April 23:
I bought a motorcycle today. It's everybody's fault.
B.B. made me do it. He and his biker buddies waxed philosophical about riding for years, and it seemed like a fun idea which he highly recommended to me. Before leaving for Harley repair school in Arizona, he urged me to sign up for the Motorcycle Safety Foundation 2-day RiderCourse to get my endorsement without having to deal with a cop, and learn how to ride "the right way". I didn't quite get around to signing up in time last year.
Lady Jane made me do it. She's been riding for years -- from daily commutes to regular cross-country group rides (including Maine to Milwaukee for the 100th Anniversary... whoa!), and I quickly learned how much I liked riding "pillion" in her comfy padded leather bitch seat. She knew I wanted to learn to ride, so she kept after me until I finally signed up for the course. The earliest opening was the weekend after her yearly ride with her dad to Washington, DC for Rolling Thunder, a massive POW-MIA biker rally at the Pentagon parking lot with a popular parade around the Capitol ending at the Wall. I kinda wanted to show up in DC on the bitch seat and be able to say (gruffly), "yeah, I just took the course, so really I'm just like one of you burly tattooed ex-marines with $20 grand bikes with 30 grand on the odo... I'm just on my ole lady's bike because I couldn't get my boss hawg outta the shop in time...*snort*". But alas like so many other things in life, due to procrastination it was not to be.
Culture made me do it. I never really minded being shit on by strangers and laughed at by truckers cluing each other in over CB radio [edit: or be nicknamed and consistenly referred to as "Barbie" at Rolling Thunder], but it was definitely time for me to get on my own bike.
So today I got myself an '85 Honda Nighthawk with a 700cc engine, the largest size engine my adorable girlfriend with something like 69,000 miles of road experience thought I should start with for a first bike. I only paid $800 for it, including a small payday loan from LJ's father, who had come up for the day on his Ultra-Glide to help me shop for a used bike within my $500-600 cash budget. It was such a perfect bike that he just offered to chip in for the difference until I get paid again. I've had a few cool girlfriends' dads before (plus a few raging, homicidal maniacs), but this guy just takes the cake.
I also rode the thing today! I dropped it once the first time I took off on it, then picked it right up by myself, which would make B.B. very proud, as he is fond of telling a story about the Statewide rally where a middle-aged, middle-class perhaps recently retired couple with a pair of brand-new touring Harleys demonstrated an embarrassing lack of command over their steely steeds as first the wife drops her bike, grinding the polished factory paint into the gravel road, then the husband, impotently attempting to help, tips his bike over, leavaing them both to pick up their bikes which, even with their combined lifting power on a single bike, failed to raise either beast. Then the already poser-weary B.B. stomped menacingly over to this mess of metal and newbies which was now holding up traffic in their area of the rally, effortlessly raises each hog to its feet, points at the bewildered couple and barks, "If you can't pick it up, you shouldn't fuckin' be riding it." and stomps off much as he had approached. He really is an extremely patient and understanding person most of the time...really. :-)
So after having it explained to me by both Lady Jane and her dad exactly how I had caused that to happen, I had several very successful loops and infinities around the empty, barely-lit church parking lot. I only half-dropped it once more, but only because the way I was sitting was suddenly crushing my low-hanging fruit. Once the pain in my kidneys subsided and her father headed off for his 50°F, hour-long highway ride home, I continued to putt around in first gear to begin to practice steering at various radii while Jane, already semi-frozen from riding my bike home for me only minutes before, continued to observe and instruct my First Motorcycle Ride Evar™ in the chilly night air (what a girl!) and said I did really well for my first time, as did her Dad before he left. She even offered to call B.B. to let him know how well I was doing, so I let her. Jealous that he couldn't be there for it but very very happy for me no less. The first time I was ever on the back of a motorcycle was on B.B.'s shovelhead over a year ago, so he was pretty proud.
