Poor old Trudy. Twenty years is a good stretch by any measure. Far too long to be abandoned to the forgotten corners of uncounted garages, lofts and warehouses, while her master chased one hopeless relationship or business after another. She had run, off and on, over the years, had a few laps around the track with other vintage racers, been subjected to the indignities of stripped lights, safety wire and more than a few cheap aftermarket parts. She's rumored to have even worn another bike's plates, when one owner couldn't afford to insure her . . . Receiving the occasional polish and wax, or having her valves and timing bits experience the odd slap and tickle kept her alive, but she watched the others get ridden regularly. They'd come and go, sometimes be replaced by shiny new bikes, and all the while she'd wait neglected in the cobwebs. Not that she'd lost her pride. Quite the contrary, she stood defiantly oblivious to her neglect, giving her master a sly wink now and then, to keep him enthralled. She knew her power, and was secure in her ability to eventually seduce her master into giving her all of his attention.