Tag: harley-davidson

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Lost and Found

Here I am cleaning my motorcycle. It’s been awhile and it needs to be done. I ride all the time and just like your car and all the stuff you carry, it gets to the point where my saddle bags are full. Full to the point that I can’t get the required loaf of bread in it when I am asked to bring it home after work. So as I sort through what is necessary and what isn’t, I find that I’m just a sneeze away from being a hoarder on two wheels.

The very top is easy. A lighter pair of gloves, and a hooded sweatshirt. Check. Tie down bungee cords and rain suit, check. A hat for those horrible helmet hair days, and a pair of sunglasses. Broken of course. And another pair of gloves. And who couldn’t use those? What is this, a multi-tool? Great! More bungee cords and a single glove. The left one  must surely be in the other saddle bag. I mean, why would I keep a single glove? As for the bottom of the bag I find my insurance and registration card in a small zip-lock baggie which has a hole worn in it and some small things like sun screen and lip balm, and receipts for milk, bread, soda, chips and dog food!

One bag down and one to go. A tool roll and bug cleaner. Micro fiber towel and a pair of sunglasses. Not my style and I’m sure they’re not mine. Probably a find on the road somewhere and to good to throw away. Tennis shoes and teryaki beef jerky, and it’s still good. Another rain suit that has a story all to itself and wait, another bag of beef jerky that is not so good! That one was from a trip to Dodge City two years ago as it still had the receipt with it. Has it been that long? Not the trip…the beef jerky. I thought it lasted forever. For a second there I thought I saw the end of time where canned goods and beef jerky both had the same expiration date. Nearing the bottom I find the source of a lot of discussions about memory loss and the onset of aging gracefully. A Blackberry cell phone. You guessed it. The trip to Dodge City where I swore I left it in the Hotel. After many calls to them and all but riding out there to prove them wrong, I have to admit they were right. It’s funny how I knew every detail of the trip, where the phone was sitting in the room plugged into the charger, and the exact moment where the employees were making long phone calls to distant relatives while I was on the return trip home. But alas, phone records showed me otherwise.

So it’s been a couple of years since I’ve sorted through the necessities of the road. Now I have a little more room for this season’s travels, and soon I will mention the back story of the second rain suit. Melted leg and all! If I can remember it…

 

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Sunday Morning Coming Down

1974 Harley-Davidson 90
1974 Harley-Davidson 90

Growing up in a small town is who I am. I know every street, store front, and house around. We used to be a self sufficient community with everything from two grocery stores and two gas stations, and a cafe and clothing store to a community with limited conveniences. But still a great place none the less. At 13 years old and no drivers license it was ok to ride around town on my Harley-Davidson 90. I would ride to the Vicker’s gas station on Main street to get 50 cents worth of gas, a Snickers bar and a Mountain Dew. Herb Funk would require a 3 cent deposit on the bottle if we took it so I would eat my candy bar and drink the Mountain Dew there while hanging out with the regulars. It’s a wonder I didn’t pick up smoking cigars as a few of the old men did, but it was always fun to watch Herb fix a flat or go out to pump your gas. Looking back I have often wondered what he thought of us young guys on our bikes hanging out. As young men we never thought from that perspective. We were more consumed with the moment.

But one advantage to a small town is a local police officer that wasn’t to concerned about us riding around on the streets. And apparently neither were my parents. Frank was the local cop and he was also the city maintenance man so a lot of times he wouldn’t go out on patrol until the evening hours. Long after I had to be home! Both Herb and Frank were good guys. They are like so many people in White City that had a lasting affect either on the community or me personally.

Exploring the streets and country back roads for hours on end was great for a kid. Probably not something parents would allow now but it was the early 70’s and I guess that made it ok. Wearing the appropriate stars and stripes helmet, bell bottoms and a “what, me worry?” t-shirt and I was set. So many times we would ride out behind the grain elevator to what we called the Katy trails where the Katy train tracks used to be. It was a small area but it was all we had. You would think growing up here I would know everything about everything but it took me twenty years to find out who actually owned the property. One more person that really had an impact on us as young riders remained anonymous for most of my formative years. For that I thank him. He allowed us to ride there any time and never once said a word. Again, we didn’t think about that then, we were too caught up in the moment of being the future of our sport!

This was also a time when the summer days lasted forever. The sun hovered above us and time stood still. We went home dirty and tired, strung out on Snickers and Mountain Dew. Blisters on our hands, bell bottoms torn from getting caught on the chain and sprocket and out of gas. Good times.

I still live in this town. Some of the people that have always been “White City” have passed. Herb, Frank, Perry Moore who owned the grocery store and Earl Casterline, just to name a few, are missed. I wish I could tell them now that I’m an adult how much I appreciate them for making this town a great place to grow up. Now that I’m not so much in the moment of being a teenager, I would like to know what they thought of us. If I was a betting man they were thinking “those crazy kids and their damn motorcycles!”.

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The Beaten Path Less Traveled

So I’ve been thinking about the road less traveled. We motorcyclists seem to search out this road to find the peace and serenity of a curvy or tree-lined way of getting there. Usually it’s a short two-lane between cities or major highways, but beautiful none the less. But how far is the road less traveled? How far is “off the beaten path”?

A road trip to Sturgis in 2007 found me and six of my friends on one of these roads. It was a Sunday and it didn’t take us long to find out that in some remote places of this country there is a world of folks that take Sunday off! Mostly gas station attendants and repair shops. As we rode into the Northwest of Nebraska we soon found out that the more you need gas, the harder it is to find. A great idea of a modern version of the old gas station,open 24 hours, to include beef jerky, hotdogs on heated rollers and pay at the pump gas, more commonly known as a convenience store, had yet to make it to this corner of Nebraska.

As we pulled into a farmer’s co-op this Sunday afternoon with a closed sign in the window and no pay at the pump, it was decided that a restroom was also a pretty important part of the modern conveniences we have come to expect. Well what do seven guys do when nature calls? We answer  the phone! Standing next to a bulk fuel truck and our backs to the highway, we found the one person that does work on a Sunday. He wears a badge and drives a pretty fast car. He pulls in and asked what we were doing in a very nice but firm manner. We explained the situation and expecting the worse, he was quick to get on the one piece of modern technology that did make this far off the beaten path, his cell phone! He called the one guy that could come and open the co-op for us to get gas.

Relieved, in more ways than one, we stayed for a little while and spent some money on Snickers bars and Mountain Dew. The appreciation on our faces was obvious and the officer stayed and hung out as well. It is truly amazing at the helpfulness of those in the small towns. I know as I’m from one myself. But to go out of your way and help is a two way street. Pass it on or pay it forward. Take the road less traveled and relax. Meet the local people face to face, or wave at the young boys on their bicycles as you ride through town. It’s a pretty universal language.

As I said, coming from a small town myself I know how these communities struggle. Next time you stop for gas, buy that candy bar or hotdog on a heated roller and show your support. You never know, that same place may not be open next time you pass through without your support.