Submitted story: First ride

My first motorcycle ride was on the back of Jeff's Harley Davidson. I felt like an astronaut with the helmet plopped on my head. My stomach turned over as though I was climbing onto a roller coaster. All the warnings my mother ever interjected into her lectures spun through my mind: "Wear your seat belt. Be careful. Don't ride with strangers. Don't make stupid choices. And be careful."

I experienced Carmel Valley Rd as I never had before. I could smell the flowers, strawberries and horse manure instead of the fake vanilla air freshener I bought at 7-11. Cut grass wafted our way as we drove past the high school. The heavy grease of a restaurant drifted our way. The flowers popped, their colors bright. I had never seen them like this before. Their beauty had always been obscured by the dingy car windows.

There was no music, only the sound of the engine and occasionally a sound from nature would break through the steady rhythm of the motorcycle. I felt the wind of passing cars as we waited to make a left turn.

As we approached the next traffic light we by passed the waiting traffic, riding right up to the light. At the first sight of green, we cut off the waiting cars. Jeff was a very considerate driver. He didn't take turns too fast or drive to fast. He was more concerned that I had a good time than showing off. We got returned to Jamie's house, my best friend and his new girlfriend.

Soon after, Jeff moved to Japan, taking Jamie and his bike with him. I always wondered what Japan looks like, smells like and feels like from the back of a Harley.

Submitted story: Any weather

I love to ride my HD often and in any type of weather. These bikes were really meant to be on the open road.

Submitted story: A son's memories

The earliest memory I have of riding a Harley is when my dad used to own one when I was around 4 or 5 years old. He would take me riding around the neighborhood and I can remember thinking it was the most exciting and fun thing I could ever do. definitely a treat for good behavior. He wouldn't go fast like I always wanted him to but it was still awesome riding on that hog. He sold it before I knew it for reasons still unknown, and the guy that bought it promptly crashed it. I'll never forget those early days of my life with my dad on that bike.

New windshield bag

New windshield bag
Originally uploaded by Seattle Dave.

Thanks to my father-in-law, Joe, for this awesome new Harley-Davidson windshield bag!

Submitted story: The day I learned to forever respect a Harley

When I was a young kid, I had an Uncle that always seemed to have more than a few Harley Davidson’s parked in his garage, as well as sometimes parked in his kitchen, living room, and even down the hallway. Looking back now that I’m older, I can see where he was coming from.

He once had two of his Harley’s stolen out of his garage at the same time, even though they were parked behind a car that was broke down and fairly difficult to move. The thieves actually picked up the bikes and carried them over the hood of the car to get them out. Apparently when it comes to stealing a Harley, nothing is too much to overcome.

After I graduated high school and being a typical seventeen year old kid who of course knew it all by then, I had moved in with that same Uncle and within six months had him talked into co-signing on either a new Harley Sportster or a new sports car. Being that the winters in Illinois can be brutal and the fact I couldn’t afford to have a new Sportster and pay for even a beat up car to survive the winters, I chose for the latter of the two. This would be a decision I would regret ever since and probably for the rest of my days. I look back and wonder where I would be now if I had gone for the Harley and not the sports car.

During the year or so that I lived with my Uncle, I did get to learn a lot about his Harleys as well as plenty of others. On more than a few occasions I would spend hours upon hours detailing his bikes, of course after I had finished with my nice shiny black Mustang parked out in the front yard. Back in the day during those times, regardless of having a driveway off the main street, when you wanted to show off your rides, you didn’t park them in the driveway, you pulled them onto the front yard for everyone to take notice.

Even though I never learned to ride and had never ridden a motorcycle, I was allowed to move my Uncle’s bikes in and out of the garage, either after he had finished riding or if I was cleaning them for him. Surprisingly enough, just cleaning and detailing a Harley seemed to make a difference in the way I felt, I could only imagine actually owning one and taking one out for a ride.

Well one day after my Uncle came back from one of those oh so enjoyable rides, I asked if I could park it in the garage for him, which I had done countless times. Of course he let me, although I always asked before just touching one of his bikes. That was something that never needed to be explained, you never touch a man’s Harley without permission.

