Yesterday I had to get my Met inspected to comply with New York State motorcycle ownership law. It was overdue and I had to take care of it, plus the weather turned really nice so suddenly, I now had a real purpose to ride. In truth, the inspection only confirms that the headlight shines with high and low beam, the brake light brightens from a taillight glow to a brake light when any lever is pulled, turn signals will blink and light up and the horn makes noise. There is no emissions test, and it goes very quickly, but it is a challenge to accomplish. It is very hard to find a NY State Authorized Motorcycle Inspection shop and a gas station licensed for car inspections is not able to do the same for a bike. My Honda dealer where I bought the Met is a very inconvenient long ride away. I would have had to arrange for a friend with a truck to bring my scooter just to get the renewal sticker put in place. Someone had told me about a neighborhood tire and auto maintenance shop that did motorcycle inspections, so I rode over to this place called Emil’s to try to put my scooter in compliance.

Entering Emil’s was like stepping into the set of Fiddler On The Roof. Everyone at Emil’s is an Orthodox Jew sporting the beard, skull cap, earlocks and fringed garment of the sect. Oh yeah, they wear mechanic’s jumpsuits and carry tools. But they are closed Friday afternoons and Saturdays, there is a mezuzah at the doorway of each service bay, and they speak Yiddish among themselves, English only to customers. Considering they are located in a somewhat Asian/Italian neighborhood here in Brooklyn, I was a little surprised. They were very polite to me, but anyone addressing me stood at least 6 feet away; orthodox men are forbidden to have contact with females outside their family.

I had to wait a long while, but Shimon finally was ready for my little Met. He smiled and acknowledged how “shayna” the bike is (yes, it is ‘pretty’!) and proceeded to input all the VIN and descriptive data into the official networked computer that New York State provides. As he was careful to avoid touching me as I stood next to the scooter, he asked me to operate the various lights and signals and show him the horn worked. When he got the OK from the State system, he carefully attached the new sticker to the front fork. I paid the $6 fee. Shimon rolled the bike out of the bay for me and when I was about to step over the floor board and sit down, he said, “There you go, all done and now it’s kosher for New York for another year.” I grinned, murmured “Shalom” through my face shield, and rolled on out.