This Week's Story, May 12th, The New Brotherhood

[mhershon]

The New Brotherhood

He backed the FLSTF against the curb, kicked the stand down with his heel and stepped off. He raked his hair back and settled the chrome pilot sunglasses on his nose. Slipping off black fingerless gloves, he glanced at the stainless and gold GMT Rolex.

“Right on time," he thought, crediting the 45-degree, 96-cubic-inch Vee-twin that provided the Fat Boy's locomotion and its traditional, real-steel, feel.

Stretching his legs, he settled his butt onto the Fat Boy's saddle, only 27.5 inches from the ground. The sun beat down on his H-D Bootcut Leather Jeans, warming the soft black top-grain leather, nylon-lined to below the knee.

He checked the Rolex again. He wiped the smeared Swiss crystal on his Sturgis T-shirt. He turned, catching his reflection in his left mirror. He noticed that his hair looked maybe a bit too windblown.

"Shouldn't have left home without the Willie G. bandana," he said to himself. Thinking about American original Willie G. got him thinking about his country.

He thought about Yankee know-how, the Code of the West, crab cakes, grange halls, Dixie Beer, 8-cylinder automobiles and grits 'n gravy.

He looked down at the massive, dull gray, cast aluminum 17-inch disc wheel hung at the bottom of the massive, polished, 50s retro 41mm Showa forks.

Gosh, he thought, I love America.

His eyes traveled down his long Gary Cooper legs to the tops of his "D" width 17-inch H-D Motorcycle Boots. Their gloss reflected his chrome-shaded impassive face and the hour he'd spent applying H-D Leather Care, cleaning, polishing and preserving their surfaces.

"I buy the best; then I take of it," he thought, "and it takes care of me." He yawned in the afternoon sun. Profound thinking made him drowsy.

He covered his mouth as he yawned, feeling the weight of the 14-k H-D Gold Wrench Bracelet on his wrist, good gold weight. He thought, for the 100th time, that he should wear that bracelet to the office. He'd never been able to nerve himself up to go to work wearing that bracelet, the linked Gold Wrenches and H-D "Bar and Shield" logos.

Let alone the tattoos. Monday mornings, Zest and water took care of those.

Hiking up the front of his soft, concho-ed leather Willie G. Vest, he pulled the brass-finished Willie G. Signature Belt Buckle away from his soft belly. A red welt revealed itself where the top edge of the concho-ed, tasseled, deep relief-sculptured collector buckle had pinched him.

He rubbed the sore red mark on his belly, already planning to add another buckle, smaller this time, to his collection.

He’d bought that buckle, the jeans, the vest and the Fat Boy, all of it, down at the Harley store in one evening. They'd had everything he wanted in stock. He just slid the card across the counter and walked out of there a biker, same as if he'd been one all his life. 

It's a head-shaker, he thought, and shook his head.

None of it would have happened if Andy from the DA's office hadn't told him how okay it was, how times had changed. How membership in what he'd thought was a distasteful private club had opened up. And seemed pretty cool, after all.

How guys like him and Andy were the new brotherhood, the BlackBerry Gypsy Jokers of the new century. How things might really be different, on a Harley.

He resolved to FAX Andy a thank-you in the morning. I'll buy him a Bud Light, he decided.

He’d seen the Fat Boy in Andy’s Harley catalog. Whatever that machine had, he knew he wanted it, right now. And he had no illusions: he knew it wasn't a roadracer. He wasn't any roadracer himself, not anymore.

A man has to set that stuff aside, he thought, when he reaches a certain age. Not that he couldn't drive or ride or make love or whatever just as well as ever, when he felt like it.

But, hell, at 33, a guy's got more to think about than chasing around the countryside risking life and limb on some rice rocket. It's called maturity.

A biker. Who'd ever have thought it? Not that he'd never known anyone into cycles. A neighbor had that 160 Scrambler that always had a flat battery. And someone said a black-sheep cousin on his mother's side kept a Cushman Eagle stashed at a friend's house for years, out of sight of his parents. Wild guy for those days, he thought.

Be fun to meet that guy today, have him tell me old-school Cushman stories, he thought. Maybe I got my taste for American Iron from him.

He heard the unmistakable rumble of an Evolution Vee-twin. He turned his head and, sure enough, a guy on a brand new XL 883 Sportster Custom waved and turned into the Burger King parking lot across the street.

He looked at the Sportster and at the guy's shiny new leather outfit. He noted the Willie G. concho-ed gauntlet gloves and stroker-style Willie G. hat. He watched the guy park the pristine black 883 and start walking toward the restaurant.

He watched the Sportster rider adjust his chrome aviator sunglasses, brush back his hair, grin and wave again. He sat there, leaning on the Fat Boy. He decided not to wave back.

“This being an individual's not always easy, bro,” he thought as he watched the Sportster rider enter the Burger King. “Enjoy your Whopper.”
                                                         

[Scout63]

Very nicely done Maynard. Thanks for capping off a great day with great writing.

[twowheeladdict]

And the management of every other motorcycle company out there wondering how they can get even a small piece of that pie. 

My First "V-twin Cruiser" was a 1985 Honda Shadow 700.  3 valves per cylinder, 2 spark plugs per cylinder, 6 speed transmission, shaft drive, liquid cooled, dual disk brakes up front, and smooth as silk. 

Honda couldn't understand why they weren't making inroads in the Harley market. 

They kept evolving their bikes until they added vibration, dropped down to a 4 speed transmission, etc.  Still not making any inroads. 