As luck would happen, that day I was wearing shorts, and after hopping on it and just as it started going forward, as the second step from my right leg had gone back, I was immediately aware of my mistake. I had just for a half a second made contact with the exhaust pipe with my right calf and immediately smelled the burnt flesh which was about three inches wide and roughly eight inches long. The only good part of it was I had managed through the pain not to drop the bike and for some reason continued on to move the bike into the garage.

To this day I have a scar about half that size and will forever remember the day I forgot, even for less than a second, to respect a Harley, even if it wasn’t mine.

Submitted story: Little Harley Girl

by Cindy Holcomb

I have a ten-year-old daughter whom I consider to be one of Harley Davidson's biggest fans. She can hear one approaching long before anyone else in the family can - if we are outside, she will tell us (before we even hear the motorcycle) that one is coming - and sure enough, a few minutes later everyone else hears it.

No one in the family rides - so, her love for Harley's is all her own (although, personally, I love motorcycles).

How did it all begin? When she was two, we lived in an upstairs apartment. The man who lived below us owned a Harley Davidson. This is where it all began! She loved to be outside when he cranked the motorcyle - she would clap her hands and you could just see the sparkle in her eyes! On the weekends, this neighbor would come home sometimes at two or three o'clock in the morning - but, she heard him before he even turned onto our street. She would run into my room and shake me awake - "Mommy! Mommy! Mo-cycle!! Wet's go!"

Now, some Mom's would have sent her back to bed - but not me! Oh no! I would get up, take her onto the porch, and wait for the motorcycle to pull in - just so she could get a glimpse of it and dream of Harleys all night! Our neighbor always looked up and waved because he knew that we would be standing there waiting for him! He even had a special polishing cloth just for her - and when he cleaned his motorcycle, he let her help him shine the chrome!

To this day, she still has that same love of Harley Davidson's! Each year, Santa brings something "Harley Davidson" to put under the tree for her. And, she loves to talk to the people who ride the motorcycles that we see! One of the biggest thrills in her young life happened a couple of years ago - when our landlord gave her a ride around the block on his Harley! You could see her shaking with excitement!

We went into a store that sells Harley Davidson's - and she had to touch each motorcycle on the sales floor. The owner of the store thought she was adorable - he said you could see the sparkle in her eyes as she approached each motorcycle. Just yesterday, she and I were in the van and passed a restaraunt. She began to bounce in her seat, shouting - " Mommy! Mommy! Look!" I looked - and what do you think I saw? The entire parking lot was filled with Harley's!! She said - "Oh my God, Mom! That is like Hog Heaven!" I thought I might actually run off the road laughing at her.

So, of course, there was only one thing that I could do. I turned that van around and pulled into the parking lot so that she could get a close look. The riders were outside, so I stopped and asked if they were just getting there or leaving. One said that they were just getting there - and I explained that I had to pull in because she wanted to hear them crank the motorcycles. So, he called his buddy over - the owner of the motorcycle nearest us and asked if he would crank it up for her. Of course, he did! And, I think the pure, unadulterated excitement displayed by this little girl at the sound of that motorcycle revving up will stay with those riders for a while. They couldn't help but laugh when she began bouncing in her seat and clapping her hands - that special gleam in her eye! I am sure you all know exactly what gleam I am speaking of - the one each of you had when your love for Harley Davidson first began!

So, if you are ever driving through a small town in Northern Alabama - and you pass a white van carrying a little girl who is so excited she can barely stay in her seat, you know that you have met my little Harley girl - living in her little Harley world! Harley riders - meet one of your future sisters! Now, if we can only talk her out of painting her room black and orange!

Submitted story: Jury Duty

Around the middle of his life, my Dad bought a Harley and began to embrace the riding lifestyle as a serious hobby. Mind you, during the day, he was a mild-mannered engineer for a big company whose name I'm sure you have heard. In fact, he became so immersed in motorcycle culture, my mom felt forced to by her own Harley and learn how to ride, just so she could spend time with my Dad.

Anyhow, at some point, as happens to us all, my Dad received a notice in the mail informing him that he was required to report for jury duty. If there was anything my Dad detested, it was jury duty! Don't get me wrong, my Dad would do anything for the good old USA, he just didn't want to "get involved" with the justice system. He spent many hours pondering how he could get excused from the duty, legally of course.

