SORE KNEES, THE AMAZING INVISIBLE TRUCKER, AND A MUSICAL TREAT!!

Not riding Velvet this weekend, for two reasons. The first is that it's raining here currently and although motorcyclists do ride in the rain all the time, I prefer not to, unless I get caught out in it, as has already happened three or four times in my newly-revived motorcycling hobby. 

Reminds me of my youth, back in high school, when I rode my little Honda in every kind of weather there was and got soaked many times. Emphasis on the word "soaked." You will never get wetter than you will on a bike in the rain, outside a swimming pool or the shower. I carry rain gear with me, yeah, but problem is that when it starts coming down, you get thoroughly saturated before you can find a dry place to stop and put the stuff on! At that point, why even bother with it at all?? And the natural wind chill you generate when you're moving is clammy, even in the summer months. I don't need pneumonia; got enough problems without adding that to the list, thank you!

Which brings me to my second reason for not riding -- a very sore left knee. And a little gimpy, too, with a slight limp. I twisted it last week, while I was hooking to a trailer. The place had the trailers stacked like sardines in a can, only inches between them, so I had to scrunch up underneath my loaded box (again) in order to crank the dollies up, then had to crawl back out from underneath it. Somehow, in the process, my body turned to the left, but my left leg and knee were firmly planted on the asphalt and, uh, didn't turn with the rest of me. Felt a sharp pain instantly and something went "GRONK" in there. It hurt when I did that, so I stopped doing that immediately. Pain is nature's way of telling you to Cut The Crap -- Now!!

It was getting stiff and sore by yesterday morning and by the time I got home, it was decidedly painful, getting in and out of my tractor. Riding was out of the question; I didn't trust my sore left knee to securely handle the weight of my 600 pound Harley when I was stopped, so I passed on that idea. I limped in the house, limped to my 4-wheeler, limped to the drugstore, bought some Icy Hot liniment, limped back home, and slathered half the container on my aching joint. Felt a little better, but still stiff as hell and hurt like a bitch when I first got up this morning.I drew a tubful of steaming water, as hot as I could possibly stand it, lowered my jumbo body into it as gently as I could, and soaked there for almost two hours, drawing more hot water as needed. That seemed to take much of the soreness out of it, and now, slathered again with the Icy Hot and wrapped in an elastic bandage for extra support, I'm sitting here, painless for now, writing this and watching the light drizzle fall outside.

Now let's add insult to injury and reveal the fact that I'm home until Tuesday, due to a dental appointment in the morning when I will have two (2) teeth extracted. Oh, goody!! I'm really looking forward to that, on top of my wounded knee, as I'm sure you can imagine! Gee -- oral surgery! What fun!!! I asked for the day off tomorrow because with all the needed anesthesia I likely won't be in any shape to drive, at least commercially. New dentist; my former one retired at the end of last year and I don't know what manner of Happy Pills this new one will give me.

Oh, I could be Mr. Tough, suck it up, and go on out, but that's probably your worst nightmare, isn't it? A driver behind the wheel of an 80,000 pound monster, whizzing down the highway, zonked out of his gourd on Goofballs!! So, in the interest of public safety, I'll sit home till it wears fully off. By then, with any luck at all, my mouth will just be sore and I can live with that for a day or two. Small, minor things, like eating, will be touch and go for a time, but what the hey -- I can stand to starve off a pound or so anyway! I will survive this, trust me. Vacation's coming up next month and I have no doubt I'll be all healed up, ready to hit the road on Velvet again and ride myself silly by then, if not well before!!

In addition to banging myself up last week, I had another occurrence which had me wondering if anyone could see me at all. I don't mean see me in my truck, I mean see me, myself, I, etc. I went to a shipper to get my go-home load, swept out my trailer, smoked a cigarette while they loaded me (outside, of course, as usual), then took the tally sheet to the dock superviser's office, so he could type the loading info into his computer and print my bills out. Stood there at that window for twenty solid minutes while the gentleman totally ignored me.

I held my own hand up and gazed at it, then looked down at my feet, just to make sure I hadn't become somehow invisible. Nope. I could still see myself, so it was more than likely that anyone else could, too. Thoughts went through my head:  Uh, excuse me, sir, but I'm -- like, standing here, y'know?? The lights are all on --  no power failure. I'm highly visible. I am a human being. I exist and I'm right here. Why can't you at least acknowlege that fact?? Tell me, "just a second," or something to that effect and at least assure me that you're aware of my presence!!

