The last wave of a recovering Harley addict

It was an abrupt move from name recognition and camaraderie to sheer riding pleasure.
Typical Harley bikers, riding two up, we relished our leather jackets and chaps, the abundance of chrome, the pitch of the pipes and the feel that you are riding on a horse that needs a whisper to tame it. It was a love affair we thought would never end, that is until last month when my husband test drove a BMW and on the spot traded in his 2006 Harley Davidson FLHX Street Glide for the light and powerful 110 horse power 2009 BMW R1200RT, an amazing machine. But the Harley had been his long before I rode pillion, and you could feel she knew it.

Theirs had been a long love affair filled with weekend sojourns. Just the two of them, riding in the Colorado mountains. In the beginning, she let him change her, small things at first and then larger more expensive modifications. The changes improved her inherent good looks and enhanced her performance. Passers-by commented on her beauty. But now something had gone terribly wrong. She had overheard him talking about his infatuation with another. He’d never leave her. He told her so. She was all he ever wanted, the envy of all who saw her.

After all, it was only a test ride. You know, a ride to see what the competition feels like something like checking out the moves on the dance floor. To Harley, the German looked more like a Japanese cartoon character. This “beemer” didn’t have her rugged good looks. No worries. He would mount it, take it for a spin and that would be that. Sure, it was the latest model, looking sleek and mean with all kinds of gadgets like heated seats and grips, cruise control, an electric moveable windshield and 110 horse power. And, that come hither German accent was only a buzz, a purr, compared to her all-American bellowing. Yeah, he told her, it was just a test ride to see how it handled. He wouldn’t part with his best gal. She’d been his for a very long time and no other had ever measured up to her. Hadn’t he spent nearly $2,000 this year fixing her up? Hadn’t he detailed every crevice of her body?

So, she stood alone and watched him as he rode off. He’d be back shortly. She wasn’t worried.

Gently, he lifted his leg over the German’s body. A turn of the key and it was ready. They were off!

He leaned into the new machine. It was smooth on the first turn. Passing others on the highway, the opposing direction riders offered no wave. He wondered if they’d seen him or if the quiet passage of this bullet defied a quick response. Rolling the throttle ever so gently and moving into third gear it begged for more. An ess-curve ahead provided what it needed. He opened it up. It was a seduction for which there was no antidote—from a vibrating and pouncing heavy metal to soft, dreamy, rocket jazz. No vapors. No heat. He didn’t feel like a bad boy. He felt like he was being carried on Pegasus. Powerful, stable, fluid, nimble enough to bunny-hop over a candlestick, it was everything he ever wanted.

It was a done deal. No longer just a machine, it was now his new mistress of the road.

As he rode out on his new gal, “arm candy” of a different kind, he turned and gave a final wave to Harley who had served him so well. 

If you liked this article, you may like these: Pillion Romance Riding, Track Days, Track Daze, Helmet Head

 More Motorcycle Travel HERE.