Moving to the San Francisco Bay Area out of college in 1970 really did a number on me. I had one very old motorcycle, but felt I needed a new one as soon as I arrived. So I bought a Honda CB450.
It was the road (vs trail) bike, and the first for Honda with a front disc brake. It was candy apple red, and chrome. It was so cool to ride. I make weekend trips all over this part of California, from Yosemite to the nearby coast, and San Francisco.
After two years, I was feeling really expert as a rider, and one day coming down Mt Hamilton I nearly went off the road from not paying attention while looking at the view. I reflected on three friend's deaths from motorcycle accidents, none really their fault but they died anyway. So I did a very uncharacteristic thing and put my two bikes up for sale.
The eventual buyer for the 450 was raving about two girls from the east coast who had recently moved in to his apartment complex for the summer, so I met them when I delivered the bike. One was a hot Nordic-type blonde, and ended up being my girlfriend for two years! Not a bad consolation prize, even though the bike was really cool. The guy who bought it made it into a chopper. Too bad, but it was his bike to mess up if he wanted. And I stayed alive all these years.