Let me take you back to summer 2016. For the first time in my life I bought a cruiser type bike, a Hog aka Harley Davidson. I bought it for all the wrong reasons. My friends filling my head with lines like, "a Harley will get you laid" and "a Harley is all American". So, I know a girl at the dealership whom works in the office, so I bypass the salesmen, and negotiate a killer deal on a Street Glide and a handy in the back building. Unfortunately at the time of pickup there were people in the back warehouse and I could not recieve the handy.
They were right about getting me laid, wrong about the bike being all American. So many of the components are now outsourced. The clothing and accessory chrome are all made overseas. Here in the US, riding a HOG automatically puts you in a club of some hardcore riders, but more poseurs than hardcore. The type of poseurs who claim to be the real deal, when all they do is fire up their hog occasionally and ride to the local tavern and back. The type of riders who pick on me when I practice ATGATT (all the gear all the time).
2009, in the village of Hell, Michigan at the Hell Tavern. My steed, an 09' GS Adventure (don't hold that against me, I didn't know any better back then
). Actually, I loved the bike, mounting a Blitzkrieg in many states on her, even if her sticking fuel injectors made me want to pull my hair out on some mornings. On cool mornings, one or both of the injectors would stick. I used to have to remove the injectors, hook wire leads from a 9V battery to the injector leads, and pulse the injectors until they got hot. Then hurry up and install the injectors and start the bike. Doing this on trips in the morning before my first cup of covfefe pissed me off royally. BMW blamed the ethanol in our fuel. Funny, none of the Japanese bikes and other European machines had an issue with our fuel.
Anyway, back to Hell. I'm dressed in Cordura head to toe. I walk up to the deck, I think yous call it a stoep. Harley rider in flippies, shorts, and a t-shirt, with 3 teeth protruding from his mouth, says to me, "hey arrr yous a fire min or arrr yous going up on the next space shuttle"
Me being a quick witted smart ass, I replied, "well, I started a fire in your mamas panties last night and was scheduled to go up in the shuttle, but your mom begged me to stay on Earth". It's just the way we talk to one another around here!
Back to HOG ownership. As soon as I bought the Hog, I left on a ride representing Downs Syndrome Awareness through the New England states and through the Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, back through Nova Scotia to Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, Quebec, and finally back through Ontario to home. 16 days, with 8 days of frigid North Atlantic rain. Here I am in Clarenville, Newfoundland, awaking to another day of frigid temps and rain.
16 days, 4,416 miles or 7,106 kilometers through some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen. Perhaps another RR someday. When I returned home, I felt as if I'd been beat up by a gang before being run over by a Mack truck. I grew up riding dirt bikes from a young age. I like my pegs directly underneath me. The feet forward design of a cruiser is too unnatural for me, and I'm just too damn tall for any cruiser. Especially a Street Glide with a 'slammed' rear end with 2.25 inches of suspension travel.
So, a few weeks later once healed, I continue the ride for Downs awareness and leave for a Southern States tour down through Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, to visit my ole' buddy Crazy Bill in Louisiana, another buddy Chef Brian near Fort Worth, Texas. I also got to meet the little boy with Downs I have been riding for in Dallas, Texas. What a handsome little baby boy, eh?
While visiting the DFW area, my girlfriend began having problems. One of those girls who just simply cannot be alone, even for a few days without a man in her life. She was whining and crying that she felt like she was going to die if I didn't come home soon.
I told her I was not going to be home for at least another couple of weeks. She said I needed to come home the next day. I told her that was
NOT happening.
So, the next morning I boarded a plane and flew from Fort Worth to Detroit
storing my HOG in Brian's garage.
Topic: A Dirty Wild Dog Rides to God's Country to Visit Da Yoopers, Eh. (Read 34173 times)