Me and my buddy Griz were standing outside a tavern on a warm summer night one time. Now, I’m a reasonably big dude, but Griz, well, he come by that name honest. He was a total cream puff, of course, with a heart of gold, but he did have a tendency to look the part. Black t-shirt, black leathers, black beard, big burly biker. Both our Harleys were parked on the sidewalk there.
So these two young guys came out of the bar to their bikes, a couple of Honda 750s, parked right close to us. One of them turned to us and said, “Hey, could I ask you a question? What is it about Harleys? I mean, everybody knows they’re slow, and heavy, and expensive. Why do people buy them?”
I took a slow breath as I formulated my answer. “It’s not about speed, or power”, I was gonna say. “It’s about how they make you feel when you ride them. There’s something about that big old engine, with two coffee cans going up and down one after another inside those huge barrels, that just comes out right. You can’t spin ’em too fast, and you don’t want to push ’em too hard, and they will carry you around like an old horse for years, and feel good all the time. And you can fix them yourself!”
“On the other hand”, I was gonna say, “there are so many levels of parts and expertise out there you can take any Harley and make it into one that your friends will recognize in the middle of that giant field outside Milwaukee in 2003, you can make it something that is yours, and yours alone. You can make a show bike, restore an antique, pop wheelies, whatever you want!
And ignore that shit about the “Harley Fraternity”, it’s not like that. What happens is, you get some time on the road, you run into some folks who ride similar bikes, you get to know them at the bar, you show up at a few meetings, you go on rides together, and before you know it you’re part of a brotherhood. You can’t do it on purpose. You have to earn it.”
That’s what I was gonna say, but, before I could get a word out, Griz took a step towards the young guy and growled, “Fuck You! Get on that piece of Jap Crap and get out of here before I kick your ass!” Both young guys did just that, amazingly fast.
I’m like, “Gawdammit, Griz, that was a reasonable question! You’re only pissed because that 750 will run circles around your shovel! I coulda talked them into showing up at the next Chapter meeting, maybe! You just gotta stop running off the young guys, or we turn into a bunch of old farts reminiscing all the time.”
Griz laughed. “Yeah, but fuck it. Let’s go back inside, have another beer.”
And so we did. And that’s how that shit happens. :-{)}