But Dad wasn't a student, didn't have an airline trip booked, and so on -- basically he was going to have to report for duty. So, his only hope was that he would somehow NOT get chosen to sit on a jury. What could he do to stack the deck in his favor?

He took the entire afternoon off from work that day. He went home at lunchtime (he was scheduled to report to the courthouse at 2 pm) and began the transformation: he put on all of his riding gear -- black leather chaps, black leather vest, bandana, and all the rest of his riding gear -- and THEN proceeded to the courthouse. Guess what? He didn't get picked.

Submitted story: California ridin'

Here in sunny Temecula, in Southern California, Quaid Harley-Davidson is the hub of hog activity. On a typical Saturday, a group of us will gather there or perhaps down the street a bit at the Swing Inn and eat breakfast before we hit the road (Highway 79 South) and wind our way up through the hills on our way to Palm Springs. The scenery is a bit sparse, brown and dry most of the year. But further up the highway, pine trees sprout from the rocky soil and there are a few organic farms and even a winery!

When you reach the summit and start your descent toward Palm Springs, the terrain becomes harsh and dray again. There are huge boulders and few plants other than cactus and sagebrush. But the stark, moonlike landscape is hauntingly beautiful particularly at night on a Harley. Definitely keep your eyes and your wheels on the road as it twists and turns on a fast descent. This stretch of road is a great one to let loose and lean into the curves on. Be sure you and your Hog are ready for it if you try racing down the mountain.

This is great ride, even for a beginner, but you do need to exercise caution on some of the sharper turns. The views are spectacular and if you go in the winter, sometimes there's even snow. In the summer, this ride is a great way to ride up and out of the heat of the valley and experience the real joy of riding. There's nothing better than feeling the vibration of a twin vee motor beneath you and all around you as you make another journey with your friends.

-- Diann

Submitted story: She's a little runaway

Well I'm pretty young in the biking world. My father was a biker he rode a H.D. so I'm a product of a rider. When I was 18 I decided to go on a soul searching tour of the big U.S.A.

I set out on a Sunday when my mama was at church I left her a note saying "I'll be back whenever" and I stole my dad's Harley. I had $250 in my wallet and I intended to go far with it. I started out in Kansas the sun was to my west and I got a hell of a suntan on left side.

That first night I slept in rest stop bathroom stall. I ate the crappy stale potato chips from the vending machines. I continued to do this for about 2-3 more days and on the third day I stopped I think it was highway 27 somewhere near Florida or Georgia when I saw a group of motorcyclist. I asked them "where ya'll going" when the oldest cyclist, a 58 yr. old man by the name of Bill said "down to the Indian reservation for a bike reunion."

I asked if I could go and they said if I wanted too. So from that day on I was traveling down highway 27 in Florida. I instantly fell in love with the pine trees in Florida, the sloping hills of green grass, and we had even passed through a city called Sebring that had a beautiful lake in the center. We had finally come to the reservation where we joined up with some more bikers.

It was my first experience with matured bikers other than my dad. They were burly men and beautiful suntanned women all sagacious and full of humor. I couldn't tear myself away from these people and I was something of an oddity to them. I was only 18 yrs. old, I was a single female, and they started calling me "purdiest li'l angel out in the wild."

I spent a week in their company when they departed. I couldn't go nowhere because I had no money so I stayed in that town until I had collected enough money to make my way back home. I had experienced my first bike ride and I was ready to get my life started. I went back to Kansas where I went to school to study mechanics and got a job fixing up old bikes. I ride everyone in a while but I'll always remember my first ride.

Submitted story: Too many hogs in New Hampshire

Living in NH is a visual and outdoor bonanza. The great outdoors call to many people in many ways, and not only state residents.

We welcome a lot of visitors, two especially famous groups. The first group that comes to mind generally speaking annoys the entire state on a local level, but interplays with the economy of this tiny sliver of land to such an important level that we welcome our 'Leaf Peepers' with open arms. And just drive slowly and patiently through October 10th or so through the next couple of weeks. The folliage turns from North to South, and in reverse duplicates the path of our other visitors: The bikers.

