Though my wife has been telling me for years, it’s taken a long time for me to admit to myself that I’m a pack rat. Yes, my name is Bill, and I struggle with throwing things away. While I’ve not yet reached hoarder status, I just can’t let go of things that spark memories. Whether they’re from events I’ve attended, trips I’ve taken or simply parts from motorcycles long gone, I find it much easier to find a place for them to stay. I find it even harder to let go of things that just might come in handy one day.
Still in my toolbox are a handful of old tools pulled from my dad’s old toolbox, which I’ll pull out once in a while to twist a nut to remember the old man. My garage is so overstuffed I’ve been too embarrassed to let anyone inside. On one shelf, I can see a muffler from my 2016 S 1000 XR sitting atop the box holding Judy’s wedding dress. Not far away, hanging from a nail, is a pair of 40-some-year-old handlebars from a Yamaha YZ 125 C. On another nail is an old rear sprocket from a bike I can’t even remember, while above the workbench rested a pair of handguards from my R 1250 GS.
In our old house, we had space–lots of it, along with a full basement. Because of that and my pack rat tendencies, I never threw anything out. I bought another tub and stored it away, believing I’d deal with it another day or that maybe it would fit again. I still have my old green high school letterman jacket with its faux leather sleeves and “Bill” embroidered on the left chest. The jacket still fits if I don’t button it up or try to breathe. Another cherished item still able to transport me to another time and place.
Preparing for our move, despite filling a dumpster and making multiple trips to the landfill, we still needed a couple of storage units to manage the overflow. As time passed, I managed to reduce our storage needs to just a single unit and our garage. However, this changed recently when Judy decided she wanted to park her car in the garage–the same garage I can’t even walk through. She suggested another dumpster.
A dumpster, I thought, and throw away those family treasures? I can’t do it. I won’t do it!
Well, I lost that argument and, once again, we rented a dumpster and began another purge.
One of the first things to go was the S 1000 XR muffler, followed by the R 1250 GS handguards and the worn-out sprocket. The handlebars stayed, as did Dad’s old tools. Like a time capsule, I opened each tub to carefully examine its contents. I shredded and tossed entire folders of tax documents from decades ago. Those ticket stubs from the 1997 Packers playoffs moved to the “Keeper” tub, as did my first motocross trophy and autographed picture of Bart Starr. Still, we made significant progress and created a lot of room.
The Klim jacket I wore when Judy and I toured Spain and Portugal a year ago moved into the house, and it was then, when reaching into one of the pockets and pulling out a small rock, that I found another must-keep treasure. I had forgotten about this simple rock, yet the memories it released while I held it in my hand were overwhelming.
I had picked up the rock as our guides took us into the mountains to see an ancient Roman highway. Walking the half mile of roadway that has defied more than two centuries of weather and erosion, I was not only amazed that this engineering marvel still existed but wondered who may have traveled this road since its construction.
The rock has been moved to a location better fitting its importance and rests beneath the monitor on my desk to serve as another–and now visible–connection to where Judy and I have traveled and the wonderful experiences we’ve shared.
Though I’ll always be on the lookout for more “rocks,” Judy’s car is now inside the garage, next to my motorcycles, safe from the weather. Until it’s time for another purge, I’m okay with my Jeep braving the elements outside.