I didn't buy my next "V-twin Cruiser" until 2009 when I bought an '07 Vulcan Meanstreak.  1600cc, USD forks, single pin crank, rip snorting torque with sport bike wheels and brakes to reign it in. 

I thought both my V-twin Cruisers were great motorcycles, but they never sold in volumes anywhere close to Harley Davidson. 

So around 2010 I started going to the Harley Dealership to see what all the fuss was about.   It wasn't until 2016 that I bought my first Harley.  Now I see what all the fuss is about. 

The year both my V-twin Cruisers were produced you had a choice between black and one other color.  The 2016 Harley Road Glide came in 6 or 7 colors.

Both my V-twin Cruiser had a very limited selection of accessories.  The Road Glide accessories were only limited by how much money you were willing to spend. 

The description of the riders in the OPs post was how I felt on every single motorcycle I have owned.  Proud to be a rider, but not caring what others thought of me. 

Was it the bikes that allowed me to give many girls rides, or was it just me with the bike being an accessory.  Only those girls know for sure. 

[cloudbase]

What?  Nothing about the patches on the vest?  The decals on the half helmet with the fake DOT sticker on it?
Flags!  Did he have flags on the back of the bike?

[oldbike54]

 My nephew the HD salesman managed about 100 miles a year on his two HD's , but he owned a very heavy well made leather jacket with a patch that proclaimed him to be "100% biker" . My older sister , his MIL , doesn't have much of a filter , so sitting at the table on some holiday she innocently asked "So does this make Dusty a 10,000% biker ?" It was really quiet for a moment , then the guffawing commenced 

 Dusty

[Dharma Bum]

And "get back whips",one for each side!

[kingoffleece]

THX!  great read
I try to encourage some of these here "youts" (My Cousin Vinny) to get MSL if they want to read a real motorcycle magazine.  I don't think they listen, though............. ............

[greer]

That's some writing, Maynard.  I felt like I was there, watching the whole thing go down.  Especially since I've been the Sportster rider who got nary a wave nor nod, ha ha.  Thanks again. 

Sarah

[oldbike54]

That's some writing, Maynard.  I felt like I was there, watching the whole thing go down.  Especially since I've been the Sportster rider who got nary a wave nor nod, ha ha.  Thanks again. 

Sarah

 I kid about this a bit , but tend to wave at anyone on a motorbike . The make or model doesn't matter . It is sad that we somehow manage to segregate ourselves based on nonsense , having been at this thing for 53 years now , it isn't the motorbike , what matters is the person behind the handlebars .

 Dusty

[Tkelly]

At a pre crudrunbreakfast one guy said he wasn’t going because of the huge numbers of Harley’s that show upon a nice day.I went and realized it isn’t the bike but the riders,which seem to consist of a few dangerous thugs ,a few real riders and a majority who like to dress up and pretend to be dangerous thugs.We had a great week riding a rented Dresser around Florida in95.The bike was stock and had a great stereo and I have always wanted one but am too cheap.

[Alfetta]

As always, it was a gleaming day in southern California. I was very young at the time but I knew just what I was looking at. A brand new Land Rover just like the one that the wild-kingdom guy used chasing Lions and Rhinos.
Mike,  my dads work buddy, was walking circles about the truck pointing at various bits and showing my dad all of the vehicles fancy features. I can’t recall many details today, but something about the axles, and transfer case, just no to clear now. My father would interject a comment or too, but I was just too excited to care much, I mean “wild-Kingdom” right here, right now..
After what seamed like forever, Mike asked if we would like to climb a hill that he was wanting to try ever since he got the truck. I waited on pins and needles for my dad to respond correctly, and he did. So I climbed into the back, and the old guys took their places in the front seat.
It took about 45 minutes to get to the hill, and even in my non-fearing youth, I was a little intimidated by the steep, crooked rocky looking path. But I knew Marlin would send Stan, so surly we could do this hill.
Mike climbed out of the truck and fiddled about the front wheels (I knew nothing of lockers in those days) and then jumped back in with a huge smile. He looked at my dad and said “lets go”.
The climb was slow and rough, I was bouncing all about the cargo area of the truck. I would get a perch just long enough to be tossed to the other side, then back. I recall several attempts at a few points along the climb, and one very scary sideways slide, but the adrenalin levels kept me ready for anything… this is FUN…
But once we reached the top of the hill, every thing changed. Parked side by side with a tarp stretched between, were two Volkswagen busses and a couple of what my dad called “hippies” hanging about. Mike lowered his window and asked them how they got up here, and they replied, “same way you did”…

It was very quiet on the way back to mikes house….

[Dharma Bum]

That's a good one!!

[mhershon]

Alfetta, you should do next week's story...

[Scout63]

I hope I don’t offend you Maynard, but your Peter Egan authenticity seems to have picked up a Louis L’Amour cadence.  The dry humor is pure Hershon.

[mhershon]

Ben, I certainly have read a lot of Louis L'Amour...and Peter Egan. I never recognize influences except perhaps for Boston's own George V. Higgins, whose dialog I've always admired. Thanks for the kind comments each week!

[Alfetta]

Alfetta, you should do next week's story...

Oops....sometimes I can be rather thick...
I read the title of this thread and assumed it was a chance for everyone to tell a story....

I had no desire to step on some one else's tale...
I must apologize...

[mhershon]

I thought your story was super! You certainly didn't step on MY toes! No worries, Alfetta!