There are similarities between jeans and motorcycle helmets. One brand may fit like a glove, while another matching brand may feel like an unwanted companion. Another similarity is that you can be so attached to your cute hat or pair of jeans that you don’t even notice when something so important has reached the end of its life. Your jeans are hanging on your butt like burlap threads. And then your helmet floats over 130 like a little bird over your skull while the chin strap tries to choke you.
I got my first perfect helmet after a fitting session of a second or so because I had signed up with a company that advertises itself as ‘the only professional you can go to without an appointment’. My perfectly fitting hat happened to be red. So it became red. A few years later I was ready for a new article. At the same address I received information that I would never have imagined. The dealer already had to order the black and matte black caps twice. But he stayed with the helmet in the beautiful tones of the Alfa Romeo colors. And while ‘Bleu Zaffiro Trussardi Metallico’ is still a beautiful colour.
I didn’t expect helmets to be so fashion sensitive. But I am also a 1.0 person who looks at his Lief in amazement when he reports with joy and pride: “Look, I bought you a nice sweater!”. I am grateful for such a gesture. But what should I do with it? After all, I already have a sweater. “But if I buy a similar colored hat that you don’t sell, will I get a discount?” I kindly accepted the discount and enjoyed a helmet that fit me for a few years, a color I couldn’t see when I put it on.
Recently I was forced back from Rostock on the Autobahn home with rain behind the windshield. The drops hit my eyes because my visor was so worn that I had to open it while following the path of the guard with my left hand to find my course. My hat tried to fly in the air. The wind blew past my temples. My neck became cold and wet. It was all uncomfortable. Two days later I had an annoying whistling sound in my left ear. Fortunately it disappeared. Or maybe I didn’t hear him again.
So it was time for another new crash helmet. In the world of sixth- to eighth-grade car dealers, the saying goes: “You’re stuck with white…” With that thought in mind, I eagerly pointed out the white hood and dreamed of a big discount. The seller spoke gratefully: “You’re being modern, white is the rage this season! White is the new black.” That hurt for a while. Just the idea that one color can easily become another. Fortunately, I remembered the slogan I once saw on a rat bike: “Rest is the new black”. So it had to be something like that. It became a red hat again. With discounts. Another benefit of the new tight fitting helmet: I no longer hear my valves. So these need not be said.