C�EST by returning with my parents in the small village of the Loiret who m�a saw growing up that I took the time to just search my drawers d�écolier and browse my d�adolescent library where, in addition to the Jules Verne in their entirety, alongside copies of the Green library, titles as "World champion Dany", "An animal endowed with reason", the volumes of "without family", Atlas, numbers occasional of the magazine GEO, and d�autres books avidly eaten by the insatiable drive as j�étais.
Among these, the book, the revelation, the sleeping by my side, at pages thousand times researched known photos jusqu�au detail, to sentences sues by c�ur and so simple and yet so carrier promises title: < b > the motorcycle < /b >.
This copy of 1982 was edited in Larousse. More wide qu�un A4 size but just as high. The cover is made of cardboard related green fabric, all surrounded in a "protected coverage" paper glossy where throne photo d�un pilot eyes fixed on the release of curve, the d�époque worn sliders. Qu�il machine straddles seemed to me incredibly large d�enfant, black d�où engine out collectors d�échappement made me it seem bestial and completed its two round headlights give it a whatever life, almost menaçant�
Christian Lacombe is l�auteur. Recognized journalist, photographer of talent and especially in love with the "motorcycle thing", it revealed me throughout the 163 pages of this beautiful book d�un world secrets which appeared then reserved for an elite. These motorcycle that I saw pass being occupied, coated in deep ditches from the edge of the national 7, lorsqu�ils moved each year to the circuit of le Mans, such an army of modern Templars, in a sound of Thunder that made me shiver d�envie and of peur� it seemedover the words, know them, understand them. And especially day was stronger than any d�être desire to one day l�un of them!
Paragraphs read aloud echoed in my ears as an irresistible appeal to which I promised to answer as soon as life m�en would the physical means. One in particular that I want to share with you. It is called: the joys of the road.
< i > "get up morning, s�équiper carefully, start the bike in the silence of the day emerging and take the road to the rising sun, these are unforgettable moments." The road to moto, c�est freedom of double without effort and without misgivings, to play traffic jams; It runs on the same paths as drivers, but with only stresses the weather and speed limits. The moto, if she is the Queen of the national road, provides more fun on the departmental winding; l�automobiliste seeks always the straightest road, the rider he is happy in turns. C�EST is all the fun of the motorcycle: address, follow the turns to the rhythm of his skills in an elegant dance or effrénée� L�expression "doing his machine body" takes here all its dimension.
When s�accélère, the motorcycle rate suggests its qualities or weaknesses; If it is perfect, if it obeys the finger and l��il, extremely rare cases, it takes pleasure to analyze its qualities and everything seems easy. But paradoxically, when to fight with for l�emmener where l�on wants, having the dominate is also a source of pleasure. "In all cases, whatever the circumstances, the motorcycle is a promise of joie�" < /i >
These words have for me aujourd�hui still a sense. They still have this almost mystical power to make me feel alive but with small supplement d�âme living j�en am sure each of you. They explain so easily and simply what unites us with each other but also and especially what links us to our frames. All without ideas of brand, category or sectarianism. As if they were to them only the answer to all those who know not how to define this strange human being that under his helmet appears not to be part of the world of mortals so otherwise qu�au, it is in my opinion more aware of his life that will be never much d�autres.
The secret that was revealed in this book, I give you: < b > "Under our biker jackets, there is a c�ur, like the others." "Except that ours is stronger because he is perpetually in love" < /b >
But I'm sure that you already know.
Sincerely (des) vôtres� and forever.
Fastfreddy
(Admin note: times, fastfreddy, you ass enlarge holes me!)
(Automated translation with microsoft BING)
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(not translated yet) Edito Avril 2011: « lairduncon »
