Death of a motorcycle

5 years, 30000 miles and the motorcycle that I have come to refer to as my noble steed has decided it quits. Since I have had relatively few material possessions during my time in the US, I have grown fond of the few that I did have. And the 2003 blue-white yamaha yzf600R is perhaps the one that I have cherished the most. In the company of a certain yellow suzuki sv 500, it has taken me through the stunning mountains of Utah and to the incredibly desolate deserts of Nevada in the North and Baja in the south. On it I have scaled the beautiful Southern California shore under its mild cold Sun an innumerable number of times. I have crisscrossed across the myriad neighborhoods of San Diego, from the affluent north to the seedy south and the surprisingly diverse east. I have ridden it in the sweltering heat of Calexico and the cold damp of Flagstaff. I have ridden it on ribboning mountaneous roads with nary a soul to be seen and on the suffocatingly clogged freeways. I have taken it to its limits, to speeds which would be imprudent to mention and I have slipped it through exceedingly tight tolerances. And it has always responded with vigor and has made me feel alive on those sweeping curves where I had to bend it low, very low, with the asphalt a small distance away and the world frozen in an amber drop of serenity: the Sun reflecting in the visor, the rippled jeans, and the incredible drop a few feet away. Well it has been an absolutely great run and hopefully there are bigger and better things ahead!