contemplation among the tool steels and sanding belts. For another, I checked myself at the thought of showering the motorcycle's owner with complements. After all, what more could I tell this person about how awesome his motorcycle is? I'm sure I would only have imposed myself on his sense of righteous humility. (For, I am certain, anyone who would tame and ride such a creature much have a very well developed sense of righteous humility. The Ural is a noble beast, that responds not to pride and arrogance but to calm self-confidence. (See the article from March 2005's Cycle Canada if you don't believe me.))
I suppose there's always the possibility that the rider of such a motorcycle could have been a young and available woman... A female Han Solo of the motorcycling world; a modern-day Amelia Earhart, even... but it's usually best if I don't dwell on such thoughts.