* * * * *
August 19:
I took the course on June 1-2, the weekend after Rolling Thunder. It wasn't easy as I was simultaneously learning manual transmission for the first time. Yes, I know... somehow I just never learned... and once I passed the state exam they administer at the end of the second day, the instructor told me that usually people who don't already know how to drive stick don't pass the course the first time. Nice!
And so I rode. Gingerly, at first, with Lady Jane riding alongside, coaching me towards road-worthiness. I was in a full-face Snell helmet, leather jacket, full-fingered leather gloves, leather jacket and leather assless chaps (modestly, she made me put jeans on underneath). Eventually I worked my way comfortably onto back roads, then side streets, then the main drag, then all over downtown, then even the highway. Easy peasy.
I rode to work every day, and even secured a special remainder-sized parking spot in the inner corner of the building-overhang parking lot at the office with not only the property owner's blessing, but a custom-printed sign, which he made unsolicited, that says "$COMPANY Motorcycle Parking Only". Sweeeeet.
LJ and I went on rides around New Hampshire with her dad and with the Seacoast HOG chapter, including one very fun animal shelter benefit ride with over 100 bikes including very clumsy police bike escorts blocking traffic for us and causing a few accidents through showmanship, blithe stupidity and bad luck. Eveyrone survived, thankfully, and I got enough XP to advance to a Level 2 Biker-Rogue (with natural-rolled-18 intelligence and charisma...).
Anyway, we just got home last night from the New Hampshire/Vermont State HOG Rally up in the beautiful remote ski town of Waterville Valley, NH. So there I was at a Harley Owners Group event riding my ricy little Honda generator:
When I noticed a beautiful 10-year-old shiny, candy-blue Harley for sale for only $5,300 with 19k miles. I chatted with the seller who had rode it up to the event and learned that he wanted to sell it quickly so he could put a down payment on a brand new model Harley that just came out, but assured me that it was in great shape and that he took very good care of it, even changing the oil on a clockwork 2,000-mile schedule. Overall he was a very conscientious owner, and Lady Jane and her experienced, mechanically-inclined father looked it all over and agreed that it looked and sounded to be in great shape.
I called B.B. and told him about it, and he strongly suggested pouncing on it if I can at all afford it. I applied for a loan through my credit union tonight, but they will have to call me back on Monday with an answer.
* * * * *
August 26:
Well, my sister had to co-sign due to lack of any recent credit history on my part, and I had to come up with 10% in cash, AND they shortened the period from 3 years to 2 (HAY TANKS GUYS!!!1), but my credit union came through and funded the asking price.
So we missed iGrrrl's gig in Boston last night in favor of traveling across New Hampshire to the rural Keene area on Lady Jane's bitch seat "one last time" (not really) with her parents riding alongside, to go pick up my Harley. What a beautiful day. So beautiful, I had a searing, soul-crushing migraine about 20 minutes before we got there and had to stop and cover my head in bags of frozen peas (improvization is the spice of life) while I waited for my as-neededs to kick in. I felt more stable after lunch, but it never went away.
Who cares, anwyay, because I bought a Harley and it kicks ASS! The ride home was the most triumphant and euphoric [not to mention comfortable] ride ever. The lights shined magically off the chrome the whole way home up the highway in the dark with my girl tailing a few feet behind in her still-bigger-than-mine road monster.
Today I got to show up at the Seacoast dealership for a HOG chapter event actually on a Harley, which was very exciting for some friends of LJ and her dad who had gotten to know me over the summer as the guy on that little Honda. They were so happy for me they took my picture on it (the bike behind mine is Lady Jane's):
* * * * *
September 23:
I had a lovely lunch in a sunny park downtown on Friday, then hopped on my Harley and rolled off towards the office to continue my workday. Some guy in front of me on a one-way 2-lane tightly-curved road couldn't decide which lane to be in and it was making me nervious, so I swerved around him.
I didn't notice the sand bar which had collected on the edge of the shoulderless road right by the curb. As my rear tire plowed into it I was leaning to the left to negotiate the curve while passing this clown. My rear tire slid out from underneath me, and the whole bike quickly followed, tossing me gently to the ground at about 30mph where my right hand and left knee broke my fall before I tumbled over myself a couple of times. The car sped away after running over my detachable (and detached) plexi windshield I had just purchased for $240 the day after I bought the bike.
