CHAPTER NINE - Fellow Biker

(The Next Summer) Ol' Huck turned 50,000 miles this week, so I took all of the fiberglass off and sponge bathed her down to get three years of road dust and grease into a bucket. A new layer of wax and chrome polish and my annual bike cleaning chore is done. Ya don't see me do that very often, I'm afraid. I'm not one to polish my Harley much. It's meant to haul my ass around when I get the hankerin' and I get right proud of the bugs on the windshield after a while.

While I was at it, I got my new Sears Craftsman motorcycle lift, hoisted her up, dropped the front wheel, replaced the speedometer drive which I broke on my last trip, and replaced the speedo cable while I was at it. I had just gotten it back from the dealership from its 10K service and it was gleaming, repaired and serviced... I needed to take it for a ride!

I had recently received an email from the regional editor at Thunder Press Magazine asking me to pop on down to South Carolina and see if this Bike Show / Poker Rally / Tobacco Festival the boys in Lake City were putting on was worthy of a couple pictures and a page or so in their magazine. Lemme think... maybe I could claim a box of cigars as an expense item - hey! it IS a Tobacco Festival!

My first thought was to see who might want to make the quick trip with me. The usual suspects drooled on about work, or domestic chores, or repair problems. All of which I understood having gone through a rather dry riding spell myself recently.

I popped off a quick email to Lance West up in Virginia to see what was keeping him home the coming weekend.

I hadn't seen Lance since last fall when we bumped into each other on a camping trip in the North Carolina mountains. Found him to be a worthy riding buddy on his '53 Panhead FLH. My last memories of him and his bike were watching him and a women we had just met in a bar, Beverly, riding off in the chill damp air, leaving her husband, Biker Bob, busy memorizing our license plates as we pulled out of the bar parking lot. I had just lost much of my camping gear in a losing battle with a tree limb, and was heading home to lick my wounds.

Fast rewind to last February, a couple weeks before Daytona and three months before an upcoming trip to West Virginia. I had my morning cup of coffee in front of my dual-screen monitor in my home-office setup. I was still in my bathrobe, which is usually the case right up until I see my wife come home mid-afternoon from work. It's often a close call running upstairs to get dressed before she gets up the front steps and into the house. Fortunately today she is home keeping the coffee topped off, being it's Saturday.

Once I got through all the junk emails, which amounts to dozens a day usually, I found myself staring at a real gem. You know how I will, once in a while, take a shot at the Dood in his shiny new leathers, jeans, boots, gloves and gleaming chrome. Worse than a Newbie in a way - the kinda guy who just got old enough to instantly buy his way into Harleys. I don't eat instant grits for the same reason...just add water and badda-bing...grits. Well, no…badda-bing...paste, actually.

In this case, just add money and badda-boom, Biker Dood. Granted, I was once a first-time motorcycle rider myself. It was in the mid '60's - back when nobody actually waved at passing bikers. It was more of a raised fist - kinda like a salute of defiance, 'til the Black Panthers ripped it off, and then nobody did that anymore. Too bad... I rather enjoyed that act of rebellion. But my excuse was I was 16, a rebel without a credit card, and well...stupid. I had my first motorcycle - a Honda 50cc. Not a dirt bike, a true motorcycle. I even earned the right to ride it after buying it in a basket and putting it back together after a wreck. The gas tank was caved in so I simply Bondo'd a Miller High Life bar sign to the side of it to cover the mashed-in tank. My very own Miller Machine!

Even now when I force myself to buy a new pair of gloves, ( and only because the duct tape don't hold the old ones together anymore ), I roll 'em around in the dirt, toss 'em in the washer a couple times, scrape 'em up on the pavement and let 'em sit in out on the back porch in the sun 'til the old pair totally falls apart.. then and only then do I put on the new pair. So, when a guy in his 40's shows up at a rally with a new shiny leather vest with one pin on it... this year's rally... ya just gotta wonder.

So, there it was, a chilly February morning, the tent and rain gear and sleeping bag already strapped on Ol' Huckleberry for my annual pilgrimage south to Daytona. I am furiously deleting emails either promising an extra 2-3 inch "enhancement" if I would only Click Here... or earn my advanced degree from the University of Western Scruggs in Iowa ... or help a businessman from Nigeria smuggle millions out of his country (he'd be willing to give me half if I'd only send him my bank account codes! Cool!) I'm reading the following email, sent from Niles Winchester Kingsford, III, ( a fake name to protect the fool from certain ridicule ):

Dear Muthuh,

Now that I am one of you - a fellow biker - I wanted to ask where do I apply to go on one of your tours? I just brought home my new 2002 Road King, my first bike, and am anxious to experience the thrill of the wind in my face. My wife and I were thinking of joining you on the West Virginia Trip coming up in May. I only hope that's enough time to put the requisite 500 miles on the bike for the break-in period. I'm willing to pay whatever it takes to join the tour and be like you. Sincerely,

Niles

"Hey Honey, ya gotta come read this", I say to my wife. She quickly pulls off the reading glasses she wears when at the kitchen table with the Saturday paper. She hates being seen with them on.