In the course of ten years on the road, I've dealt with all types of people, all as varied and diverse as people are. I've had arguments with snotty, hateful security guards, some of whom let that little tin badge go straight to their heads, I've been in uncounted discussions with other drivers, both on my CB and in person, played Let's Make A Deal with umpteen lumpers, dealt with uncaring shipping/receiving clerks, including some female ones who were evidently suffering from Permanent PMS, and even had an occasional run-in with a spotter (although most of those guys are okay, in my personal experience.) Suffice it to say that I've been bitched at and hollered at by many, and have given most back as good as I received, when I could do so without jeopardizing my job. Truckers have to be tough, that's a fact. It can be a tough occupation at times. I'm not one to even let my company officials run over me; I have given them my view of matters more than once, respectfully and politely, of course.

Never, though, have I run into anything more rude than simply being ignored like I was at that shipper! I'd feel much better if I were in an argument; at least then, I could stick up for myself in the matter. But there's nothing you can do about such a cold shoulder, really. I mean, the man wasn't impolite, or rude to me, once he did come to the window, finally. He was friendly enough, in fact, and I'm not a rude person myself, by nature, so I responded in kind, but I had to repress the anger I was feeling inside. Am I making too big a deal out of this, you think?? Am I wrong, to let that treatment make me mad? Should I just shrug it off and not let it bother me? What do you readers think?

Finally, I've got a musical treat for you, well at least some of you, anyway!! My older readers may remember this tune well, as it's the theme song from a very popular film that was released way back in 1964. My middle-aged and older readers will be counting the gray hairs on this one, for sure, and for you younger readers, listen in and get educated a little! This is the main theme from the early James Bond film, Goldfinger, and the song, of course, has the same title as the film.

Goldfinger was performed by a Welsh singer named Shirley Bassey, who at that time was unknown in the U.S., although she was a major star in the UK and Europe. She went on to perform the themes of two more Bond films and remained a star overseas up through the mid-70's, although she never had another hit in America. But this gal had one set of pipes on her, let me tell you!! Nobody to my knowlege has ever covered this song and I don't think anyone else ever could do it justice like Ms. Bassey did it. This ain't rock and roll -- it's Big Band music, but very well-performed. It's still about the best all-time movie theme I've ever heard in my entire life.

So, enjoy, and I'll see all of you a little further down the road!!

 

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!!!

Declaration of Independence (1776)

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness."

Two hundred and thirty-two years ago, on July 2, 1776, a group of courageous colonists, meeting in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, read aloud the final draft of a document which would change the course of world history. Penned by a Virginia colonist and leader named Thomas Jefferson, it had been approved by a commitee of five other rebels just a short time before the formal reading was rendered. With those bold, ringing words, those brave men declared the freedom of all thirteen of America's colonies from the British crown and King George the Third. Two days later, on July 4th, they signed their names to it, pledging their very lives to the cause of American liberty.

That Declaration of Independence became the founding document of what would become known as the United States of America. Our nation. Mine and yours alike. It told the world of the reasons why America was separating itself from the oppressive tyranny of the British Empire. These founding fathers possessed brilliant minds, though many had little formal education, and through the next seven years of a brutal and often bitter Revolutionary War, their common dream of liberty kept them going until the struggle finally ended. A constitution was then written, the thirteen colonies became independent states, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Today, in 2008, as we eat hot dogs and hamburgers -- those purely American creations that we all love -- and watch the fireworks tonight, we should all pause and reflect on what those courageous men accomplished on our behalf, on what our freedom and liberty means, and of all the brave men, then and since then, that have died defending the liberty that was declared in that document. It wouldn't hurt to re-read the Declaration of Independence today, if you can make the time. It's short and don't take that long to read at all. And its meaning is as perfectly clear today as it was at the time it was written.

Here are some thoughts of mine on this Independence Day, for what it's worth:

Freedom isn't free. Throughout the entire course of human history, nations that have attained their freedom have always had to fight for it. And they've had to fight to maintain it, because some other envious entity is always trying to take it away from you. For that reason, we should never take our freedom for granted. If we become too complacent, we run the risk of losing the very thing this nation was founded on and which we value most of all.

One hundred and fifty years ago, Abraham Lincoln said:  "America will never be taken from without. If it should ever fall, it will be from within." Wise words, and ones very much worth heeding and remembering, for all Americans. Be watchful and aware of what's happening right here at home, especially in our government. There are forces at work, here and now, that want to destroy our freedom and put us all in some kind of mass collective. They seem to promise some utopian "paradise," but they will deliver tyranny. And that tyranny already exists, on some levels. It must be stopped; squashed before it can spread further. We must be ever watchful, then rise up as one and speak with one overpowering voice in putting it to an end.

