The first thing you notice when you see the motorcycle is that it's not like any other. The design is absolutely unique, with a sleek silver body and sleek black wheels, and a small steampunk-ish engine in the back.
It's a little smaller than most motorcycles, and it has an aesthetic that says "I'm not going to be getting dirty anytime soon."
The second thing you notice is that there are no handles on this bike. That's because this bike doesn't have any pedals or even a seat—it's just meant for standing on. You can stand on either side of it and use your feet to control the throttle and brakes, but mostly you'll just be standing in place while riding it around town.
It was built by [name], who was inspired by his love of steampunk novels and movies. He wanted something that would stand out from all the other bikes out there, so he got rid of everything he thought was boring or unnecessary—and then he added some things that were totally unnecessary but made him smile when he looked at them!
The year was 2071. The world had run out of oil, but that didn't stop the coolest kids from getting ahold of some old-fashioned gas and taking it for a spin.
The motorcycle was built by a group of scientists who were looking for something different: they wanted to build a bike that ran on steam instead of gasoline, and they wanted to make it look as retro as possible. They found an old blueprint for an early 20th century steam engine, and they used that design as the basis for their new bike.
The scientists weren't just building bikes—they were creating art. The paint job was inspired by Jules Verne's classic novel "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," and the bike had brass inlays on all its parts. Each piece was individually crafted by hand and then put together like a puzzle, so no two bikes were exactly alike—each one was unique!
The night was dark and stormy, as it usually is in steampunk novels. The rain pattered down on the tin roof of the little shack that sat at the edge of town, and the wind howled through its cracks.
The two men sat inside, hunched over their glasses of whiskey. One of them was a tall man with a long mustache, and he wore a top hat with a feather in it. The other was smaller and younger, with a scar running down his cheek.
"So," said the young man. "I heard you've got something new."
"Well… yes," said the older man. "You know how I've been trying to build a steam-powered motorcycle? Well, I think I've finally got it working." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small and shiny—a golden key attached to an ornately carved black handle.
"Where'd you get that?" asked the younger man.
"I found it in a box under my bed," replied his friend with a wink. "I think someone must have left it there for me."
A young woman is riding her motorcycle through the woods. She has a scarf wrapped around her neck, and a top hat on her head. She is wearing goggles that are hanging from her neck by a strap.
The sky is gray, and it looks like it's about to rain. The young woman slows down as she approaches the edge of a town. She stops in front of an old-fashioned looking building with a sign displaying the word "saloon."
She lifts up one side of her goggles and looks at the saloon through them with distaste. Then she shrugs and heads inside anyway.
The young man walked down the street, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He had been walking for hours, and he was tired, but he couldn't stop.
He had to find her.
Eventually, after more hours of walking, he reached a small town. The streets were mostly empty except for one person: an old man sitting in front of a shop with a sign that read "bikes". The young man approached him cautiously; he didn't want to scare the man away before he could ask him about his motorcycle.
"Excuse me," said the young man politely. "Do you know where I can find a bike shop?"
The old man looked up at him and smiled kindly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what that is."
"Oh," said the young man. "It's a place where they sell motorcycles."
"Ah," said the old man knowingly. "Then you want to go to the motorcycle shop." He pointed down an alleyway behind him and continued smiling at his customer until he left without another word; then he returned to polishing one of his bikes with a rag as if nothing had happened at all.