I'm Back

I’m back. I let some bad people run up on me and I let them in. At the time, I thought I was cool and had the world beat. Turns out that you can’t ever beat the world but it can sure beat on us; it’s relentless. Bad things happened. I did bad things and bad things were done to me. It’s taken years but I’m back with a resolve to buck up and keep going. 

I went for a nice ride today. It's been too long for that too. It took me out on some of my favorite backroads and it replenished my soul. From the moment I fired up the bike and shifted into first gear that feeling came over me; you know the feeling. I took off and that sweet scent of leather and hot pavement came over me like a familiar blanket from my mother's house, that smell of lost familiarity. The roads were busier than any of us would like until I made a turn and escaped the pack. I twisted the throttle and had nothing but open road ahead as far as I could see. I actually yelled, "Yes! Freedom!" I was blessed with miles of country roads with no obstructions, no other vehicles. I was able to take in the scenery of rolling green pastures with so many centurions: large live oaks with their canopies draped in gray skirts of Spanish moss. They loom over a billion tall viridescent blades of grass and rangy stalks of shrubs. Cattle grazed, some brown, some white, some black, most a mix of all three. 

The ride released the residual negativity that accumulates on all of us like dust from a gravel road. It's unintentional but settles on us and as we think nothing of washing road grime off our bikes we never think about what's on us. Pardon the gross discriptor but it's spiritual human dander. The negativity others put off floats through the air like dust, fine particles that lilt aimlessly in the ether. As the tiny particles gather on us they eventually cause our arua to grow dim and our spirits to smother and gasp for air. We feel negative and sometimes depressed and we don't know why; it creeps up on us. But is there anything better than a ride to blow away the black specks of negativity? With the weight lifted I could feel my spirit rise. The light blue skies were a brilliant backdrop to the scenery as the miles rolled on. 

I realized that I was taking a trip back to doing something that I love. What I thought was lost was never gone, I was. 

Ace's Dichotomy

Ace took a morning ride on a beautiful early Fall day. As he ripped along the country side he passed a horse farm with a robust old farmer riding a red lawn mower in the roadside ditch. In a thrashing green fog he was cutting a path through the weeds. The ebullient aroma of the horses and the fresh cut weeds was scintillating on the wind. He approached and it drifted in and then just as swiftly he had left it behind. The fresh cut weeds, the horses, the wind, the sun, the blue sky, the white clouds, the grey asphalt, yellow striped, the joy, the pity. It's the dichotomy of Ace's experiences. The beauty in and of nature, alive in his senses while astride the saddle of his iron machine. His machine, the one that he tends to with soap and water, polish and wax. He fills it with refined raw materials, extracts of crude oil, petroleum, gasoline. The machine, whose combustion expels noxious fumes into the air, and not quietly. The roar of his loud pipes could certainly be considered noise pollution. Yet this machine transports him physically and spiritually. It connects him to nature and all it's wonder.

This ride, like most others was one taken alone; thus the Brotherhood of One. Ace knows that the experience of every ride would be markedly better if shared with another like-minded person. But for Ace, folks like that are few and far between. Regardless, he pities anyone that may never experience or appreciate the ride; yet he has the club to share as much as he can to whomever takes an interest. The reliving of the experience brings Ace great pleasure, like regaling the tales of a great party night; and it serves as a filler until the next ride. But man, how about that next ride. It can't come soon enough. And with it, the wind, the sun, the blue sky, the white clouds, the grey asphalt, yellow striped, the joyous vexing duality.

