. . . It's About Time
Enough bullshit. Let's ride.
The new front brake lever lays perfect against the broken one. Even though she wasn't sure, the wife bought the right replacement for the one I broke on the Dyna when I dropped her in July. Only problem is - there isn't a pair of clip-ring pliers to be found.
Time to ride - but the garage is a mess and it needs to be straightened before I go. I need the kid to help.
Before I know it, he's washing his scuba gear and I'm making a bigger mess in the garage. Soon, he's finished and I've started vacuuming the cars. He backs his Ninja out of the garage.
"Be back soon, dad." he says as he pulls on his gear. "Going to take the bike for a spin."
"Yeah, me too!" I shout to his back as it recedes down the street.
The garage is done. The cars are clean. I look at the Harley. I look at the sun in the sky. I am out of excuses.
As I'm pulling on my boots, the kid pulls in.
"Hey," I tell him. "I'm going to head out I-70 west bound for a while. Wanna ride?"
He looks at me as if ... "surrrre you will" ...
"I'm hot, dad. I think I'll pass." he says.
I slip into the new Harley riding jacket my wife and son picked up for me yesterday at the HD dealer in Lexington, Kentucky. It's a snug fit, but not too snug.
I push the Harley out of the garage and off we go.
No thirteen laps around the neighborhood.
No single passes on Rte. 99.
A mile from the house I pick up the interstate - west bound.
Intending to turn around at the next exit, I'm surprised when I pass it up - and the next one too. By the time I do turn around, it's been twenty miles.
Then, instead of taking the exit toward home, I take the opposite path, continuing southbound until I come to perfect motorcycle-riding road. I meander my way through Maryland until I again reach I-70. It is really time to head home.
Twenty-five miles later I pull into the garage.
"Did you have an accident?" the wife wanted to know. "You were gone so long..."
No accident.
Just riding.
No bullshit.
