on the radio

What do you need to do, to get your 10 seconds of fame? To be on the radio, to be recognized, noticed?

Being a biker it seems a fairly easy thing to achieve.

 

All you have to do is die.

 

What a brutal and ignorant media world this is out there!

It was the Easter week-end and I was on my way back home from work. I did what I very rarely do when I am in a car, I listened to the radio, looking for the traffic news because the motorway was very busy. International news, national news, regional news, sports, weather and then, just before the traffic, they had two more news items coming up that left me speechless.

“A 50-year-old biker was killed this afternoon in …, two hours later another one died near …. because he lost control over his bike in a long bend.”

on the radio

They never, never ever put dead car drivers on the news. Then why on earth a dead biker? Two even.

I fear it is partly this patronising attitude a lot of non-bikers have: we told you not to go so fast, we told you it is dangerous, we told you you could die…!

Ah, thanks very much. We didn’t know that. No, we never had a clue. We never lost a friend, a lover, a brother, a husband on the road, did we?

We know about the danger and we ride nevertheless. Some maybe do because of that.

People, who are no bikers never really understand.

The media have no right to be so patronising. No right to use the death of a biker as a juicy piece of tragedy at the end of the news.

I refuse to be instrumentalized by editors grabbing for higher ratings.

What biker would want these 10 seconds of fame?

 

 

 

addiction, passion, obsession

I am nuts. I know that. Crazy because I have this passion for riding bikes.

It has become rather addictive now. I enjoy the Harley thoroughly.

But…..

I want more. So I went and got another bike. I had seen it late at night on the internet and drove to the dealer who was selling it the next day.

A couple of local men were standing at the counter as I walked in. I saw the Intruder in the show room straight away. What a dangerous looking beauty. I walked around, taking in every detail. So were the guys at the counter.

A woman, all by herself……???? They exchanged glances. What is she doing here…???

I ignored them while I adored the 1400 cc engine. It was in good nick.

When I asked if I could take her for a test drive the local jaws dropped simultaneously.

I took my helmet and jacket out of the car. In the meantime  the shop owner had maneuvered the bike outside in front of the entrance.

Suzuki Intruder VS 1400

Sitting down I realized just how big that bike was. And what a sound it had. It felt a very male thing to me. I can’t say why. Much more than my Sportster did.

I took off and felt a bit wobbly at first. The sound was fantastic. I soon came to the first roundabout. Some challenge that was!

custom

That was the moment when I was sure.

I would take it. And why?

Because it was not an easy bike to ride and not at all a girlie one.  That one would probably cause me a lot of trouble and nerves.  I would fear every tight corner I had to master. And I would relish the challenge. I had to have it. A beautiful and loud piece of ultimate emancipation.

I parked her in front of the entrance and walked in, putting the key on the counter. The locals were still standing there, openly staring now and not even pretending, that they had anything to do in there anymore.

“”I take it.” I said and smiled. “I need another one.”

Fate is no matter of choice

Did your life turn out the way you thought it would? Have you made the right choices at the right time in your life?

Lucky you, if you can say yes to both vital questions.

Today I walked right into the envy and regret of another middle-aged woman. She met me and asked herself the same two questions.

I do not know what answers she found, I do not have answers myself. But maybe that is impossible.

Right, here’s a little story about parting, making choices and maybe regretting them.

I had to part from my little bike today. My old Suzuki LS 650 Savage I have had for nearly 14 years. The engine was gone and I gave her away for scrapping.

all year round

It felt painfully final. The trips we’ve made together, the places we’ve seen, people we’ve met.

Scotland

So I went to get her de-registered. I pulled a number (105) and waited for my turn, filling in a few forms in the meantime. The woman, to whose desk I was being summoned by a modest bell, had long greyish hair, glasses and a pale complexion; nondescript, really.

She was typing away but she kept looking at my passport.

I had lost the number plate recently, abroad. She dealt with that, too. And she showed compassion because she could tell I was sad to see her go.

“Well” I said, “I have still got the Harley.”

Her eyebrows went up.

Yeah, I went on “A woman of today should have two bikes, shouldn’t she?” and gave her a big grin.

She just looked at my passport again, than at me.

“I don’t. And I am only a year older than you.” she said with a sad voice as if she wanted to say: And look at me!

Then she grabbed my arm and said: “But I have four children.”

“This is something you don’t have, do you?” she went on and then apologised for it straight away.

There will always be times when you regret the choices you’ve made. And there are times when they feel very right. Successful choices are matter of degree. 

Applecross

But your life is not only shaped by the choices you make. Fate makes most choices and leaves you to deal with it.

Yes, I have always wanted a Harley-Davidson. For as long as I can remember.

Is it poetic justice not to have children, then? 

coffee to go

Is logic a predominantly male thing?

Yeah, you guys out there, I know, I know. Don’t shout “Of course it is!” at me.

I might just agree…. surprise, surprise!

And you know why?

easy in a carBecause I went for a coffee.

I took the Harley for the first ride of the season. The sun was out and there was no stopping me. I needed to be on the road again.

The air was still cold, especially going over the mountains, the sun has not the power yet to warm quickly. I guess there were no more than 5 to 7 degrees when we set off. But what a joy it was to start her (she kicked in at the first try) and roar along empty country roads. After an hour the cold started to creep into my fingers. My cheeks and chin felt frozen, the half helmet not protecting much.

I ached for a coffee. My body ached for warmth. So I stopped at McDonald’s.

I left her right opposite the front door and walked in. Clammy fingers nestled with gloves and sunglasses, trying to get my wallet out of my pocket.

