Nostalgia,
rambling in the past is about as interesting to other people as watching someone’s
home movies: ‘And here is Uncle Ralph
with a lamp shade on his head….’
Having said
this, the reason most of us blog is that we all have a need to write, and so we troll through the attic that is our
mind to possibly find something that someone else might be interested in
reading.
But,
occasionally we write something that is meaningful to only us, knowing from the
start that other people really won’t be interested:
Two weeks
ago we went to Augusta (Maine) to have our Toyota serviced, and since we were
near the bike shop my wife suggested (the
woman must love me, I don’t know why: she is too damn good for me) we swing
by so I could price the leather motorcycle jackets on sale at off season prices.
Recently the shop has become an Indian
distributor and I was anxious to actually see one. I am nostalgic about Indians because my
grandfather road an Indian Chief way before I was even thought of.
The bike looked great; but I was blown away by the price. The Chief started at $23,000, Hell, my car cost that, and for another ten thousand you could buy a Mercedes.
Don’t get me
wrong, I am very satisfied with my Honda, and owning another bike is not in my
future.
 |
| Seven thousand plus custom seats and saddlebags. |
I started
riding when I was eighteen. I have
owned Triumphs, Hondas, Yamahas and one Second World War vintage 45 cubic inch military Harley. I have never owned a bike more than 750 cc
and I see no need for the extra displacement and weight as I don’t do long
distance riding. All the extra
displacement cost more money and decreases your gas mileage drastically (The
big Harleys costing about the same as the Indians get mileage in the thirties –
I get sixty-five mpg and can cruise comfortably at seventy with a top end over
one hundred.
All these
big expensive bikes are the must have for the generation that has been
raised on cell phones, I-pads and internet.
Many of the bikers today are yuppies with good incomes and can afford
new Harley and Indians. They watch Sons of Anarchy and read Easy
Rider, and act out their fantasy on the week-ends.
Don’t get me wrong, if you are on two wheels
with and engine you’re a biker; but the image is false.
The original
biker clubs came about after World War II when veterans got together and formed
groups like the Hell’s Angles. These
guys were mostly riding Triumphs, BSAs, Nortons and Royal Infields: 650cc
British bikes.
It was Sonny
Barger in the sixties that carried the Angles into the outlaw biker image that
is so popular today.
I am
fortunate to be in good physical shape and be able to still ride in my
mid-seventies. But, I can’t help but
chuckle when I pull into a restaurant on my bike and see some young gun with a
shiny new ride wearing a tea shirt that says: IF IT AIN'T HARLEY IT AIN'T SHIT. He bought the shirt and bought
the bike; but he has year to go to earn the creds.
Do not go
gently into that good night.
Old age
should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, Rage
against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
the Ol’Buzzard
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