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Years ago, naked HD cruisers were referred to as "scooters" and faired touring HD cruisers as "sleds", at least around the OKC biker scene.I rode Harleys for many years (till the lifestyle drove me nuts) and concur with your summation. Especially with the Bandits and such like.
Friday, before Labor Day, nearly 30 years ago I pulled into the parking area at the apartment building in Knoxville where I lived. The office was on the same side of the building, and the receptionist, a middle aged lady lush, was locking the office door and heading towards her car--- some huge land yacht that was beat all to hell. She waddled up as I was getting off the bike, reeking of alcohol, and said, "You're going to have to move that motorcycle! I'll hit it when I back up if you leave it there!" Looking around, I saw she was parked three spaces away and there wasn't a single vehicle in the entire lot--- the apartments were almost all students and most of them were gone for the weekend. "If you hit my bike, it's because you're trying to hit it," I said, jokingly. "I'll hit it!" she screeched like a banshee, looking really mad. "And I'll call the police," I said. She stood there and got really red in the face and then said, "You don't need to be riding that thing, anyway!" she screamed some more. "You're gonna get killed on that thing! That thing is too dangerous to be on the road!" (People were coming out from the houses across the street by now.) I walked over to her car (I used to keep a pen and notepad in my shirt pocket.) and wrote down her license plate number. She got in her car and backed out, nearly hitting me but nowhere close to the bike, then spun the tires and kicked up gravel and drove out in the street, over the curb, and right in front of a Knoxville police cruiser, AND KEPT GOING! They chased her to the end of the block where she went too wide on the turn and hit a parked VW. She got out and I could hear her screeching again, "Why the f___ don't people drive things you can SEE no more?" I went into my apartment. I moved a couple of weeks later, so, thankfully I never saw her again. What was THAT all about?
Still , w/o the 4 cylinder 600 being not so great , we would not have the 675
Uhhhh Darren, I think that would be "Rice Burrner" :D
In 1983, I was 17 years old, living on the Peninsula, south of San Francisco, and was really into Vespas and Lambrettas, not a “Mod” but more a punk thing, with Billy Zoom as a style icon, if anyone knows who he is.One day, I bought a brand new, classically styled, thick leather motorcycle jacket from a Hell’s Angel named “Popeye”, who had a small shop in Palo Alto, CA. (I still wear it today when riding my V11! Finally, it’s broken in!) Anyway, after paying him, he handed me a small rectangular sticker, white with red lettering, and a red border, spelling out “Support your local Hells Angels”. I stuck it to the leg shield of my 1974 Vespa Rally 200 as a sort of ironic joke, as we punks were the polar opposite of Harley riders in general, and Hell’s Angeles in particular. My scooter friends got a kick out of the sticker, it was very unexpected, random, and edgy: in short, very Punk Rock.One evening, I was heading home after a night out in The City, riding two-up with my very pretty girlfriend on the ’74 Rally, heading south on the Old Bayshore Boulevard. Passing through South San Francisco, I had to flip the petcock to reserve, and I started looking for a gas station.At around 2:00 AM, I found one still open, on a lonely stretch of Airport Boulevard. As I pulled in, I noticed there were several bikers gassing up: Yup, Hell’s Angels. The real deal. Probably on their way home after a night out. They looked pretty rough. They WERE pretty rough.As soon as they saw me, my sputtering Vespa, and my 17 year old girlfriend, I knew this was bad. It was too late to get out of there. They began making loud drunken comments about her, about the scooter, about my bleached blond spikey hair and multiple earrings. There was no one around. This was bad and getting worse. They were getting bolder. Now we were scared. Suddenly, one of them said out loud: “Leave them alone, they’re flying the colors”. Immediately, they all turned around, finished tanking up, started their Harleys and pulled away, blipping their throttles as they went, leaving us in silence, alone. Wide awake....now.That stupid sticker. Good thing I had it.True story.
In 1983, I was 17 years old, living on the Peninsula, south of San Francisco, and was really into Vespas and Lambrettas, not a “Mod” but more a punk thing, with Billy Zoom as a style icon, if anyone knows who he is.
My time on the scene in NYC, the style was more influenced by the rockers, who rode motorcycles, than the mods, who rode scooters.
The first time I rode my Ambassador to work one of the fellows said, "You need to get a REAL bike, a Harley."
I always open my big mouth and say "Define real bike" then proceed to laugh as they try and explain. ;-T And yes I have owned about 20 Harley's in my life so kind of know what they are.Marc
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