So it turns out that, in addition to being a more accurate shot than NYPD officers, Jeffrey T. Johnson was also a bit of an artist. He drew these pictures of a woman riding a Kawasaki ZX-12R after meeting her at a gas station.
“This illustration derives itself from an unforgettable exchange I had while filling my Brava with high test just after leaving work,” Johnson wrote on SmugMug. “It was midsummer 1983, with a typical sunset in Sarasota, Florida enveloping the fading daylight in voluptuous evening colors that you only experience in that latitude. While the tank was filling, I knelt by the left front tire to check its pressure. I heard the shriek of a big engine Japanese motorcycle and looked up. I watched a Kawasaki GPZ-750 streak in and park in a smooth coordination of deliberate speed and rider athleticism, alongside the pumps across from me. Nimbly dismounting her solid red bike, a svelte young woman slipped her helmet off, then shook her blonde hair loose. Sunsets at this time of year in Sarasota can be unique displays of the days waning light as I alluded to earlier. While deep purple silhouettes shrouded all but the orang-yellow sun settling below the horizon on Sarasota Bay, everything within a cozy bubble of ten feet was preturnaturally defined by a diamond edged sharpness of subdued colors. Her bike had a Candy Apple Red cafe racer fairing with body panels and her helmet painted to match. Wearing an emerald green”old man” tank top” over skin tight jeans, she dressed and moved with confident assurance. Reflected in the Kawasaki’s chrome exhaust pack was my red Brava. I couldn’t help but smile…red was my favorite color too. Her blonde tresses fell just below the taut line of her shoulders and was being teased by a sea breeze coming off the bay water.”
“‘Nice Bike,’ I said.”
“Half turning my way with her helmet in hand she spoke two words in a soft, throaty voice, ‘Fast bike.’”
“’Nice helmet,’ I added.”
“‘Expensive helmet,’ was her second two word reply, this time with a hint of wariness. I had finished checking my tires and was returning the fuel nozzle to its pump hanger as she walked past to pay at the attendant’s booth.”
“‘Take me for a ride,’ was my flirtatious compliment toward her bike and admiration for her riding spirit. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two at most. Giving me a sidelong glance and the merest wisp of a friendly smile, she spoke her third two word reply, ‘Not insured.’”
“I’ve changed her GPZ-750 to a ZX-12R because I couldn’t find a kit for the 750. When the ZX-12R came out several years later I have no doubt she would have been riding it so I judge my artistic license to be minimal.”