So Glad

Ace's uncle used to tell him, "You can get mad or you can get glad boy. What's it gonna be?" Today Ace was glad. He took off on his hawg before the heat of the day got too hot. After a rainy week, the sun was a welcome reprieve and the theme of the day was lawn mowers, and brother there was no shortage of them. The smell of the fresh cut grass made him feel like a kid again as it always does. As he made his way through town to the edge where the buildings get further apart and the fields get longer and wider he poured on the gas. After spending far too many weeks working in the crowded Northeast he appreciated that he lives in a place where he can ride and be the only vehicle on the road for a couple miles. As he hit the two lane highway that rolls over the countryside he cranked the throttle and the roaring beast under his seat came alive; he felt the wind pull hard at his shirt as he leaned forward into it. He thought that there was nothing so great as dropping over a decline and seeing the backs of cattle off in the high grass of a pasture. Then he roared by a corral of chestnut horses near a green slime covered pond. White egrets stood knee deep in the water. Over another rise past some round hay bales and a very old, abandoned, dark brown cracker house buried in a stand of trees; lost in time and the hay field. He sped across the countryside, squinting as the sunshine glinted off of his shimmering chrome. He traveled through the pine forest were the scent felt thick in his nostrils and as the warm pine filtered into his lungs he considered how it felt oddly good and incarnate and yet stifling. Then the road rose and curved and he rode up and down the serpent's back rolling to a stop at an intersection. As he looked for oncoming traffic he sat in the shade of large oaks draped in Spanish moss. A herd of cows were bunched up under the trees beyond the barbwire to escape the sun's heat. They stared at him with gaping eyes and methodically chewed. He popped the clutch and roared on, down along the river under the canopy of trees and felt the temperature drop to a cool refreshing sensation on his skin; ever thankful that he lived in such a wonderful place to ride.

Motorcycle Hall of Fame & Museum

Ace was traveling along Highway 70 near Columbus, OH when a sign on the side of the road caught his eye. It said, "Motorcycle Hall of Fame Museum." He cut across to lanes and shot down the exit ramp to see what it was all about. The area is busy with many lanes and lots of traffic. He didn't see any signs pointing him in the direction of the museum but he figured he'd head the direction towards where he saw the sign and see what he could find. After several dead end U-turns he finally saw the sign for the AMA facility. He wound his way along the scenic driveway and parked in front of the dark brown, unassuming building. He paid the $10 admission and began his tour. The museum is moderately sized so they've selected samples of historic bikes. There are the expected early machines and to Ace's pleasure, there was plenty of Harley representation.

There were beautiful representations of other early innovators like this Henderson and one that Ace had never heard of; a Schickel.

There were some other timeless machines we all know as Indians. Is there any other motorcycle with such fluid styling? Every time Ace sees one of these beauties, it's difficult for him to understand why today's companies don't offer models with a nod to them with more artistic styling. 

There were other samples of mid-century beauties. It's not hard to look at the detail and attention to quality in these machines and know that progress doesn't always mean better. We're living in an era when speed takes precedence over quality. In Ace's opinion we're sacrificing too much in the way of rapid, assembly line production to satiate a consumptive society that is still hungover from being drunk on its own narcism. The bottom line is our favorite motorcycle companies prefer to make money more then enduring, majestic machines. Whether they should be to blame is debatable but we could influence them by being more demanding and discerning in handing them our hard earned dollars. 

Just look at these assets.

 

The museum had a monster machine on display from the Dakar Rally. It's amazing to see how these machines are set up to handle rough terrain at high speeds.

They had the Tenacious II, the fastest motorcycle in Australia holding the record at 297 mph.

How about this innovative bike? It's a hill climber built by Earl Bowlby from a 1967 BSA 650. Who wouldn't want to get on one of these just once and give it a try?

The most enjoyable display to Ace was for the one and only Evel Knievel. Evel embodies the spririt of motorcycling more then any one person. He was the MAN! No, he didn't represent the open road but he had the balls to throw caution to the wind and do what he wanted the way that he wanted. They had one of his bikes, and thought it didn't say so, Ace was sure that it was a replica since it didn't have a scratch on it. LOL! Even so, it was a beauty. Just read the saying on the tank and imagine sitting on the top of the ramp looking down and reading it as he psychs himself up. Then he gases the throttle and dumps the clutch...

In the end, Ace was glad to have stopped by and toured the museum. It wasn't a mega facility that everything seems to be these days, but maybe that's the point. A hall of fame should be about a select few that achieved an uncommon high level of accomplishment.