I immediately stood up and my hand hurt sharply, but my last pair of well-fitting unripped jeans was now ripped clear across the knee, and my kneecap was just about totally skinned. A motorist stopped and immediately helped me put the bike up on the sidestand as a cop pulled up behind him. They called an ambulance which cleaned my wound and determined I hadn't actually broken anything, and gave me the option of going to the hospital which I turned down in favor of going the hell home. They towed my bike which Lady Jane rode home for me later (I was able to drive her car within hours). Fortunately only a few shiny bits got scratched up, the paint was untouched, and a broken tail light was a $5 replacement. Aside from the ruined $240 windshield, I was pretty damned lucky.
I went to a clinic today and they verified nothing was broken except the bursa sack underneath my kneecap which apparently heals itself, gave us some good antibiotic cream and sent me home.
While couched and holding an ice pack on Friday night, and while gulping Dr McGillicuddy's peppermint schnopps, I called my friend B.B. to congratulate him on graduating from motorcycle mechanics institute. Despite a long day of fielding calls from everyone else he knew, he was quite tickled that this had to happen on the day he graduates from Harley school, of all days.
He then told me, as Lady Jane had told me, "Congratulations. Now, you are officially a biker."
Ow. It hurts to give the thumbs-up.
* * * * *
October 5:
My knee is slowly closing back up, my hand still hurts sharply under certain conditions, and I'm back to riding to work every day. LJ and I even went on a really nice scenic ride together over the weekend.
I'm still a little shy while cornering, but I suspect I will lose the unhelpful twitchiness to a more moderate learned vigilance for little goddamn piles of road sand. When I ride, I ride with a new pride. When the wind stings my knee wound, I grin.
And when I return to DC next Memorial Day weekend for Rolling Thunder 2008 on my 1997 Harley Dyna SuperGlide, the headlight will be straddled by a naked barbie doll.
I bought a motorcycle today. It's everybody's fault.
B.B. made me do it. He and his biker buddies waxed philosophical about riding for years, and it seemed like a fun idea which he highly recommended to me. Before leaving for Harley repair school in Arizona, he urged me to sign up for the Motorcycle Safety Foundation 2-day RiderCourse to get my endorsement without having to deal with a cop, and learn how to ride "the right way". I didn't quite get around to signing up in time last year.
Lady Jane made me do it. She's been riding for years -- from daily commutes to regular cross-country group rides (including Maine to Milwaukee for the 100th Anniversary... whoa!), and I quickly learned how much I liked riding "pillion" in her comfy padded leather bitch seat. She knew I wanted to learn to ride, so she kept after me until I finally signed up for the course. The earliest opening was the weekend after her yearly ride with her dad to Washington, DC for Rolling Thunder, a massive POW-MIA biker rally at the Pentagon parking lot with a popular parade around the Capitol ending at the Wall. I kinda wanted to show up in DC on the bitch seat and be able to say (gruffly), "yeah, I just took the course, so really I'm just like one of you burly tattooed ex-marines with $20 grand bikes with 30 grand on the odo... I'm just on my ole lady's bike because I couldn't get my boss hawg outta the shop in time...*snort*". But alas like so many other things in life, due to procrastination it was not to be.
Culture made me do it. I never really minded being shit on by strangers and laughed at by truckers cluing each other in over CB radio [edit: or be nicknamed and consistenly referred to as "Barbie" at Rolling Thunder], but it was definitely time for me to get on my own bike.
So today I got myself an '85 Honda Nighthawk with a 700cc engine, the largest size engine my adorable girlfriend with something like 69,000 miles of road experience thought I should start with for a first bike. I only paid $800 for it, including a small payday loan from LJ's father, who had come up for the day on his Ultra-Glide to help me shop for a used bike within my $500-600 cash budget. It was such a perfect bike that he just offered to chip in for the difference until I get paid again. I've had a few cool girlfriends' dads before (plus a few raging, homicidal maniacs), but this guy just takes the cake.
