Arthur polished the old motorbikes’s tank. Each scratch held a story – winding country lanes, seaside trips with young Mary laughing behind him. The smell of petrol and leather was the scent of freedom, of glorious summer afternoons long past. A grand old life, shared with a grand old bike. Happy days!

He polished the old BSA’s tank, chrome gleaming softly. Each glint brought back sunlit lanes, youthful laughter, the feel of open air. He remembered Mary’s smile, tucked behind him on adventures past. The engine’s low rumble was a lullaby of simpler times, of freedom and pure, unadulterated joy on two wheels. Those were the days.

He sat on his old Raleigh Model 21, jacket looking new against the worn leather seat. The chrome gleamed, reflecting sunlit roads and forgotten summers. Riding this beauty wasn't just travel; it was time travel. Every turn of the wheel whispered tales of first dates and endless horizons, bringing a quiet smile to his face. Pure joy, preserved.