I sold the Daytona yesterday. I made the right decision. I know this, but it was bittersweet watching her roll out of my driveway.

The Daytona was my dream bike for a long time. First, the CBR, then the Daytona. I was driven by my basest emotions — I wanted something pretty, I wanted to go fast, and I was over being asked whether I was just learning to ride for eight long years. Nobody questioned my abilities or my commitment to riding once I partnered up with the Daytona.

But as the roads have been getting more crowded and drivers more distracted, it started making less and less sense all the time to be riding an attention-magnet for the sake of stroking my ego. I loved and miss the acceleration on that beast, but it just didn’t make sense to be using her to commute around town while paying through the nose for insurance (super sport probs) and spending my weekend hours on my dirt bike.

I wanted a super sport from the time I started riding nine years ago until I was gifted the opportunity to ride the Daytona last August. Now that I know that a super sport isn’t what I want, I don’t know what to ride anymore. I just want something reliable enough to be my daily driver that has enough low-end power to make me feel safe on the freeway, but I don’t know what that looks like right now.

And so, I’m sitting here, letting that emptiness in my heart and my garage stay empty for now. I’m keeping one eye on Craigslist, but as with all the bikes that have come before, the right one will come in time. Until then, it’s just me and Herbie, derping around. Say hi if you see us. Herbie loves to say hi. (In my head, he sounds like a Muppet.)