POSSESSION IS NINE TENTHS OF THE LAW
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I never wanted the bike in the first place. Oh yes, I know a lot of people would be chuffed to bits to open their garage door and have a mint condition Suzuki Katana sitting there, not a mark on it, the casings as flawless as the day the bike left Japan. There it sits, the big rectangular headlight and angular fairing making it look like a beast crouching to spring, silver paintwork gleaming even in the half-light of the dim garage. Each morning for three days I went through this ritual; I unlocked my garage door, flicked the up and over door with a swift movement of my arm, and looked at the Katana parked proudly in the middle of the floor.
But I have never owned a Katana.
It's my garage, and I am the only person who has keys, and no-one has broken in, but until last week, I had never seen this bike before. I walked round it for possibly the thousandth time, and marvelled how a twenty year old motorcycle can be in such incredible condition. It is a GSX1100S, 1980 or 1981 judging by the numberplate. The tyres are brand new, without even the patina of dust that a single turn will bring. No-one has even sat on this bike - the seat is still plump and sleek with a thin yellowing veneer of plastic across it.
And it's not mine.
A week, yes, it's a week since I opened the garage and found that I seemed to have acquired a companion for the GS550 which I've used day in and day out for the last four years. There is no way that you could call the GS pristine or spotless, I think it was born grimy and matt black.
The first morning I opened the garage I staggered backwards reeling into the sunshine. I always park the GS in the centre of the room, laziness I guess, it's easy to ride in and wheel out, and nothing else needs to go in there. But this time the GS was parked close to the far wall, the bars grazing the concrete blockwork, while the Kat stood in its traditional place.
For one brief, mad moment I thought that perhaps someone had sneaked in and painted the GS silver in the night, although the Katana and old Suzuki are worlds apart in looks, styling, and well, I hate to say it, class.
If they were girls, then the GS would be a lapdancer in a seedy club and the Kat would be doing pirouettes at the Royal Ballet. I stood out in the sunshine, staring into the gloom of the garage. None of my friends owned - or ever had owned - a Katana, and certainly not one like this.
Besides, as I said, I had the only keys to the garage door, and having carefully checking for any signs of tampering, I had to conclude that either I was completely mad and imagining it, or someone, somehow, had got hold of the keys to my lock-up.