I don't know if I really wanted her to read it as much as I wanted to watch her walk over to me in her shiny gold bathrobe. With the kitchen light on behind her like that, she... well, I better get back to the story.

After a few seconds reading the monitor over my shoulder, she straightens up and shakes her head. "You KNOW you'd never ride with somebody like that. But just for kicks, find out how much he'd be willing to pay for the escort." She knew I was gonna have a little fun at his expense.

Now, my first thought was that someone was screwing with me. But his AOL email address checked out - his profile talking about his investment banking business, linked to what looks like a legitimate web page. I doubted anybody would put up that much background to cover for a practical joke. I re-read the last line about paying whatever it takes. Hmmmmm.

Man, I was really wondering about a biker...well, I should say a Motorcycle Owner... who was concerned about needing 3 months to put the "requisite" 500 miles on his shiny new scooter to finish out his break-in. The horror of contemplating riding with anyone who used the word requisite was bad enough, but this guy actually saw his bad self as a fellow biker already. Listen, I ride maybe 15,000 miles a year on Ol' Huck and rarely call myself anybody's 'fellow biker'! (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know many of y'all ride more than that - save the 'I can do better than that' mail, I'm makin' a point here.)

So, like many of you, I figured this may be fun, certainly better than going through junk mail (although that "2-3 inches" thing intrigued me.) I popped out the following reply thinking I'd never hear from him again:

Dear Niles,

I am always pleased to find a Fellow Biker willing to accompany me on one of my jaunts through the countryside. You'd be more than welcomed in joining me - I only hope you can find enough time to get through the break-in period. I'd need for you to fill out the following questionnaire, to ensure our compatibility on this adventure.

• Now that you are a biker, what nickname have you given yourself?
• To save on space, I usually ask that anyone I ride with use .357 ammunition. That way we don't all have to pack separate stashes of ammo. Can you bring a box?
• Will you send a picture of your wife?...several actually. My wife's not going to be joining us on this particular trip, and me and the other guys would like to get a look at her. We'll talk about the first-time-rider initiation at our first night's stop.
• I only have three rooms reserved for this trip at each stop. I'll need your credit card number to make additional reservations. Please include your expiration date, Zip Code and approximate available credit limit.
• Have you ever been convicted of a felony? I hate to ask this of you, but the provisions of my parole require that I don't associate with another convicted felon. My parole officer keeps a pretty close eye on me! Musta been that incident in Tijuana that makes him nervous, who knows?
• If we run into a guy named Spike up there in West Virginia, I'd ask that you find some way to circle around behind him and have your Smith & Wesson ready for whatever happens. He don't care for me much and has threatened to kill me next time I come within 100 miles of his wife. He's a bit sensitive about that. You OK with that?
• You ever have any luck with those "2-3 inch enhancement" products I keep hearing about in my emails?

Anyway, get back to me and we'll start planning our trip together!

Regards,

-Muthuh

OK... so I was fuckin' with him - it was a slow day. Turned out I gave him more credit than he deserved. I figured he'd see it for a joke and slink away. But no!... here's what I got back that afternoon:

Dear Muthuh,

I hadn't thought about the nickname yet, how does Skipper sound? That's what the kids at school used to call me.

I don't have any ammo. Although I do have a trick belt buckle that has a .22 cal one-shot pistol in it. Can I bring that? I didn't think you were allowed to carry a gun on a motorcycle. I suppose I should go buy a box of shells for it.

Please charge my room and your fee to MasterCard xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx (even I wouldn't be so crude as to reveal this guys credit card number!)... let me know how much you charged so I can jot it down.

I've never been convicted of a Felony. Got caught shoplifting once as a teenager. Does that mean I can't go?

I'm not sure Heather would appreciate it if I sent you her pictures. She went to a calendar-girl photographer a few weeks ago - actually, I think it's supposed to be a surprise because she hadn't told me yet - I found these pictures in her underwear drawer...she's been going back every night for about two weeks now... I guess they haven't gotten the right pose yet - so I can send you some of the poses I secretly scanned. Please don't let anyone else see these though - she'd kill me. I'll attach them to this email. She's got more, but I can't send them out - they're way too provocative. Good thing this guy is a professional photographer - or I'd start to worry!

Let me know what you think,

Sincerely,

Niles

OK, so we all have to do our part to help out the Newbies..... my reply was:

Dear Niles,

Welcome to the trip!

Regards,

-Muthuh

PS. Send some more pictures of Heather!

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