If we go to sleep -- if we falter -- everything that those founding fathers stood for will come crashing down and everything countless thousands of soldiers died for over all these years will be lost. And it will never return again.

Think about it, while you're eating your hot dog today.

10-7

REMEMBERING: GEORGE CARLIN

GEORGE CARLIN (1937-2008)

Comedian and social satirist George Carlin passed away on June 22, in California, of heart failure. He had battled heart and other health problems since the 1970's. Carlin was 71.

Beginning his long career as a radio disc jockey in the 1950's, Carlin soon joined another comedian as part of a stand-up duo act, then later branched out on his own, where he developed his biting social wit and unique satirical style over the years. His immortal routine, "The Seven Words You Can't Say On Television," first performed in the 1960's, launched him into comedic superstardom and even led to a Supreme Court decision in the 1980s. Although the routine would seem tame by today's looser standards, it was years ahead of its time when Carlin created it.

He pushed the envelope of decency many times in his career, but offended few people, really, because he was always funny. Carlin had the gift of making you laugh at yourself, without really insulting you. What he said was most often so true, and couldn't be denied. He was at his best with his socio-political satire, and he targeted everything and everyone, from big government, to environmental extremists, to terrorists. Many of the politicians he joked about the most were some of his biggest fans. George Carlin was always making you laugh, but he could also make you think and that will always be his legacy. He will be much missed.

Here is a small sampling of the wit of George Carlin, over the years:

 

Frisbeeantarianism is the belief that when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck there.

 

I'm not concerned about all hell breaking loose. My fear is that PART of hell will break loose. That'll be much harder to detect.

 

Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping registrations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong.

 

The very existence of flamethrowers proves that at some time, somewhere, someone thought, "Y'know, I want to set that person over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to them to do it."

 

There is no present. There's only the immediate future and the recent past.

 

Weather forecast for tonight -- dark. Continued dark overnight, with scattered light in the morning.

 

Well, if crime fighters fight crime and firefighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part to us, do they?

 

Didja ever notice that when you're driving, everyone going slower than you is an idiot? And everyone going faster than you is a maniac!!

 

Why do croutons come in airtight packages? It's just stale bread to begin with.

 

When cheese gets its picture taken, what does it say?

 

Isn't it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do "practice?"

 

The IQ and life expectancy of average American just passed each other going in opposite directions.

 

10-7

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DISASTER

I was in Iowa this past week, just days after massive floods did untold millions of dollars in damage and left several thousand people homeless, their houses contaminated and ruined, unsafe to inhabit. My heart goes out to the people of that state and I pray that the Lord will speed them in their recovery.

It was a day or so after the worst of it had hit and much of the water had receded, leaving the major roads clear in most places, although some streets and county roads were still closed off. I had no problems reaching my delivery customer, nor getting to my backhaul load a little while later, something that had worried me for a few days before I headed that way, having heard the news reports about the terrible conditions out there.

I had thought, "Has my company gone totally nuts, sending me out there, right in the middle of all that??!!" Hell, they'd be better off putting the stuff on a boat, from what I had been hearing! However, as I've reported before in these pages, I have a talent, seemingly, for being sent into disaster areas right when the disaster's still going on, or immediately afterward. I think I've earned my Master Of Disaster degree, in fact. Let's see -- I've been within five and ten miles of two tornadoes; I rode out a tropical storm in Florida, back in '99; I drag-raced and outran Hurricane Charley a few years after that; I caught the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in northern Alabama the day after she tore the hell out of the Gulf Coast and New Orleans; and now I can add post-flood Iowa to my list of accomplishments. What's next for me?? The aftermath of an earthquake?? I have to wonder. That's about the only natural disaster I haven't been in or near, so far.

It was still dark as I made my way through the outskirts of Des Moines, where many homes were abandoned. I wasn't right in town and I couldn't see much, but I had noticed several flooded low-lying cornfields as I drove in there. Crops totally washed away. The sun came up and revealed dry roads and blue skies. I'll bet those folks out there were glad to see that, at last!! More flooded fields, here and there. Normal corn rows on the higher ground, as always. Debris beside the highway in places, but nothing blocking the  roads I traveled on. I reached my destination and got unloaded in short order. After a brief wait, I was on my way up to Webster City, just down I-35 from Mason City, where my online friend, Merry, lives. She had been telling me of the hardships they were enduring there, with the flooding. Her basement had more than a foot of water in it, and she thought everything down there was ruined.