A young woman seemed busy behind the counter, though for no apparent reason because I was the only customer. She was all done up, heavy make-up and an attitude to go with it.

“A large café latte to drink in!” was what I said to catch her attention. The words were difficult to get out because my chin felt frozen.

She gave me a look through dark mascara lashes and carefully pressed the order into the touch screen, making sure that her perfectly manicured fingernails with golden glitter varnish took no harm.

She gave me another one of these I-am-bored-like-hell looks and said.

“To drink in or to go?”

???

I couldn’t believe this stupidity. Not only had I told her I was staying in. How on earth did she expect me to drink the coffee while I was driving???

Ever tried that on a Harley?

Well, she obviously never and it took me some time to get over so much stupidity.

I finished my latte and walked out into the sunshine. Harley waiting.

to go

While I got ready to go (gloves, lid, jacket and things) I noticed a wee boy who kept a safe distance of about 20 meters. He can’t have been older than two and a half years. The wind played with his blonde curls, blue eyes followed every movement I made while all the time he held his two little hands quite firmly pressed on his ears. That wee man knew it was going to be loud the minute I started the engine. He was prepared. And he was absolutely fascinated.

I started the engine and a smile washed over his face. I smiled back at him and drove off waving a gloved good-bye to him. When I was about 50 meters away he waved back. He had waited until it was safe enough to uncover his ears.

How much logic in such a young boy and how little in a woman ten times his age.

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

how to survive hibernation

I wish I could hibernate!

Like a bear cuddled up somewhere warm, fat and content. Dreaming peacefully of summer smells and the sound of my Harley.

I am no bear and I am not superwoman either. Winter is just too cold to keep her on the roads.

So she is hibernating, bearlike under white sheets. Only the slow rhythm of the recharging battery tells me she’s still alive. I check regularly, not now, though.

We are separated, I am not at home. I can’t touch her. There are more than a thousand miles between us.

I am in my other life just now,up North, where my other bike was waiting for me. Last week the sun was out. It felt warm although I suspect it can’t have been more than four of five degrees out there. I took her for a ride, anyway.

Hero me – the only biker on the road all day.

There’s nothing like the warmth of the sun on black leather on a winter’s day.

The regrets came on the way back. The sun gone, it soon felt like a fight, a struggle with the elements. Forcing my hands to move the clutch, trying to wriggle frozen toes in biker boots, hardening the chin against the cold wind. How cold it is, to be cool!

I felt even more like a heroine then, a heroine craving a hot bath but I guess that’s allowed in the hero world.

I had taken care of my abstinence symptoms, I cured my desire and lust with another one.

What a male thing to do!

I kept the other bike  right outside the house so I could see here, touch her, watch the rain’s pattern on the tank. I gave her a good clean and finally gave in. She’s back in the shed again. Snow is coming.

Hibernating a Harley is hard, but hibernating two bikes is even worse.

Route 66

Yes! It is unavoidable and necessary. Inescapable. Like Pavlov’s conditioning and involuntary reflex action. You just must.

You own a Harley – you do the Route 66.

I always thought that’s what I wanna do, one of these days. Me and my Harley – like the unknown legend in Neil Young‘s song. Long blond hair floating in the wind. I could picture myself quite clearly, I could almost smell tarmac and  feel the heat coming off the cylinder. I could see myself ordering a burger sitting on engine red faux-leather in some roadside diner.

Like Thelma and Louise I pictured my self  looking dead cool and sexy in tight leathers. Dangerous and not to be messed with. On the road. Alive. Nothing more. An outlaw going through Texas (was that on the way?) or at least heading for the West. Have my own movie. Live my own story.

Until last week.

I watched a documentary feature on the telly. Route 66. The camera crew followed a posse of Norwegian bikers on Harleys. They had a tour guide (!) with them. Everything was prearranged. Motels, diners, picture spots. The guide made them pose underneath road signs, made couples kiss over the borderline of two different time zones. They stopped for a coke (!) in a cozy (!) biker bar and gave them time to haunt the souvenir shops. Fancy a Route 66 dishtowel? They said they had always wanted to be different.

What an bunch of numpties!

Route 66???

NEVER, EVER! Not like this.

So, American bikers out there: is there a cool route to take somewhere in this vast and beautiful country? A road where you can ride into the sunset and not from picture spot to picture spot??

LET ME KNOW WHERE!!

 

the things you need

This is about the insatiable appetite you develop when you own a Harley and I am not talking food here. I am talking things.

The fact that you are riding a legend soon creeps into many parts of your life that do not actually have anything to do with riding a bike. It is as if there is a need to let it take over. Be with you everywhere you go.

You want to put stickers on your car. Not on your Harley of course but you do want it glued into your every day life.

People give you Harley things for Christmas and birthdays. I got fridge stickers I lovingly rearrange ever so often. Harley-Davidson everywhere. Not only in the garage.

Am I overcompensating because winter is coming??

I had her down to the dealer’s for inspection the other day.Had to wait for about an hour in the showroom and drove away with a new jacket and hoodie I could hardly squeeze into the tiny side saddle bag. Of course it said Harley-Davidson on both.

When you don’t own one, you think all you really need in life is a Harley and when you own a Harley, you think you really need more things in your live that say Harley.

Is that just fantastic marketing by the manufacturer or middle-age stupidity on my side?

I don’t know yet but I wear the new stuff with relish and … I think the hoodie goes nicely with my new desktop picture……

Guess I really need a HD mouse as well.

Don’t they tell us women in all those glossy magazines to accessorize?

Well. I do!