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| - I dream of Harley's. For me, it is the quintessential expression of American freedom. You kick that baby over and it roars to life with a sputtering beat. A growly idle that can be recognized anywhere, muttering leather jackets and tattoos, bandannas and my dirty ol' blue jeans.
My Kawasaki Vulcan (a Harley wannabe) had been sitting idle for some months now, since I purchased Clifford, my new truck. With the beautiful weather we've been having, the urge to feel the wind in my face called me. I uncovered the bike and dusted it off, only to find the throttle cables seized. There is a very specific tool you need to lubricate throttle (and other) cables, and they don't sell them in auto parts stores. So, I decided to make the 20-mile trip to Ridenow. Every time I've been to Ridenow, I've been disappointed, and this time was no exception. Oh, they had the tool, and wanted to sell me a $4 tool for $25. Of course, they would throw in a can of lube and a fuck-ton of attitude. Forget it, you people suck.
I left Ridenow thinking back on the days when Cave Creek Road was lined with Bike shops. You could visit a shop for just about any bike within a mile radius. Not anymore. Heading south down Cave Creek Road, I passed the Honda shop, out of business. Winding around Shadow Mountain, I spy Buddy Stubbs on the right. It's a Harley shop. Well, what I needed wasn't specific to any brand and this was a bike shop. I wheeled in and parked Clifford near the front.
Walking in, this place is expansive. Harley heaven. There's a lounge, a clothing store, Harley trinkets galore and bikes. OMG, I felt like a biker. Just being there. They have a museum full of ancient bikes crammed in side-by-side. Several bikes that Evil Knievel used in his famous jumps. Electra-Glides, hard-tails, Bobs, all sorts of Harleys. Oh, but all I wanted was this tool.
I strolled back to the parts desk and was politely greeted by a tattooed man wearing a Harley vest and blue jeans. The requisite chained wallet hung from his belt. He had never heard of this tool I spoke of, but he did have an injector that does the same thing. for $6. Sold. Problem! Credit-card terminal was not working. Tattoo man was on the horn to IT that fast. This dude was bending over backwards to sell me a six dollar bottle of lube in a shop with $20+K bikes on the showroom floor. Harley stuff. He was the coolest Harley guy I've ever met. He swore he would get the terminal working and begged my patience.
I wandered about the shop, drooling over these man-machines, starting to think, hmmm, I wonder if they would take a Harley wannabe as a trade in? Nah, I'm thinking, they'd prolly laugh at me as they chased me out of their Harley world with my tail between my legs. Sales people were there, and I could feel their eyes on me, but nobody approached me. It's not hard to sell a Harley, people want them. They know this, and they leave me to dream.
Parts guy tracks me down, Terminal is working. He rings me up and I leave, somewhat wistfully, dreaming of what could have been.
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