But Webster City looked as if it had escaped the fate of Merry's town. Maybe it's on higher ground, but there was no debris piled up, no closed streets, as far as I could tell, and no water damage to any of the trailers at the shipper when I arrived. Guard there said that except for a few lower areas, they had made out pretty good around there. After a little longer wait this time, I trucked on out of there. There was some damage in Waterloo, from what I could see, but the real disaster was forty miles south of there, in Cedar Rapids. That city, and nearby Iowa City, had been hit the hardest of all.

The freeway through Cedar Rapids was clear and dry and the city was still there; it hadn't been washed away by the water. Quaker Oats was still right where it's always been, beside the Cedar River, which snakes its way through town. That river was the first indication of the disaster. It was still swollen, spilling out far above its normal banks. From the freeway, I-380, I could see many, many closed-off city streets, parts of which were still submerged. Debris was piled up all over the place, and blocked some thoroughfares completely. Houses stood in water, the level even with their first floors. Cars stood in water, some up to their roofs. Sump pumps were going; moving water out of flooded basements, through large hoses, leading to wherever. I caught the unpleasant scent of raw sewage in the air, put there when sewers erupted from the backpressure and the municipal treatment plant flooded over. A huge mess, otherwords. Reports on the radio stated that it would take months, maybe years, before things would get all the way back to normal there.

But people were out and about, working. Not sitting around, waiting for the government to do something, like they did in New Orleans in 2005. I saw bulldozers and backhoes at work in some places. The cleanup had already begun, as people started to pull their shattered lives back together. No welfare mentality in Iowa, like in New Orleans, where the dangers of that mindset were demonstrated so clearly for all to see, if they were looking. People in Iowa were helping themselves, not waiting on someone else to do everything. That's how you recover from a disaster. And that's why Cedar Rapids will be back on its feet again long before New Orleans ever is. Instead of pointing their fingers and blaming someone else, Iowans put the blame where it belongs, on Mother Nature, and are even now moving on.

One man, who was being interviewed on the radio, put it in perspective better than anyone I've heard in recent years. He totally frustrated the pinhead reporter, who was trying to stir up a controversy by pushing the guy to blame the government for his problems, the same way they did after Katrina. But the man was having none of that. He stated that nobody was forcing him and others to live so close to the river. They loved living near the river, and always would do so. Rivers flood sometimes, he told the reporter. That's the nature of a river. We'll rebuild and go on like we always have. Yes, indeed. To that I say, "Amen!!"

The Lord helps those that help themselves. There's no doubt in my mind that He's right there beside those flood victims right now.

10-7

C.O.B.B. AND BIKER MEMORY LANE

If any of you remember the last motorcycling entry I wrote, you'll recall that I was musing about the biker community coming of age nowadays. Getting older, otherwords, as in "middle-aged." With my own gray beard, potbelly, creaky joints, bad shoulder, and even creakier back, I am one of this group, definitely -- battered about by life and living, but not quite ready to hang up the handlebars yet, either. I like to refer to myself as a C.O.B.B., in fact; an abbreviation for Cantankerous Old Biker Bastard. I heard that it actually stood for "Crippled Old Biker Bastard," but since I'm not crippled (at least so far), with only the typical middle-aged aches and pains, I modified it a bit, to make it more suitable.

I am a biker retread; a condition some like to refer to as "having a mid-life crisis." Uh, not quite. Nice try, but no cigar. What crisis??!! There's no crisis here! I've always been what I am, since my teens. I just took a long vacation away from my favorite hobby, sport, or whatever you call it, for several years there. I was busy with other things for those years. Now, approaching retirement age and my well-earned "me" time, I want to have one last go-round with what I have always loved before I cash in my chips and leave the table for good.

The young whippersnappers who giggle at the "old man on the Harley" on the road will have reason to rethink that when they reach my age eventually, I know. I'll have the last laugh on them all. It's subtle, aging. It creeps up on you stealthily, then all the sudden -- BAM -- you're there! You can squander your time, scratching your head, wondering where it all went, or -- if you're anything like me -- you grab hold of what life is left and put a stranglehold on it. Shit, I know where it went!! I was never one to fool myself. I wasted a lot of my time on the largely pointless pursuits of youth, and invested more of that precious commodity in pursuing the almighty dollar, trying on this and that, to see how well it fit. Experimenting and exploring. Looking for the pot of gold that never came my way. I think we all do that, at some level or other. I remember an old Harry Chapin song about life being a big circle and I agree completely with that. You go round and round and round for years, then somehow end up  right back where you started out. Older and battered, but not beaten by this thing we call life.  

