A Goodbye. Then not looking back. Never look back.

Other than to remember one hell of a fucking sweet bike.

I’ve had a few bikes.   Some I’ve really loved.    I started out riding a dirt bike when I was 11.   An XR75.      I remember making the shifting “sound” in first gear and even at 11, it didn’t sound right.    My dad wasn’t ready to teach his curious little son what shifting the bike was.   Once he showed me (he made me ask him) I could finally make that sound a 72cc bike should make as you kick ass on it and lay down some gears and a wide open throttle.    To this day, I think about that and see the wisdom in what he had going there.

I graduated to a trail 90.   Only because I had a friend who’s dad had a welder and I wanted to lay my shocks forward on the frame, like those sweet ass husqvarna’s back in the 70s that had those ohlin shocks and that chrome section on the gas tank.    Trouble is, my 12 year old buddy couldn’t weld like his old man, and he burned through the frame.    All good right? I ditched a few cops riding the streets of Orem utah on my xr75 by mostly being scared my bike was gonna get repo’d by the old man, and a little of knowing the terrain better than what an orem cop knew.   No such luck on that trail 90.    Even so, me and my buds took it off some sweet jumps.

Around 15-16 years old My dad let me ride his 2 stroke, 1976 Honda 250 elsinore.   I got my motorcycle license at 16, and I got a few tickets on that thing.   Young, dumb and full of cum.   I remember seizing it because I ran it out of oil, letting her cool down and riding her home again before she seized again.    Got a ticket on 1600 north in Orem (I was 20 minutes late for a date) doing 60 in a 25, no license, no helmet, no registration, excessive noise (I drilled the baffle out, had to sound cool right?),  and because it was so loud the cop followed me for 3 miles before I looked in my rear view mirror.       Lost my license in one ticket, 6 months after I got the damn thing.   The cop was mad, but screw him:  he didn’t see the beauty of what I had going on that evening.     I got that bike back in my posession 25  years later, and sold it later for 100 bucks.  It was 50 bucks for more than it was worth.  50 bucks worth of memories, and a garage that would now fit a mini van because it was gone.  It never said another word about running her out of oil.

When I moved to long beach california I bought my first street bike.   I had a little money, and I knew what I wanted to spend that on.    I bought a 1983 Honda Magna.    Did some local riding.   felt the wind, and after finding I was sick of Long beach at 22 years of age, I bought me a new seat, some new blinker lights, a sissy bar and a pack that would fit her, and figured I’d ride her home to southern Utah.

I remember that feeling of feeling exposed.   I wasn’t in a car, there’s no second chances on a guy that hadn’t ridden for a while.   A bump or a bad turn signal and I’m man down, on the side of 1-15, let alone if I make Cajon Pass.   I manned up, got on the road and around barstow the mojo hit, about the time I heard this song:

I remember that moment distinctly. That was the moment I knew I wanted this feeling the rest of my life.

I rode that bike all over.   You know those splitters where you can make a walkman earphone work for 2 people?    I distinctly remember the moment riding down river road in St george on my bike.  Mylatest girl on the back;, and she knew every word of china grove and listen to the music by the doobie brothers, and knew I’d found the right one.    She rode with me, and she had the depth to see past milli vanilli’s of the day, even though she liked to dance a little to it.   I married that girl, and she afforded so much of my bullshit, let alone 3 beautiful daughters that I’m so proud of.    My  magna deserves that memory. For the guy that held the handlebars, it steered me right that day.  Bikes give the right inspiration.  That night, it certainly changed my life for the best.

this is all bla bla bla, hang with me.   I gotta pay tribute to the bike I just called Harley Davidson Financial Services and told I can’t pay for it anymore.     I need to get this out.

I pushed that bike off the back of my father in laws truck at the landfill 15 years later.   I’d replaced the engine, rode it some more and after the tranny gave up, it blew oil 2 lanes wide, she’d given her all.   Honestly, I sat there and I cried as son as I watched her flop over the back of the tailgate. It was over for me and the Magna.  Felt I’d fucked over a good friend. It was Hitting home  that I was married and had to do what I had to do, had kids I needed to take care of  and that that bike was going to be buried in fill dirt.    That Was good to me.

Then 11 years.    Good years.    I started an excavating business, had a couple of kids, took a risk or two and did well for myself.   Had another kid, and was so busy that I forgot what a little wind and a spot on a map did for a soul.

Sold a business, Sold another business…. then found a partner I thought I could make some money with and rest a little.    Little Did I know, there’s no rest 🙂

On the way to a business meeting in hurricane utah, we stopped by the harley shop right off the freeway because the prick spaced us off.   My credit was good, My memory was pretty faded, but it spun when when my friend turned and told me to notice the bike right behind me;  I spun, and saw the bike I would own 45 minutes later and drive off the lot.

2006 street glide.   she was a rental, but my neighbor who ran the harley dealership took a shine to her, and it never hit the rental fleet.  he took her to Denver with some friends, and decided she needed more power.

She she got stroked out,  just after she got broke in on her 88 ci motor.

88 cubic inches got bored to 102.  Stroker crank.   Stroker Pistons.   Roller Rockers.   Race Tuner.   Screamin Eagle breather.   Vance & Hines 2 into one, only because it was the louder than the rhineharts.   C&C Ported heads, bored smooth. The shop called her the “fire breather”, and I became friends with that mechanic.   Not long after, and I showed up in the shop.   Spun around and bought her and a fat boy, because my dickhead partner didn’t have credit.

I will say this:   She’s a bagger.   I’m not winning any slalom competitions.    But open road, you wouldnt touch her.    I beat 6 cylinder Valkyries.    I don’t care who you are.    I always in that race.     She was something special.

I loved that bike.      Soon after, I re-found my touring bug, and then it was on.      There was not a road within 400 miles that I hadn’t known intimately, with the history or the alignment since the 40s.    Then route 66, and 400 miles was a friday night.     Reconnected with my brother, who loves riding as much as I do.   Did an iron butt on a bald tire;   1130 miles in one day, all documented and in a plaque.    Rode more route 66.

I blew her engine at 40, 000 miles over a christmas holiday, and scraped together the 6k to get her back on the road again, where she took me more places.   More stories.

Time changes, and familes need to be first.    Man, its who I am, and who I was raised to be.    I wont violate that.

I’ve had a lot of great memories with this bike, and honestly… I don’t know where I will go from here to get another.     My business partner was a shister, my family needed stability and bills needed to get paid so my kids have the chances I’ve had.   And the wife who’s stuck by me through a lot of thicks and too many thins can do what she needs to do as well.

So I turned her in tonight.   The repo man will be calling me I’m sure in the next few days, and I’ll work my way over there to give her to the man.     They wouldn’t work with me.

I pried the road rage stickers off the fender, because that was unique to me, and had some personal stories.

This is depressing me writing this,    and I’m not gonna wallow in my own crap.   Let it just be said I loved this bike.   It showed me a lot of things, and I showed it more.      Signing off, and tomorrow we’ll plow forward and work toward again something more.

But make no mistake, I’ll have me another bike.

Much Love and Respect to those that read my blog.    Theres no keeping a good man down.

I need to ask.   Do you bond with your bike, or is it just another bike?   why do you love that bike?