Bikers Week. Laconia. Harleys. Tatoos. Weirdos. NH is one of the most conservative states in the union. So whoever thought up this place for Motorcycle Week? It is wonderful watching the local news. The videographers seem to be having the most fun, tight shots of the clothing, piercings, tatoos, and best of all, traffic jams. Oh, I didn't mean traffic jams. I meant monster traffic jams, caused by all the local merchants putting up no parking signs in front of their shops.

Now why the bikers keep coming back for so much more rude treatment I don't know, but I suspect it is something like a tradition. The bikers against the locals. The locals make plenty of money off of the bikers. And just how many of those bikers are what we called bikers when we were kids in the 50's? Man, we'd run in the house if one of those scary looking guys was across the street. And there was no doubt-these those folks didn't have another identity as an accountant during the rest of the week. Call me weird but isn't that odd? Those bikers back then seemed to hold their hogs together with bailing wire and spit, but they could do it all themselves.

Sometimes I wonder, when I see the new 'bikers', if they don't stop somewhere and throw dust over themselves and their $25,000 hogs. Those aren't hogs, those are BMWs with two wheels missing. Airconditioned, music, what other options I can't even think of.

Now as I am a grown up feminist I would say the way that Bikers' Chicks were said to be treated in the 'old days' was not healthy. I have seen some photos of new bikers partying that look pretty much like New Orleans used to look for Mardi Gras, only complete with hogs all over the place. Listening to the rumbling is the first sign I have that the crowds are coming. The sounds of both tuned and needing tuning engines are coming through town for a rest, food, whatever, first just a half dozen or so, then more, then suddenly they are all over the place, and talking.

I listen and whoa; they sound just like everyone else planning a road trip. And they look very well groomed under their $1,000 Harley-Davidson duds. The conformity of looks in automobiles is spilling over into motorcycles, with any number trying for the retro Harley-Davidson look. I know a doctor who bought two special edition Harley-Davidsons for some reason or another - I forget. But a legendary bike has turned into another object of conspicuous consumerism, and noise pollution.

Does this mean I don't love riding? I love riding, but have stopped because I feel that in all good ethics, the planet cannot afford any more sullying with carbon based petrochemicals. Since the general riders of today are educated, savvy people, involved in politics even, I would propose to work together to save this country we love to cruise, and worry a bit less about the cruisers and the cruisees.

Not ten miles from Laconia there are huge lakes, dead from acid rain. A dead lake is so butt ugly it makes me want to cry. Just black tree stumps sticking out from along the edges, and then black water. Nice camping goal, hey? Just boil the water forever, because you can't ever drink it.

Submitted story: Fresh from the Factory Floor Experience

By A. McMillan

A one time propeller factory in Wauwatosa Wisconsin, is now the home of Harley-Davidson Powertrain Operations. Bought in 1947 for the manufacture of miscellaneous motorcycle components, the spacious 450,000 square foot facility is now devoted to the manufacturing of Sportster and Buell powertrains.

Those motorcycle enthusiasts who wish to reminisce on Harleys rich history will not be disappointed. This tour features a Harley-Davidson engine timeline that takes you from the beloved “Flathead” to the modern Twin Cam 88. You want to take a seat on the newest Harley–Davidson and Buell models? Well you will get the chance, not to mention visiting the gift shop where all kinds of tour–related merchandise can be found.

Next, it’s on to the theatre where you see a video on Motor Company history.

Then the real fun begins as you reach the factory floor. Sportster and Buell powertrains come to life before your very eyes and your going to witness the rather loud birthing pains, as engines are hot-tested to make sure they meet strict Harley –Davidson standards of quality.

As the only Harley–Davidson facility in Wisconsin that allows public tours, it is a one hour experience that truly can’t be missed. So drop what you’re doing and come see where 600 hundred employees bring the most famous motorcycle in the world to life.

Tours begin at 9:30 a.m. and run at regular intervals through to 1:00 p.m., Monday through Friday. Tickets, as always are distributed first come first serve so make sure you arrive early to avoid any problems.

Submitted story: One good ride

I am not much of a motorcycle rider, but I have a very fond memory of one Harley-Davidson ride I took sixteen years ago.