I also rode the thing today! I dropped it once the first time I took off on it, then picked it right up by myself, which would make B.B. very proud, as he is fond of telling a story about the Statewide rally where a middle-aged, middle-class perhaps recently retired couple with a pair of brand-new touring Harleys demonstrated an embarrassing lack of command over their steely steeds as first the wife drops her bike, grinding the polished factory paint into the gravel road, then the husband, impotently attempting to help, tips his bike over, leavaing them both to pick up their bikes which, even with their combined lifting power on a single bike, failed to raise either beast. Then the already poser-weary B.B. stomped menacingly over to this mess of metal and newbies which was now holding up traffic in their area of the rally, effortlessly raises each hog to its feet, points at the bewildered couple and barks, "If you can't pick it up, you shouldn't fuckin' be riding it." and stomps off much as he had approached. He really is an extremely patient and understanding person most of the time...really. :-)
So after having it explained to me by both Lady Jane and her dad exactly how I had caused that to happen, I had several very successful loops and infinities around the empty, barely-lit church parking lot. I only half-dropped it once more, but only because the way I was sitting was suddenly crushing my low-hanging fruit. Once the pain in my kidneys subsided and her father headed off for his 50°F, hour-long highway ride home, I continued to putt around in first gear to begin to practice steering at various radii while Jane, already semi-frozen from riding my bike home for me only minutes before, continued to observe and instruct my First Motorcycle Ride Evar™ in the chilly night air (what a girl!) and said I did really well for my first time, as did her Dad before he left. She even offered to call B.B. to let him know how well I was doing, so I let her. Jealous that he couldn't be there for it but very very happy for me no less. The first time I was ever on the back of a motorcycle was on B.B.'s shovelhead over a year ago, so he was pretty proud.
* * * * *
August 19:
I took the course on June 1-2, the weekend after Rolling Thunder. It wasn't easy as I was simultaneously learning manual transmission for the first time. Yes, I know... somehow I just never learned... and once I passed the state exam they administer at the end of the second day, the instructor told me that usually people who don't already know how to drive stick don't pass the course the first time. Nice!
And so I rode. Gingerly, at first, with Lady Jane riding alongside, coaching me towards road-worthiness. I was in a full-face Snell helmet, leather jacket, full-fingered leather gloves, leather jacket and leather assless chaps (modestly, she made me put jeans on underneath). Eventually I worked my way comfortably onto back roads, then side streets, then the main drag, then all over downtown, then even the highway. Easy peasy.
I rode to work every day, and even secured a special remainder-sized parking spot in the inner corner of the building-overhang parking lot at the office with not only the property owner's blessing, but a custom-printed sign, which he made unsolicited, that says "$COMPANY Motorcycle Parking Only". Sweeeeet.
LJ and I went on rides around New Hampshire with her dad and with the Seacoast HOG chapter, including one very fun animal shelter benefit ride with over 100 bikes including very clumsy police bike escorts blocking traffic for us and causing a few accidents through showmanship, blithe stupidity and bad luck. Eveyrone survived, thankfully, and I got enough XP to advance to a Level 2 Biker-Rogue (with natural-rolled-18 intelligence and charisma...).
Anyway, we just got home last night from the New Hampshire/Vermont State HOG Rally up in the beautiful remote ski town of Waterville Valley, NH. So there I was at a Harley Owners Group event riding my ricy little Honda generator:
When I noticed a beautiful 10-year-old shiny, candy-blue Harley for sale for only $5,300 with 19k miles. I chatted with the seller who had rode it up to the event and learned that he wanted to sell it quickly so he could put a down payment on a brand new model Harley that just came out, but assured me that it was in great shape and that he took very good care of it, even changing the oil on a clockwork 2,000-mile schedule. Overall he was a very conscientious owner, and Lady Jane and her experienced, mechanically-inclined father looked it all over and agreed that it looked and sounded to be in great shape.
