Stop and Smell the Roses
Sometimes, you gotta stop and smell the roses. This was one of those times. I could barely contain myself. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted
a motorcycle. I even clipped baseball cards to the fender of my Schwinn Stingray bicycle, so they would flutter against the spokes to make motorcycle-
like noises. I always wanted to ride – the further and longer, the better. Well, that didn’t happen for a long time. No particular reason, just the usual things: getting married, working, having kids, a mortgage, bills to pay, getting divorced, alimony, college tuitions,
yada, yada, yada. Finally, sometime between Hanukah and Christmas in 2003, I decided to stick my toe in the swimming pool of motorcycling and bought my first bike: a beautiful, pearl white Harley Davidson Sportster 1200 Custom. My wife Carolyn and I literally forged our relationship on “Mr. Harley” riding together, two up, nearly 17,000 miles in what seemed like the blink of an eye. It’s a good thing we splurged on the fat, cushy touring seat.
The Sporty was a great bike, and we will always
share many fond memories of the times we spent on it. But, while we both loved our Sporty, over time I just couldn’t shake the vague feeling that something was missing in our motorcycling relationship, even after Carolyn got her own Sportster.
The feeling was particularly strong whenever some Road King, Softtail or ElectraGlide would pass us by on the highway, seemingly effortlessly, as the wind buffeted us about on our trusty, but lighter and higher revving Sporty.
So, with increasing frequency I found myself stopping by Petersons Harley Davidson on some pretense to “just look” at all the new “big” bikes. They were beautiful and impressive. It seemed that even if I were to get over the sticker shock, and commit to spending so many hard earned after-tax dollars, picking just one of these many magnificent machines, alone, would be a nearly impossible task. How does one choose between the enduring, retro-classic beauty of a Road King, the easy handling of the Heritage Softail or the living room like comfort of an ElectraGlide? This dragged on for a couple of years. Finally, two days before my 53rd birthday, it happened. Carolyn and I spotted her right away, poised confidently, but demurely on the showroom
floor, like some heavenly, evening gowned Miss America pageant finalist: she was a white/gold flake Street Glide, with hard saddlebags, chromed front end, Stage One pipes, and a fairing with instrumentation
. . . and a Harmon Kardon sound system/CD player. This was the one! So, I did what I always do – I called my friend Bob for advice. He offered his sage wisdom: “Dan, how long are you gonna wait . . . till you’re 60?” I couldn’t argue with that logic. So, the next night (a Thursday) I headed over to Fuddruckers
(Betty’s Best Burgers) to talk up some of the Peterson folks in a neutral, laid back environment.
They came through for me. The next day, my birthday, I took the plunge. Back to Petersons I went, on my trusty Sporty, with my checkbook in my pocket; an hour or so later I headed home on my new Street Glide.
Carolyn and I immediately proceeded to do what we always do in times like these: we loaded up the saddlebags with some clothes and a bottle of Mr. Jack’s finest Old No. 7 and headed to the Southernmost
House in Key West for the weekend. What a ride. On the road, this bike is as smooth as silk, and despite its weight of nearly 800 pounds, even a 5’10” 160 pound lawyer like me can easily handle it, two up with fully loaded saddlebags! Now we know what its like to glide effortlessly down the interstate,
laughing in the face of crosswinds, while our 96 cubic inch V-twin engine loafs along at a mere 2100 rpm in sixth gear!
OK, honestly? This bike wasn’t cheap. And, I did think long and hard about how I’ll make ends meet when I retire, my kids’ education, the uncertain
economy, the skyrocketing cost of food and gas, the disappearing value of our house, and the wisdom – or lack thereof – of parting with so many hard earned after-tax dollars. Not to mention the cost of insurance. But, how long was I going to wait . . . till I’m 60? Nope, I don’t think so. Sometimes, you gotta stop and smell the roses. So, we did. And we still are. It’s been a few years now, and you know what? It was worth every penny.