I was about seven years old, and I lived in rural Pennsylvania. A friend of my parents came to visit on his motorcycle. I don't know how he did it, but he convinced my (somewhat overprotective) parents to let him take me and my brother for a short ride on his motorcycle. It was a beautiful black Harley with lots of gleaming chrome. I don't remember what kind of bike it was or any other specifics, just that it was a beautiful machine.

Being the oldest, I went first. My parents' friend gave me a helmet and lifted me onto the bike. He started the motor and off we went. I'll never forget that exhilarating ride. It felt as if we were flying. The roar of the motor was loud and majestic, and the world just fell away. All of the admittedly minor concerns of a seven-year-old girl were blown away as we flew down the street.

It was only a short ride, but it was a marvelous and thrilling experience that I still remember vividly to this day. I have never felt anything quite like it before or since. Whenever I encounter a gleaming black motorcycle in the street, I remember that thrilling freedom I experienced ever so briefly, and it makes me long to experience it again. I am a penniless graduate student right now, but some day I will have my own gleaming black Harley and experience it again.

Submitted story: Standing out in the Sturgis crowd

So, I'm not really into motorcycles. But I have a friend that is. Great motorcycle aficionado. I think that his love of the motorcycle came from his dad. All sorts of motorcycles. Racing bikes, classic bikes, and of course, the Harley-Davidson, in which he's always had a soft spot for.

My friend, though, looks nothing like a Harley Davidson rider stereotype. For one thing, when he rides, it's never the ubiquitous leather jacket and other leather attire. He "hog" similarly, isn't all dressed up. It's very bare and plain, but he rides it like no other.

Well, one year, he went to Sturgis, to see all the Harley's and ride in the iconic ride as well. Of course, he went in like, a tee and jeans, like how he always rode. And as he got to Sturgis, he was pretty much the only one like that, and too everybody else, it was a very odd sight, with many a person asking him what the deal with his get up and some even making jeering comments like that was his dad's bike, and go back to wherever.

But, overall he said that the crowd was nice, and after a while, word spread that he was a true lover of Harleys and just "dressed funny" but after that, he wasn't being asked all sorts of questions, and spent the rest of the time having fun. It was just really funny to hear of him, those few people that choose to not conform to the stereotype.

Submitted story: Death in the Family

I am a minister, and last week I presided over a funeral for a man, Tim, who was a Harley fanatic. He had terminal lung cancer, but still managed a trip to the Sturgis (South Dakota) bike rally in August.

Tim's family kept mentioning to me how he loved to ride his Harley as we prepared his eulogy. He was the lead motorcycle on many trips, especially charitable rides. I was expecting several photos of him on his Harley at the funeral. Much to my surprise, when I drove up during calling hours, the funeral home parking lot was completely full of Harleys.

There were more men and women wearing chaps and Harley paraphernalia than biological family at the funeral. The funeral was short, you could just sense that most in attendance were not church-going folk. We saved the best for last, starting a mile long chain of motorcycles followed by the hearse and family pulling the rear. Riding to his interment, the sound of so many Harleys revving their engines was deafening. But what a perfect salute to such a Harley lover, despite the fact that it was January in upstate New York.

The processional of motorcyclists must have been freezing, but wanted to pay tribute to a man that they loved. I was impressed by the comradery of his second family, the motorcycle family. I do not have a motorcycle, but I hope that someday I will have that same sort of second family. Tim's motorcycle family loved him unconditionally, put up with him just as he was. If only we all could be so lucky.

Submitted story: Father knows best

I have been a "rice rocket" rider for years. Until now. I recently met my Dad who is a big Harley fan.

He has a restored 1947 pan-head that was a basketcase that he has resurrected. I started hanging around the garage when he bought a 1999 sporty that he said I could ride as soon as he got it done. I decided to help turn a few wrenches to get the bike on the road a little quicker.

We got it done as the snow melted this spring. I hit the rode and will never be hunched over with jack knife arms ever again. I have sold my bike and Dad and I are looking for a bike to work on this winter that I can keep at my house all year.

