An embarrassment of wealth!

Naw, that's a pile of things we sorted out for pick-up--I just dumped it into one place. Behind the camera is my F-150, two huge plastic city recycling cans and some of my wife's gardening tools.

You want to see wide and empty space? Check my wallet!

This is no kidding--the fancy triple chromed chain that secures my wallet for the highway is worth more than I usually carry in it, no lie.

The chain cost 30 bucks. My wife usually gives me a fiver for incidentals.
 
...well, that's also embarrassing...

One of the benefits in being an old fudd is that you get to brag about being "really tough" and how young kids have it soft. Heck, the nicest part of this little Sporster is that nothing--except the electric starter--is more evolved than the technology of the 1960s.

Or so I thought...

I've been smirking to an entire gallery of "children" that it takes a spine of iron and a bladder of kevlar to pilot this archaic beast. "It's like a panhead with an iron seat," I tell them, but add, "and not much of a seat, at that..."

Well, last night I sat down and actually read the manual. Yeah, yeah, I know. Rumor has it that the '48' has adjustable shock absorbers with five separate settings from, "ruptured spleen" to a very leisurely "bleeding kidney." Off I go to the garage to check to see how 'Spinner' was originally adjusted and I take the manual with me, as some shocks require a tool.

Sadly, my shocks were already set at the softer setting of "two" which is probably good for my weight and driving style. But there in the manual I suddenly saw instructions for the horror of horrors!

"How to set your digital clock."

Digital clock? Yikes, every real biker knows that the first thing you do when you straddle a custom Harley is to toss your wrist watch onto the road's shoulder. It's documented in "Easy Rider," and done by no less than Peter Fonda.

Over the years I've thrown away about $11,000 dollars in watches, many of them at the same stretch of highway. (If I ever meet Mr. Fonda I'm going to ask him why this is necessary. I think the quartz movement in watches interferes with Massey-Ferguson magnetos.)

I turn the ignition onto "accessories" and punch the 'mileage reset button' on the rear of the speedometer. Yikes! There it is! A frakken clock! Oy, I feel like a 'modern man.' I have the sudden desire to eat spinach quiche' or vote for a Kennedy or burn a bra. My hand was still trembling when I fished out a shot-glass and a cut-glass bottle of anejo Patron.

I swore like a sailor a few times, forced myself to watch "Kendra" just to see Hugh Heffner and then smashed my toes with a ball-peen hammer until these avante guarde stirrings passed.

I love my '48' and I suggest you purchase one. But please, I beg you, take a mallet to that speedometer...
 
Having kick started my old XLCH way back in the day, I can say with all certainty that I love the electric leg on my Sporty!

Along with your digital clock, there is a low fuel warning light instead of a petcock with a reserve setting (not that a 2.2 gallon tank would go far on reserve). And it has fuel injection instead of a REAL carburetor! Don't forget there's a computer under your butt somewhere. Worst of all, it's a lot more reliable than in the old days! It's not likely to leave you stranded and it won't mark its spot!!!

Quiche becomes manly when you add bacon to it. Bras have their place. But voting for a Kennedy? Horrors! Go for a ride, get some bugs in your teeth. You'll feel better.

Have fun, ride safe,

David
 
David Broadwell said:
Along with your digital clock...low fuel warning light...fuel injection...computer...Quiche...Kennedy?
Click to expand...

Merciful heavens! What have I done?:eek:

Well, to be fair, I do have EFI on 'Black Betty.' I begrudgingly bought a race module for her dyno tuning. I do like all of those things. I even bought Betty a CVO front end for more precise and comfortable handling. So I guess--admittedly--I'm becoming a civilized, modern man.

But the '48' just seems so simple, so lean and part of my youth. I've had a blast these past few days.

But we have a bigger problem. My wife knows I cannot answer my cell at highway speeds, but sooner or later I have to stop. Despite any of her complaints I can always say, "I lost track of time."

What do I do now if she ever finds out the Sportster has its own clock?
 
I like all that stuff, too. Mine has a carb and no clock, but I could live with that stuff if I had to.

I think guys like us are just a bunch of posers. We like the LOOK of older styled bikes and the image that goes with it, but we like modern conveniences as well. We're pathetic, but there's worse things we could be, so it's okay!

And speaking of modern conveniences, all I did was type in "r i d e s a f e" and it automatically dropped in a fat round guy riding a chopper. That's the next thing we'll see on our HDs!

David
 
David Broadwell said:
I think guys like us are just a bunch of posers.
Click to expand...