Ride Safe,
Dan
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This entry was posted on October 13, 2011 at 1:09 am and is filed under Uncategorized with tags 000 miles in what seemed like the blink of an eye. It’s a good thing we splurged on the fat, a mortgage, alimony, alone, and a fairing with instrumentation . . . and a Harmon Kardon sound system/CD player. This was the one! So, and commit to spending so many hard earned after-tax dollars, and despite its weight of nearly 800 pounds, and the wisdom - or lack thereof - of parting with so many hard earned after-tax dollars. Not to mention the cost of insurance. But, and we will always share many fond memories of the times we spent on it. But, and you know what? It was worth every penny. Ride Safe, as the wind buffeted us about on our trusty, bills to pay, but demurely on the showroom floor, but lighter and higher revving Sporty. So, chromed front end, college tuitions, cushy touring seat. The Sporty was a great bike, Dan, even a 5’10” 160 pound lawyer like me can easily handle it, even after Carolyn got her own Sportster. The feeling was particularly strong whenever some Road King, evening gowned Miss America pageant finalist: she was a white/gold flake Street Glide, getting divorced, having kids, honestly? This bike wasn’t cheap. And, how long are you gonna wait . . . till you’re 60?” I couldn’t argue with that logic. So, how long was I going to wait . . . till I’m 60? Nope, I decided to stick my toe in the swimming pool of motorcycling and bought my first bike: a beautiful, I did think long and hard about how I’ll make ends meet when I retire, I did what I always do – I called my friend Bob for advice. He offered his sage wisdom: “Dan, I don’t think so. Sometimes, I took the plunge. Back to Petersons I went, I wanted a motorcycle. I even clipped baseball cards to the fender of my Schwinn Stingray bicycle, it happened. Carolyn and I spotted her right away, just the usual things: getting married, laid back environment. They came through for me. The next day, laughing in the face of crosswinds, like some heavenly, my birthday, my kids’ education, nearly 17, ometimes, on my trusty Sporty, over time I just couldn’t shake the vague feeling that something was missing in our motorcycling relationship, pearl white Harley Davidson Sportster 1200 Custom. My wife Carolyn and I literally forged our relationship on “Mr. Harley” riding together, picking just one of these many magnificent machines, poised confidently, retro-classic beauty of a Road King, seemingly effortlessly, so they would flutter against the spokes to make motorcycle- like noises. I always wanted to ride – the further and longer, Softtail or ElectraGlide would pass us by on the highway, sometime between Hanukah and Christmas in 2003, Stage One pipes, that didn’t happen for a long time. No particular reason, the better. Well, the disappearing value of our house, the easy handling of the Heritage Softail or the living room like comfort of an ElectraGlide? This dragged on for a couple of years. Finally, the next night (a Thursday) I headed over to Fuddruckers (Betty’s Best Burgers) to talk up some of the Peterson folks in a neutral, the skyrocketing cost of food and gas, the uncertain economy, this bike is as smooth as silk, two days before my 53rd birthday, two up, two up with fully loaded saddlebags! Now we know what its like to glide effortlessly down the interstate, we did. And we still are. It’s been a few years now, while our 96 cubic inch V-twin engine loafs along at a mere 2100 rpm in sixth gear! OK, while we both loved our Sporty, with hard saddlebags, with increasing frequency I found myself stopping by Petersons Harley Davidson on some pretense to “just look” at all the new “big” bikes. They were beautiful and impressive. It seemed that ev, with my checkbook in my pocket; an hour or so later I headed home on my new Street Glide. Carolyn and I immediately proceeded to do what we always do in times like these: we loaded up the saddlebags w, working, would be a nearly impossible task. How does one choose between the enduring, yada, yada. Finally, you gotta stop and smell the roses. So, you gotta stop and smell the roses. This was one of those times. I could barely contain myself. Ever since I was a kid. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