That is the only good thing about owning a bike in N.Y. is that you ride all spring, summer, and fall. All winter you get to trick the bike out, fine tune it and make it a little louder, faster, and sicker. Come spring you and your buddies can get together and see what you been up to all winter.

I just want to thank DAD and Harley for making riding fun, and comfortable again.

Submitted story: Secret Sydney

The Harley motorbike experience was unlike any experience I had ever been on. I was feeling everything at once, happy and full of laughs, yet nervous about the unexpected. I had no idea where we were going or if I would be returned to my desk at the end... perhaps we would ride into the sunset, never to be seen again!

But I soon realised that our bikie hosts were true gentlemen, keen to make my Harley motorcycle experience as enjoyable and memorable as possible. Not only did I get a different view of the city, but the city had got a different view of me! Everyone stopped and stared and we travelled to all sorts of secret spots around Sydney of which I am sworn to secrecy.

During our stop, I saw an old friend running through the gardens. He didn't recognise me at all and I yelled out “Hi Steve!” about 5 times before I got a response. It's not everyday that you'll see me in jeans, a leather jacket and helmet! Steve said to me in total astonishment, “...What are you doing?” Well, you just never know what's going to happen at RedBalloon Days!

Thank you to my fabulous team and to our gorgeous bikie hosts, who made a November afternoon forever memorable!

Submitted story: Admired from afar

I started my passion for bikes when I was little and saw a Harley-Davidson for the first time. The year was 1992 and the bike was a FXR 1340 of '89. I remember that day like it was today... The sun reflecting in the dark paint made me fell like in heaven. The magnificence of its presence made me stay by her side for over one hour. I decided to stay till the owner arrived. I was determined to ask for permission to just sit on her and close my eyes felling the soft leather grips on my hands.

After a little over one hour the owner arrived. My heart started racing when I noticed that was the moment. I simply had to talk to him and sit on her. But ... when I realised she was being driven away by a big guy in black leather I became frustrated for not being able to go and talk to him.

I spend several week’s moaning about my lack of courage. After about one year I decided to rent one. I simply had to try what I know now is the best thing in the world. - Be on an Harley. As I was only 13 I rented it with the help from an older friend and just sat on it for quite some time. I didn’t even had the courage to turn it on or riding it, even after my friend inviting me for a ride. But I didn’t want to ride it before I could control it myself. I waited almost 4 more years till I could finally ride one ... And I did!

Today a decade later I still regret not asking that guy for permission to just feel her, but now I don’t moan anymore as I finally have one of my own. Harley-Davidson for ever!

Submitted story: In the family

Well, my dad owns a 2001 Harley Davidson Dyna Wide Glide and I ride with him a lot because I don't have my license yet. Most everybody in my family owns a Harley, and it's fun riding with all them.

People classify the biker as a mean and cold-hearted person but they're really not. They're people with a passion, a passion for the open road and the v-twin going potata potata potata under them.

There is nothing better then the smell of black leather and exhaust on a cold Sunday morning. Have breakfast at Denny’s and hit the open road.

We ride a lot along Folsom Lake up here in Northern California. There’s this restaurant called The Purple Place and has great food and we always stop there for lunch and end the day coming home.

All of us who own a bike meet at a coffee shop every Saturday night and just sit and talk. It’s really run to get to know the new bikers who are there every time I go because they are either a friend of a friend, or just stopped in because they saw all of the bikes with there lights in the parking lot.

All I can say is, I can’t wait until I get my genuine Harley Davidson and start it up for the first time, knowing that so many people before you have done this same thing and got to know the freedom of an open road and what it is like to ride a Harley Davidson.

Submitted story: The Zen of Harley

Another story submitted via a reader:

I am not even a biker, so you may wonder why I am writing on an Harley Davidson blog. Well, the magic of Harley Davidson is also clear in this fact: Harley-Davidson IS a myth for each and every one, also for non-bikers.

My reflected Harley Davidson experience is through music (and through films of course, but I am particularly found in psychedelic rock music). When I listen to the The Doors, The Grateful Dead, Iron Butterfly, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix just to cite a few among the heroes of the West Coast psychedelia, I have a glimpse of what may have been living in California in the roaring Sixties or Seventies.

