Those who were with me ...

It's been a couple of years now since I left my parent's house. I don't know if you remember that moment when you decided to go on your own, but if you were like me you were more like fleeing the place rather than say goodbye. I packed what I thought to be essential and left in what's today looks like a hurry.

Anyways, I went back to my parents' house a couple of days ago, because I needed one of the stuffs I'd left there. It had been of no use during years and now I felt like I really needed it ... Unlike theirs, my parents had kept all of my stuffs quite in the same place I had left them. That was kind of easy for me to find what I was there for, but the viewing of that mess I left behind me made me understood why my mum wanted me to clear it all out some day.

Enough for the memories ? Well not quite for today. While I was mining in the mess I found a small box. I opened it and found that :

Those who were with me a couple of ears ago will remember the story that lays behind that broken Honda Hornet key. For the others, here it is ... shortened.
I had the bike for only 3 days and had to leave with it 2 days after to attend a convention in Paris. The bike was stuning : bright blue color, nice handling and brillliant - if a bit dull at low revs - engine.

But as often with Hondas of these years, the key was made of soft butter. It was already twisted when I took delivery and I found it already difficult to insert in the ignition socket until it totally broke into pieces. Hopefully, a Honda dealer sorted that out for me so I could leave in time. Now I remember I kept what was left of the key.