Poser? A bit harsh, but I know what you mean. The proper term now is "born again biker.":D

In a discussion on mentoring, I once said that I was not a 'real biker' when I first patched, but I was one when I went inactive.

(BTW, we are proud to say we are a 'club,' not a gang, and that's the way the founder wanted it. We are local and non-franchising, so that goal has been a grounding principle. In fact, my SIL is a Red Cross nurse. She reports that when they open a drive, the first in line are our boys.)

As you might know from local slang, a 'tourist' is a biker who won't commit to motorcycle tenets, only rides in the sun, hasn't been to Sturgis, hasn't thrown a punch since grade school, etc. With over 200K on various bikes I have nothing left to prove.

I will admit, I now ride for fun, and fun alone.

But I'm proud of that past, and the friends I have met along the way. We have 14 commemorative black bricks at our clubhouse, I've known them all. A feel a man should go through a rite-of-passage, and this was mine.

http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb231/TheTourist_bucket/DSC00153.jpg
 
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The Tourist said:
One of the benefits in being an old fudd is that you get to brag about being "really tough" and how young kids have it soft....

...I've been smirking to an entire gallery of "children" that it takes a spine of iron and a bladder of kevlar to pilot this archaic beast. "It's like a panhead with an iron seat," I tell them, but add, "and not much of a seat, at that..."
Click to expand...

It's a humbling day when a Man of Iron discovers there's a lil' rust between his toes,and he has to start including a shot of WD40 with his morning repast of
volkswagons and rice (rockets);)
 
But we have a bigger problem. My wife knows I cannot answer my cell at highway speeds, but sooner or later I have to stop. Despite any of her complaints I can always say, "I lost track of time."

What do I do now if she ever finds out the Sportster has its own clock?
Click to expand...

A) It's in the speedometer and when do you look at that?
B) It's in the speedometer so if you are looking at it, it'd better be showing you how fast you're going, right?
C) Besides, it was set by some old guy so you know it's not right! :p
 
The Tourist said:
Poser? A bit harsh, but I know what you mean. The proper term now is "born again biker.":D

In a discussion on mentoring, I once said that I was not a 'real biker' when I first patched, but I was one when I went inactive.

(BTW, we are proud to say we are a 'club,' not a gang, and that's the way the founder wanted it. We are local and non-franchising, so that goal has been a grounding principle. In fact, my SIL is a Red Cross nurse. She reports that when they open a drive, the first in line are our boys.)

As you might know from local slang, a 'tourist' is a biker who won't commit to motorcycle tenets, only rides in the sun, hasn't been to Sturgis, hasn't thrown a punch since grade school, etc. With over 200K on various bikes I have nothing left to prove.

I will admit, I now ride for fun, and fun alone.

But I'm proud of that past, and the friends I have met along the way. We have 14 commemorative black bricks at our clubhouse, I've known them all. A feel a man should go through a rite-of-passage, and this was mine.

http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb231/TheTourist_bucket/DSC00153.jpg
Click to expand...

Over the years,there are things I've learned that are Truths,
and you've touched on a few of 'em here.
Every culture has specific Rites Of Passage that the entire community gathers
to support.
A young Man or Woman is acknowledged and welcomed as such by the community.
Except...in North America.There are some isolated groups and areas where something is done,but generally,about as close as we get is making the football team,getting your D.L.,and making it to 3rd Base,etc...
Being a "biker" ain't about being on 2 wheels;it's a state of Mind and Spirit.
I've known many folks who have never been on a bike,but are every bit as 'biker' as any.
And,I've seen plenty of punks sitting astride their 'custom',Billy-Bolt-On bikes,flexing their gym-bought and tribal/primitive barb-wire inked arms to the plastic girls on the side-walk who wouldn't know what Biker was if it stomped 'em to the curb...
I call these guys Starbuck's Bikers:they,like their bikes,come in a variety of flavors,but really,it's the same crap,day after day after day,and it's all about corporate imaging and style.
THESE are the posers.
They check their iPhones for weather updates before they head out on the highway,and if there's a few drops in the forecast,they head for the Holiday Inn.
I ain't never seen a bed-roll on any of those bikes.

As for proving anything,
there's only 2 people I gotta impress:
me,and the Old Man Upstairs.
 
Having played guitar with various bands in various dives for the better part of 10 rather blurry years, I could tell you a few things about posers. But Ironwolf already summed it up pretty well.

In about 30 minutes I'm off to see what I can get for a couple of old Gibsons I don't play much any more. I could use the cash and it makes me feel bad that they're not getting the attention they deserve. Wish me luck.
 