When I listen to an Hammond organ solo, I dream about driving a Bike (i.e. an Harley Davidson bike of course, what else?). Well, the other things which an Hammond solo inspires are sun, life, lust, fun, beaches, girls, beer... an American dolce-vita, I am sure that the official mass transport in the gardens of heaven - or better I A Gadda Da Vida as Iron Butterfly say in their famous song - is an Harley Davidson bike.

When I listen to the Pink Floyd I imagine that I am travelling, maybe flying, on an old double-decker London bus - maybe a full-coloured and flowered one, when I listen to the American counterpart of the sixties psychedelia I am virtually driving an Harley Davidson.

So, I am sorry again for being here without even ever driving a bike but - thank you HD, anyway.

Submitted story: Don't tailgate!

Here is the first post from my offer to pay 25 cents for motorcycle stories. You get what you pay for, I guess. Warning: I left in the profanity but at least did edit out some racial slurs.

By "Bad Temper in Boston"

Ok, so I take my bike out today for my first real warm weather ride of the season. After a while of enjoying the weather and scenery, I decide to head to Doyle's, an Irish Pub in Newton, about 3 miles from my home. I'm hankerin for a burger and some fries.

I head up this road that leads to the street Doyle's is on. I notice that this green Saturn behind me is following closer than I would like, but not enough to set off the alarms. Not yet. I'll monitor him.

Ok, so I get to the stop sign, and this car stops behind me a bit TOO close, maybe 2 feet or so behind. I get a bit irked-I abhor cagers tailing me-and mumble to myself something like "Hey!, can you get a bit CLOSER?"

I then take a left onto Watertown St., with Doyle's maybe 50 yards up on the left. All onstreet parking is metered, and most appear taken as I look ahead, but I hope to sniff one out, and I move along, doing maybe 15-20 mph. There is traffic, so going any faster is pointless. I leave a gap of about 12 feet between me and the car in front of me, so I can look for a parking space. I come to a stop cuz of traffic.

I look in my mirror for Mr. Saturn, and....his bumper is once again absurdly close to my rear tire. I put my feet down and turn on my seat to look back at him and give him the universal shoulder shrug with elbows bent and palms facing up as if to say "Whats your problem?" and he does the same, only meaning "What? What?"

I then gesture with my hand in a pushing motion that I want him to back off a bit. He's mouthing something, being an ass. I sit back down, shake my head, and proceed to move forward. Doyle's is coming up on my left, so I again look for a spot while coasting forward. Again, I check my rearview. Mr. Saturn is RIGHT ON MY ASS!! Im talking about a FOOT! That does it.

I stop the bike right then and there, throw out the kick stand, get off the bike, and head for Mr. Saturns window. I motion for him to roll down his window. He looks to be in his late 20's. He puts it down half way. Instantly I know Im dealing with an asshole just from that. I say to him "What the fuck are you following me so close for? GET OFF MY ASS!!" I shout at him. He looks up at me and says.....are you ready for this?......he says with a serious look on his ugly mug... "You should drive faster!"

I'm incredulous. I just stare for a second. ME drive faster? On a busy, traffic snarled street? So, I gather all my oratory skills and let loose with a high-minded "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!! YOU'RE THIS MUCH OFF MY ASS", and I accentuate my tirade by holding my palms facing in, indicating about 12 inches to better illustrate his unsafe following distance. Mr. Saturn rolls up his window, further confirming his lack of any REAL stones. But the damage is done. Im pissed real bad. First, I dont stand for anyone fucking with me in an unsafe manner, especially on my bike. Second, I had a long, stressful week at work, and I have no patience for cager assholes today!

Also, his reply just pissed me off even more. I'm the one at fault here? I finish with a beautifully executed middle finger. He responds in kind. I'm getting back on my bike and toss another "Fuck You" at him for good measure. Out of the corner on my eye, on the opposite side of the street, there's this guy in an SUV, pulling out of his parking space, with room to proceed, but he's just sitting there, half out, half in, looking at whats going on, a quizzical smile on his face. He's enjoying this scene! I couldnt help smiling a bit inside my helmet at the look on this guys face. My appetite is now ruined, and that pisses me off even MORE!! LOL.

