I was interested, apart from the shiny red exterior, bells and whistles and sound remeniscent of a kids go kart. However, it was almost brand new with all the papers up to date. I did consider buying it and then dropping it in dirt and s*** a few times as to make it less like wearing a sign on my forehead saying 'gringo here, rob me'.
I was somewhat over searching. It hadn't been easy. Latin American websites, translating messages, hoping that sellers spoke a little English which wasn't that common.
I arranged to meet up with the owner of a bike of the same make and model. I watched as a cool looking couple arrived at the meeting point on what looked and sounded like a real motorbike. Due to these factors, I could only come to the conclusion that it was a coincidence that they happened to be there, and this was not the bike I was to view. It was. He'd stripped all the badges and other horrible bling, painted it flat black and taken out the muffler giving the bike a louder and tougher sound than that other peasle which now seemed out of the equation entirely.
I pretended I knew more than I do by giving the bike an imaginary inspection 'just checking a few thing things are in order'.
I decided when I sat on the bike and started it that I would buy it unless something strange happened during the trial ride. The trial ride was very peculiar, however any imperfections and the fact that I stalled next to cops and couldn´t start the bike for five minutes were certainly not enough to deter me from the bond I had immediately developed with this fine motorcycle, if anything enhancing it.
After agreeing on a price and a shaking of hands, we were off to start a tedious and arduous two days of paperwork that still pains and confuses me to think about.
After day one saw us paying visits to most of the required offices, each with it's own system confusing even to Paulo my seller, we headed to an old Santiago bar to celebrate like the good friends we now were, chugging down many of their infamous drinks 'terremotos', which translates to 'earthquake'.
My sore head wasn't the only thing suggesting this name lived up to its reputation. Paulo, the Dj and didgeridoo playing Chilean had snapped his tibia on the way home, meaning the remainder of the paper work only became more difficult and painful.
A few weeks more of prep, and a name born. Ghost Shadow