Yup. My mission in the meantime is to aquire a banjo, a rocking chair and property with a porch and space enough to breed Bullmastiff dogs.
[spoiler]All the runt needs is to inherit her mothers sense of self and to pick up a few Krav Maga tricks. The patriarchical notion that female offspring are not entitled to exploring their sexuality is utter hogwash
1986 Yamaha CA50 Riva. This bike has been my Albatross for the last two friggen years. I came close to selling it awhile back but the buyer backed out after stringing me along for a month. So, I kept tinkering with it. There isn't a nut on this bike I haven't turned at one time or another. Mechanically the engine runs like a top, (and it aught to, I've rebuilt the entire damned thing by hand one piece at a time.) In the looks department... meh. I still need to hook up the lights (headlight, turn signals, brake light) and get a battery on it. (I also need to rig up a better airfilter than a wad of pillow stuffing rubber banded to the carb. LOL!) I wish I could replace the busted ass body panels but just go look at what the prices on them run and you will see why I haven't. The front panel I'm going to patch back together in the next day or so. She's ugly as hell but in a way I like the old POS.
I think bikes like this are the reason I love to tinker with old engines and such. There's nothing like breathing life back into something that has been totally neglected, abused, and left for dead.
I just got the law called on me earlier because of that bike. Some asshole complained it was "rattling the windows on his house" as I passed by. It was loud, I had just snapped the damned header pipe in two when I hit a pothole less than a block away from the house. I took the cop around back and showed him the busted pipe and he laughed it off.
There's nothing but pricks around here with sticks up their asses.