I take off up the road (street is clear now that the cars in front have moved on, since I had the lane blocked while tearing Mr. Saturn a new asshole.) But Im not finished. I want his ass in a sling. So, I pull over and let him come up next to me at the next light. Doyle's is past me now, and fading fast in the priority department. No juicy cheeseburger for me anymore. Naturally, his windows are up. No matter. I know he can hear me.

I lean right up against his glass. I lift my visor just to make sure there is no miscommunication of my intent. I tell him to pull over and settle this mano-a-mano. He gives me the finger again, further guaranteeing his demise.

I'm yelling at him more..."Get out of the car you pussy, and we'll settle this right now!!" I'm pumping. Adrenalin is flowing. Mr. Saturn drives off ahead of me. Now, ordinarily, I would have just written the jerk off...but for some reason, I decided not to. I was incensed that he made it out to be my fault that he was recklessly following me, and putting me in danger of being rearended by this fuck.

I'm jittery as it is since my buddy died on his bike, and I dont need ANYONE fucking with me on my bike, as I've said. This is where it gets good...... I decide to follow him. Just follow him to wherever he winds up. Maybe then he'll throw em down with me, and I'll be able to take out my frustrations and missed burger on his head. And so it goes. At each stop light, I pull up alongside of him and tell him I'm going to follow his ass until he gets up the stones to face me. I told him he should be careful next time he decides to fuck with bikers, etc. He acts like Im not there, but he hears me alright. Now I just follow him. No more words from me. I follow him all the way from Newton to Kenmore Square in Boston, where Fenway Park is. About 9+ miles in all. Like I said, I wouldn't normally do this. But he acted like such a hardass before, until I got off the bike and he decided not to face me and act like a man. (Ok, so I was acting like a brat....but HE started it!! LMAO!!)

Anyhoo...I was growing tired of this, but since I had driven this far, I figured I'd give Mr. No-Stones one last shot at redeeming himself. At a red light, I pull up next to him...real close. I call him out once more. He just stares straight ahead. That's it. I cock my right arm and put my fist into his closed window. Window gives, doesn't break. Another shot. HARD. Window gives, doesn't break. NOW hes doing a speed-dial on his cell phone, and talking real fast, judging by the speed his lips are moving at. He's probably calling the cops, the spineless fuck. Or maybe his MOMMY! I take one more good punch at his glass. Still no breakeee!

My padded gloves are saving his sorry ass. "Fuck it", I think to myself...this has gone on too long, and Im tired of chasing Mr. Diapers. And I'll be damned if I'll give the asshat the satisfaction of having the cops haul me in. I'm done....I roll off to my right, and take the right turn and head back to Waltham, enjoying the beautiful weather and the scenery as I ride along Memorial Drive which parallels the famed Charles River, and I'm tooling past Harvard, the cool air breezes restoring my sanity and renewing my faith in my fellow man.

Get paid to blog about your Hog!

I've set up a "Mechanical Turk" account that lets you submit a 250- to 1000-word blog entry about your Harley-Davidson experience, and get paid for it! (It only pays a quarter, but you also get bragging rights if you get published on the blog!)

Check it out here.

Hog Sounds

I subscribed to a few Harley-related podcasts last night:

• On the Road T.V. Show with Harley Davidson: A Video Podcast that is basically a low-budget infomercial for Harley dealership (and a Toyota place, apparently). Not sure I'll keep this subscription.


• The Harley Dude and Beemerman Roadshow: I'll give this one or two more listens before deciding, mostly because I didn't hear the Harley Dude on the latest podcast, so it was all "Beemerman." This podcast has the unique angle of including women riders, as well, and since I live with a woman who "collects motorcycles," I can relate.


• The HOG Cast: Didn't like this one so much, since it was a "field report" from someone who just called into the podcast, and he wasn't so dynamic. I'll give it one more listen.


• V-Twin Journal: This seems like the best-produced Harley-related podcast, with a good clear presenter and intesting topics. However, it hasn't been updated since March.


• myhfd.com: This isn't so much a podcast as a blog that happens to have the occasional audio attachment, but it is interesting enough to keep subscribed, if only for our shared interests of bikes and cigars!

Anyone know of any good Harley podcasts to add?