Now it's the old man's turn to look surprised. He pauses, narrows his eyes at the motorrad, and flicks his tongue out, lizard-like, as if tasting the air. Said tongue is a little thinner and longer than your typical human tongue, though at least there's no fork at the end. "Your machine talks?" he asks, as if deeply suspicious of it. He knows about machines, to some extent-- and that usually they aren't alive.