Motorcycle Hall of Fame
13515 Yarmouth Dr.
Pickerington, Ohio
www.motorcyclemuseum.org

Funky Feet

Ace went out for a cruise on a hot summer day. He cranked the throttle and headed north up the west coast of Florida. There are many miles of righteous riding in these parts. He was on US 19, which when it's not going thru a town is a divided 4-lane. He was rolling in his own vibe, passing cages and getting passed. He noticed something on this ride; an abundance of women riding on the passenger's side had their bare feet up on dashboard; you know, kicked back for a long haul. There were so many of them in fact that he started to notice a trend. First of all, every one of them was caucasian and most of them were fat. None of the fat feet had any nail polish or evidence of a pedicure. Gross! The women with slender feet had the appearance being pedicured, which to Ace says something about the advantages of having a higher maintenance woman. He's down for beautiful feet that belong to hot women. Yessir, you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their feet. You see the strangest things sometimes; some good, some bad. Maybe next time it will be boobs!

The Ultimate Payoff

In the previous post we learned that Ace has paid off his bike. It's now, financially, all his; no ties to the bank. What a great feeling. He thought that the taste of that would be much sweeter once the transaction was done, but as we found out it wasn't, it was just business as usual. Well today was much different. Today he hopped on his hawg and went for a ride. As the miles passed by and he rolled over the hot summer asphalt it began to sink in that his pride and joy, his hawg was all his; bought and paid for. Ace felt a wave of joyous pride rise up in him as he looked down at the bike and felt it's power under his seat. It was similar to the day that he rode it off the showroom floor of the dealership. He thought about how it was the same bike and the same rider, but now it felt different, better. He seemed to sit a little differently in the saddle, a little more comfortable. It is the ultimate payoff for hanging in there and making the monthly payment. It is the ultimate payoff for working year after year at his job that he dislikes so much. It is the ultimate payoff of owning his Harley outright; that it's equity is now all his. He rode on with a new confidence, with a feeling that from now on, when he's riding his Harley he is truly free.

The Payoff

Ace has been anxiously waiting for this day to come. After checking the mailbox every day with expectancy, today he pulled the door down and slid the white envelopes and junk flyers out and it was there, the final bill to pay off his Harley. "All right," he thought, "let's see what the final amount is." He pulled the statement from the crisp envelope and unfolded the paper. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was nearly $50 cheaper than the usual monthly payment. Bonus! But true to everything in life today it wasn't that simple; upon reading the rest of the statement he found the due date and it was tomorrow. What the...? So he called Harley Davidson to make the payment over the phone. This naturally soured the sweet taste of paying the bike off and making it all his. He was told that he couldn't make the payment over the phone to Harley Davidson, that he could do it online through the Harley Davidson website and by the way, interest is compounded daily. Ace hung up the phone and headed to his computer thinking that Harley Davidson must have modeled their financing on the mafia's. After going thru the headache of registering on the Harley Davidson finance website to complete the transaction it redirects Ace from Harley Davidson over to JP Morgan Chase's website, the most evil MF'ers on earth!

It seemed sadly logical that JP Morgan Chase is involved, after all, they are corporate America's favorite bank; heck they're the Feds bank of choice... what's that tell ya? After completing the information contained in the website it says that there is a $6.00 charge to make a credit card payment! So this is JP Morgan Chase's version of pay me now or pay me later. If you mail it in with a check, the interest is compounded daily so by the time the check arrives it is for the wrong amount and another payment is then needed. It's that or pay the six dollar fee now. This is considered freedom now in America, since it's our choice of which manner we'd like to get screwed. To add insult to injury, the website also states that there is a $12.00 fee if you make a payment over the phone, which they may just state it to make you feel like you're getting a deal by being forced to pay $6.00! Wait a minute... didn't Harley Davidson say that he couldn't make a payment over the phone? Oh, that was to Harley Davidson not JP Morgan Chase, so I guess they weren't technically lying... or were they? A disgusted Ace did it, he paid the bill with the added fee and even with the extra six bucks it was less than a normal payment and he was free. Free! Once again we see how Harley Davidson markets themselves as a humble, all American, grass roots company, yet they operate so much like every other global corporation. They aren't the rebels that they are always selling to us. They make a great product, but their priority always seems to center around grabbing great gobs of money; ours.