I'm definitely old-school, when it comes to motorcycling. I can remember things that this younger generation has hardly heard of. And that's how you tell the difference between old-school and new-school. I've made up a little list of things that will categorize you as one or the other. There are always exceptions, of course; some younger bikers may be familiar with some of these things, but I'll wager they won't be with all of them!!

HOW TO TELL YOU'RE AN OLD-SCHOOL BIKER

1.  You remember when the forerunners of today's sportbikes were known as "cafe racers."

2.  You know how to kickstart a motorcycle.

3.  You know how to kickstart a Harley, or a cranky 250cc two-stroker, with no compression release.

4.  You know how to pop a dislocated knee back into place, after you kickstarted the Harley or two-stroker the wrong way.

5.  You know what "points" are.

6.  You know how to fiddle around with the points and *maybe* get yourself back home again.

7.  You fell in love with that Honda CB750 back in 1973, but couldn't afford one, so you ended up with a CL 450 -- the "scrambler" model.

8.  You know what a "scrambler" is.

9.  You've attended scramble races.

10. You ignored the fact that a scrambler was basically a street bike and rode it off-road anyway. As a result, you ended up riding the ground more than you did the bike.

11. You thought the new Triumph Trident and Kawasaki three-cylinder superbikes were the coolest things on wheels, until Honda's four-cylinder 750 came out.

12. You can remember bike makes like Hodaka, Bultaco, and BSA, all of which are no longer manufactured.

13. You thought Evel Kneivel was the coolest dude on earth.

14. You remember when every Honda 90 had scratches on the gas tank, made by the belt buckles of riders leaning forward on it, trying to get the thing up to 70 mph.

15. You can remember when the Honda 160 and 305 were the hottest models around. Everyone had one and everyone wanted one. Arguments about the merits of each model resulted in more than one fist-fight.

16. You met the "nicest people on a Honda," but the badass Hells Angels on their Harley choppers were WAY cool!!!

17. Your cousin gave you your first ride on a Harley and it was instant love. Thirty years later, you bought one.

SPINNING MY WHEELS, FIGURATIVELY SPEAKING

Temple, GA ( a point enroute to New Jersey)

Not home again this weekend. Actually, I could go through Knoxville, but considering the distance from there to my destination and the ridiculously early delivery appointment time on this load (1 A.M. on Monday), why even bother?? Not really out of route -- there's more than one way to get from Texas to New Jersey -- but a waste of time to go that way, since I would only have a few hours at home before I'd have to leave right back out again. Not enough hometime to even bother with at all. The Interstate 20 to Atlanta, I-85 to Petersburg, VA, I-95 to NJ route I picked was the easiest and most practical, so here I am.

I sat two entire 24-hour days in Robinson, Texas, just south of Waco, after delivering a load to a customer's new warehouse in Waco, Wednesday morning. No load was forthcoming, and it was no surprise, since a quarter of our fleet seemed to be at that place at any given time of the day. As I said, it was a new warehouse and we were all delivering the "wares" that would be stored there, my company and CFI seemed to be the dominant trucking outfits rolling in and out of the place.

I counted one, two, three, four, eight, ten, fifteen of our trucks, in and out of there, while I unloaded. At least five were lined up at the gate, waiting their turns to dock, and a local-yokel driver, hauling shuttle trailers in and out of there, told several of us that it was worse on Monday, with more than twenty-five of us there that day. "Oh, crap!" I thought. All these company trucks here at the same time equals no load for awhile. And, sure enough . . . I got the expected "No Load" message as soon as I sent my "Empty" message in. I wasn't under any illusions at all, unlike one new driver, who was napping in the parking lot, awaiting a load which wasn't going to come for quite some time. He'll learn, just like I did. I headed a few miles south, to the Pilot in nearby Robinson.

