San Francisco in 1998 was miserable place to be broke. It was the year of the cheap homemade taco, eaten while I sat in my kitchen, watching the rain fall and wondering what I'd done wrong. It was the high-water mark of the internet gold rush, a time when millionaires were made out of people who spent most of their time thinking about ones and zeros. Art Students (at least this one) didn't fare half so well. To add to its underhanded charm, 1998 was also the year the city got more rain than it had seen in the last hundred.
Under a broken umbrella and a heavy backpack I slogged my way across Nob Hill one day. Pushing through ankle-deep water I crossed Mason street and there, parked in front of the Fairmont Hotel, I saw a 1973 BMW R75/5 with whats affectionately called a "Toaster Tank". In that moment, the clouds parted and a single, sublime ray of light cut the gloom (metaphorically at least, I didn't actually see the sun for two more months) and showed me that, while people and rain might suck pretty regularly, there are still some beautiful things in this world.
Almost ten years later, I bought a completely frozen R90 and, in a state of gleeful ignorance, tore it apart to the frame. Of course, I then had to get some help putting it back together again, but so began my love of vintage motorcycles...