Hey, guys, me and the little 'Spinner' just got back from deliveries. If you've been riding this afternoon in Dane County Wisconsin you'll know that most of the time the little Sporty was 'airborne.' Yikes, hard stiff gusts. Forcasts say we might get 50 MPH straight line winds.

No highways today. I tried it, going into the wind I couldn't use fifth without running out of beans. I hugged the far right side of the lanes on 12/18 until I could get to the shop and get off the main thoroughfares. I went back home through town--and used the side roads, at that.

(Besides, I have to feed the dogs. The clock said 3:18...:D)

Yeah, but it's nice to get home, flip on the computer and find my friends here all had jabs and advice to make the day lighter! I wish everyone was around tonight when we pack into my garage for lies and refreshments!;)
 
It's windy as baked-bean cookoff up here too, man. I can only imagine what that's like on a light bike like that.

Knifedogs.com... the virtual garage where lies and refreshments flow freely :)
 
I'm terrible at poker (honest!) but I do know how to sip a lil' ta-kill-ya! No training wheels for me, thank you. ;)
 
There's always humorous things that happen when I go out for a spin--crowd pleasers--it's just that many times I don't mean things to end that way.

I cannot carry a lot of gasoline on this new little Sportster, resulting in lots of gas-stops. Yesterday was a classic case of how not to act cool, or more correctly, finding it impossible to act cool.

As I have stated, yesterday we had howling winds. There was dust and pollen flying everywhere, and I have allergies. The only thing I had with me was a pocketful of single dollar bills from sharpening. The Sportster has no fuel gauge. I have no idea just how quickly this tight engine burns fuel, except for a yellow warning light signaling it's already too late. That, and I was pushing a head-wind for much of the trip. These facts became the recipe for disaster.

I pull into my local gas station and hand the check-out guy every nickel I have with me and ask him to set the pump for "pre-pay." So far, no prob.

Just as I get back to the bike, a sleek black Euro-cruiser-sport-something rolls up right across the pump bay. Out pops one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Tall, sophisticated. Black raven hair replete with a widow's peak, playfully tied back. That face framed by tortoise shell shades that undoubtedly cost more than all of my chrome. It was difficult not to trace every line of those form-hugging ebony slacks, and she strode confidently, driving those spiked high heels defiantly into the concrete. Yikes.

Granted, my days of "chasing" are clearly over, but we all like to polish our image. However it was at exactly this moment that my sinuses started to rebel. I began to sneeze. Not once, but dozens of times, uncontrollably, loudly, and hard enough to pop both of my own ears, not to mention hers.

I hacked for so long and so hard that she completely finished fueling her ego-mobile before I could even wrench the cap off my scooter.

And 'wrench' is the correct term. By the time I felt I was composing myself, she had paid her tariff and was on her way back out. Due to the ratcheting threads on my gas cap, you cannot over tighten it when it's replaced. However due to its slippery new chrome finish, I could not grip it tightly enough to get it off.

What followed was a juggling act of snot covered handkerchief and leather glove in a desperate attempt to get the cap off before the next sneeze hobbled me. One twist finally meshed the threads as the cap began to turn, just in time to see this goddess ignite her turbocharged engine, pop open her cell phone, toss her head in my direction with abject disgust and sprint out of the lot.

To add upon any insult of that moment, the speaker on the pump crackled, "Do you still want the gas...?"

I love motorcycling.
 
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If it hadn't been a beautiful woman next to you, that whole fiasco never would have happened :D I tell ya, God has one heck of a sense of humor.
 
"Sense of humor" would be the least offensive aspect of irony at play. However, this treatise is usually how I roll. I can spin a freshly honed yanagiba through my fingers when no one is in the room, but let a single person enter my sphere...

Since that event, some fifteen hours ago, I may have sneezed only three or four times.
 
there is one silver lining...
at least you weren't sneezing from BOTH ends!:eek::D
That would have made for a very long,long ride ;)
 
Ironwolf said:
there is one silver lining...
Click to expand...

So, you're saying it was a "good day" when the best thing that happens is not publically soiling yourself when watching women..?

Oy, just how boring are those Canook biker bars?

"Ay, lookee here. I didn't drop my Suzuki 350 on the ice, we gots a package of new Oreos, 'I Love Lucy' is now in color and Swen's barstool smells pretty sweet for a Tuesday..."

We're a tougher breed down here. We've had 'Lucy' broadcast in color for our biker bars since the 1980s!:D
 
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