The problem at hand was a simple and basic one:  With so many of our trucks in one place at the same time, it overwhelmed my company's load board, bigtime. Not the first time this has happened, by any means, andit won't be the last. Here's the equation, if you're into math:  20 trucks, minus 10 loads available, equals 10 trucks left stranded empty. This is an example only, but it should explain the simple principle. It's a simple matter of too many trucks and not nearly enough loads. It's supposed to go by who got there first, as to who gets the first load outta there, but it doesn't always work that way. In typical trucking company fashion, it usually depends on which dispatcher can get which load to which truck the fastest. If your dispatcher is slow on the draw, you can wait awhile. It takes patience, on the part of a driver, to understand and deal with these things.

But drivers are human and patience has its limits. I was almost at the end of mine, Friday morning, when the Qualcomm finally beeped three times in succession, indicating a load. I was on the phone with mom at the time, and I cut the conversation short, so I could write everything up and get the heck outta there at last!! At that point, if they'd have sent me to Istanbul, I'd have been plotting fuel stops in mid-ocean, while on the way!! Desperate. Wanted a load. ANY load. And I finally had one. And that's how I got here, writing this.

I'm not even bitching about going to Yankeeland this time!!!

10-7

ON OLD BIKERS AND FEAR

I was sitting in one of my favorite local biker bar hangouts the other day, sipping a cold brew, making small talk with others, and checking out all the "chrome ponies" that were coming and going through the lot, when a thought hit me:  The entire motorcycling community is getting older. A lot more gray hair, balding pates, white beards, and middle-aged bellies in sight than ever before. Many of the hot biker babes of yore have wind and sun-wrinkled faces and sagging figures of varying degrees nowadays; some are still hot, but it's a relative thing. Your perceptions change as you grow older; what's "hot" at 50 would've gagged you at 25. So it goes.

It's not like there aren't any younger bikers out there on the streets, because there certainly are. There's just fewer of them than before. Smaller generations and more overprotected than we were. But you will still see teenagers and twenty-somethings on their "crotch rockets," zooming down the highway, zipping in and out of traffic like it's not even there at all, looking sudden death square in the eyes and spitting in its face. We older, wiser bikers just grin when we see them fly past our Harleys, British Classics, and Gold Wing Hondas. Yeah, we used to do that stuff too. Some of us still do, but most have learned our lessons via dislocated and broken bones, with arthritis and rheumatism in our joints as a reminder of the foolishness of youth. It catches up with you, sooner or later. Always does. There are old bikers and there are bold bikers, but there are no old, bold bikers. I don't know who came up with that old saying, but I know for certain now that it's true.

I'm like so many others. I got motorcycling in my blood when I was a teenager. Had lots of fun, fell off of and dropped the thing ten dozen times, then crashed bigtime. Totaled my bike and ended up in the hospital. I bought another one a few years later and got over the fear. You either do that, or you choose not to ride again. And some can't ride again, after crashing. That's just the way it is.

I sold the second bike, then didn't own one for many years, until I bought my Miss Velvet last year. But that had always been in the back of my mind somewhere over all those bike-less years. Once you get the motorcycle bug, it never completely leaves you. Something about the wind in your face on a deserted country lane in the morning, the smells of nature in your nostrils, alone with your thoughts, with the sound of the powerful machine that you become a part of. It's freedom. True, utter freedom. It can't be explained. You have to experience it for yourself. But it's that sense of freedom that drives us all.

We have been somewhere where a non-biker never goes, experienced something unique which they can't begin to imagine. We aren't criminals or bad people, for the most part. Those are the one-percenters. We're some of the sweetest and nicest people you could ever meet. We aren't out looking for trouble; we only want to ride and have the cagers respect the fact that we share the road with them. Give us our portion of it. That's all we ask.

I've always been a biker, ever since I first climbed on a motorcycle and brought the engine to life. Now I'm back again. The world's changed, the bikes have changed, and we have changed and aged ourselves. But we aren't ready to trade our 2-wheelers in on trikes quite yet, thank you. As long as we can still put our wobbly old legs down and hold the damned thing up, we'll be leaning into those curves and chasing the wind. It's a way of life for us.

 

We Don't Do Fear

Over the last 105 years in the saddle, we've seen wars, conflicts, depression, recession, resistance and revolutions. We've watched a thousand hand-wringing pundits disappear in our rear-vew mirror. But every time, this country has come out stronger than before. Because chrome and asphalt puts distance between you and whatever the world can throw at you. Freedom and wind outlast hard times. And the rumble of an engine drowns out all the blah, blah, blah on the evening news. If 105 years have proved one thing, it's that fear sucks and it doesn't last long.

So screw it, let's ride.

Copyright 2008, Harley-Davidson Motor Company