I am lame

I am officially lame. While many of you already know this, I certainly didn't. I fancy myself to be above the hype, the hoopla and hubbub. When I pilot one of my two wheeled chariots around Puget Sound, I become one with the machine, tuned into the ride and forgetting all my work and relationship related stress.

I thought the acquisition of a Harley Davidson would help my motorcycle addiction, creating a finish line of sorts for the obsession I have with buying and selling motorcycles. The Harley was off putting at first, heavy and loud. I couldn't get into it, and I would log hundreds of miles on my trusty old Japanese XS360 while the pile of American Iron sat idle in my driveway.

I started to ride the 1000 cubic centimeter Sportster after my Yamaha wouldn't start one day. Noisy and rattling, I went for hundred mile run out to North Bend and back. I had some kinks to iron out on my Ironhead, but the motor pulled to infinity and I buried the needle a couple of time on the Snohomish River road between Monroe and Everett.

I started to enjoy the ride, the howl of the rumbling pipes and the deep bark coming from the v-twin engine. I know it isn't an Evo motor. I know it isn't a Fat Boy. Everyone keeps telling me what my bike isn't, but I take pride in not having a cookie cutter chrome drowned ride that only sees miles on the sunny weekends. I ride my bike all the time. Rain or shine...

The Harley Dealership wasn't exactly an ego boost either. One salesman offered me a $1000 in trade towards a "real Harley" and let me know that they couldn't work on an old bike like my 82 Sportster. After thinking about it for a few minutes and feeling like a complete dipshit, I walked around behind the shop to the service area and looked for the most grease stained, buzzardy mechanic I could find. I saw him choking back a cigarette and he gave me a nod as if to ask, "what the fuck are you doing back here?"

After introducing myself and asking him for some advice about my bike, he warmed up. "Old Ironhead Sportsters are cool. Take the time to warm them up good, a couple of minutes at least. You need to make sure the oil is moving through the motor." He gave me some great advice and offered some tips. "You don't need some fifteen thousand dollar bike to have a good time. Take good care of the bike you got, and ride the wheels off it." He gave me the number of a shop that would work on older Harleys. "Don't worry about the sales people. They have to sell new bikes to make money. Don't fall into that trap."

I headed home and looked at my Sportster in a whole new light. I found a killer Ironhead website to help me with my questions and technical details. How do I change the oil in the motor and in gearbox? Got it. I started spinning wrenches and getting greasy fingers dialing in my ride. I was proud of my bike and hopped on that thing for short rides, long rides and everything else in between. I had already clocked 1000 miles on the thing and I had just started riding it.

It was all well and good until yesterday. It was a rare sunny afternoon with a little bit of cool in the air. I decided to head out Hwy 203 towards Fall City and back before it started to get dark. I put on my tattered Carhart work pants and my hoodie with my well work work jacket. I have a metal flake glitter open faced helmet from the seventies that I scored at the swap meet for $6.00. While I know bugs hurt like a motherfucker when you catch one to the face at speed, you just can't be the open air feeling while riding a motorcycle. I headed out of Monroe and blitzed at speed clicking off gears and watching the speedometer climb. When I rolled to a stop at the light in Duvall, another bike pulled up next to me.

This blacked out Dyna Wide Glide had eye popping chrome everywhere that wasn't deep black. I'm guessing it was about 20k worth of bike and another 5k of bling bolted and wired on. This thing had electric blue hidden mini LED lights sending blue all around the chassis and motor. While I think that looks gay as hell it was pretty trick. The pilot had the head to toe HD package with helmet, bandana, shades, gloves, jacket and boots. The only thing missing was the chaps. It there had been chaps in the equation I would have written the guy off immediately.

But the bike looked pretty dope. It was a tight looking rig and it and shined brilliantly. When the light turned green and the Wide Glide turned left, I realized that I had bike envy. This is what bothers me so much: I felt the token rise of desire for another bike based on appearance. It doesn't matter that my bike has performed awesome since I got it. It doesn't matter that my $3000 machine is paid in full. I saw the nice and shiny badass latest and greatest and it made me feel like less of a biker.

I told my girlfriend about the incident later that night. She laughed and said of course I would always feel like that from time to time, but this was my first Harley and buying that was a big deal. Would I really go and buy a $20,000 bike so I can feel cool? She thought it was funny because I usually don't buy into the hype. "Go ride your bike and you'll feel better."

So I did. And I do. It still bothers me that I felt that twinge, but I am human I guess.

"You can't always get what you want..."