Olga

Olga

My very significant other

SHE WAS NOT MY FIRST. There had been others before her. But she was the only 0-mile bike I ever laid my hands on, and she was all

mine. It was during our first, rugged year together in Africa that she really proved herself, and I knew I had to put a proper name to her stout, BMW R80 G/S figure. I baptized her “Olga,” and I had no doubt that it was the perfect name for her. To me, the name represents a sturdy, hard-working Norwegian woman who never gives up, no matter how steep and difficult the fjordlands become.

During our travels around the world, Olga drew large crowds. Many a friendly host begged to take her for a spin. In a diplomatic tone seasoned with humor, I sin-

cerely explained that the broad-hipped, overweight motorcycle was to be treated as if she were my wife. While I denied no one a test ride, I discouraged requests by proposing spousal trades.

On the road, the interdependence we shared was unimaginable. When I was down with some godawful illness, Olga stood by my side and quietly waited until I was ready to move on. I, on the other hand, got upset and frustrated when she called it quits. Olga was the patient one in the marriage. I remember when little

I remember one day when a little boy came running up to me, screaming, “Big bike swimming, big bike swimming!” It didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. I had left Olga on a lovely Brazilian beach, forgetting the tide was due to turn. She fell over in the salty mire, and we were forced to rescue her by dugout canoe. The months to come brought frustrating mechanical trouble, the direct consequences of Olga’s impromptu swim.

In our 10 years abroad, we had some amazing adventures. I can’t speak for Olga, but I couldn't have picked a better two-wheeled

companion. Nor could I have done it without her. She is now on display in the BMW Museum in Munich, Germany. If you stop by, please say hello to my dear, sweet Olga. And tell her that I miss her. -Helge Pedersen