I called B.B. and told him about it, and he strongly suggested pouncing on it if I can at all afford it. I applied for a loan through my credit union tonight, but they will have to call me back on Monday with an answer.
* * * * *
August 26:
Well, my sister had to co-sign due to lack of any recent credit history on my part, and I had to come up with 10% in cash, AND they shortened the period from 3 years to 2 (HAY TANKS GUYS!!!1), but my credit union came through and funded the asking price.
So we missed iGrrrl's gig in Boston last night in favor of traveling across New Hampshire to the rural Keene area on Lady Jane's bitch seat "one last time" (not really) with her parents riding alongside, to go pick up my Harley. What a beautiful day. So beautiful, I had a searing, soul-crushing migraine about 20 minutes before we got there and had to stop and cover my head in bags of frozen peas (improvization is the spice of life) while I waited for my as-neededs to kick in. I felt more stable after lunch, but it never went away.
Who cares, anwyay, because I bought a Harley and it kicks ASS! The ride home was the most triumphant and euphoric [not to mention comfortable] ride ever. The lights shined magically off the chrome the whole way home up the highway in the dark with my girl tailing a few feet behind in her still-bigger-than-mine road monster.
Today I got to show up at the Seacoast dealership for a HOG chapter event actually on a Harley, which was very exciting for some friends of LJ and her dad who had gotten to know me over the summer as the guy on that little Honda. They were so happy for me they took my picture on it (the bike behind mine is Lady Jane's):
* * * * *
September 23:
I had a lovely lunch in a sunny park downtown on Friday, then hopped on my Harley and rolled off towards the office to continue my workday. Some guy in front of me on a one-way 2-lane tightly-curved road couldn't decide which lane to be in and it was making me nervious, so I swerved around him.
I didn't notice the sand bar which had collected on the edge of the shoulderless road right by the curb. As my rear tire plowed into it I was leaning to the left to negotiate the curve while passing this clown. My rear tire slid out from underneath me, and the whole bike quickly followed, tossing me gently to the ground at about 30mph where my right hand and left knee broke my fall before I tumbled over myself a couple of times. The car sped away after running over my detachable (and detached) plexi windshield I had just purchased for $240 the day after I bought the bike.
I immediately stood up and my hand hurt sharply, but my last pair of well-fitting unripped jeans was now ripped clear across the knee, and my kneecap was just about totally skinned. A motorist stopped and immediately helped me put the bike up on the sidestand as a cop pulled up behind him. They called an ambulance which cleaned my wound and determined I hadn't actually broken anything, and gave me the option of going to the hospital which I turned down in favor of going the hell home. They towed my bike which Lady Jane rode home for me later (I was able to drive her car within hours). Fortunately only a few shiny bits got scratched up, the paint was untouched, and a broken tail light was a $5 replacement. Aside from the ruined $240 windshield, I was pretty damned lucky.
I went to a clinic today and they verified nothing was broken except the bursa sack underneath my kneecap which apparently heals itself, gave us some good antibiotic cream and sent me home.
While couched and holding an ice pack on Friday night, and while gulping Dr McGillicuddy's peppermint schnopps, I called my friend B.B. to congratulate him on graduating from motorcycle mechanics institute. Despite a long day of fielding calls from everyone else he knew, he was quite tickled that this had to happen on the day he graduates from Harley school, of all days.
He then told me, as Lady Jane had told me, "Congratulations. Now, you are officially a biker."
Ow. It hurts to give the thumbs-up.
* * * * *
October 5:
My knee is slowly closing back up, my hand still hurts sharply under certain conditions, and I'm back to riding to work every day. LJ and I even went on a really nice scenic ride together over the weekend.
I'm still a little shy while cornering, but I suspect I will lose the unhelpful twitchiness to a more moderate learned vigilance for little goddamn piles of road sand. When I ride, I ride with a new pride. When the wind stings my knee wound, I grin.
And when I return to DC next Memorial Day weekend for Rolling Thunder 2008 on my 1997 Harley Dyna SuperGlide, the headlight will be straddled by a naked barbie doll.
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