I think I am going crazy, nuts, demented. This is surely a weird state of mind I am in just now. I am postponing. Procrastinating.

After having been away for a few weeks you should think the first thing I do on my return is check on my Harley. Take her out for a ride. At least start the engine and enjoy the sound.


I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The door to the garage remained closed for two days. Grey plastic separates me from my bike, an unmoved obstacle,  that and a hitherto unknown hesitation to face her.  Why don’t I?

For so many days I had missed her, thought about her, wanted her. Now she is within my reach and I do not dare to reach out. Maybe I want to prolong the pleasure, to extend the happiness that soon ….

A touch of fear might be part of it, too. Having a dream is easy. Living with it is a challenge I am not prepared to face, yet. I can feel her waiting for me. At least I think I can.

And still I procrastinate.

After two days I have finally managed to open the garage today. I had to take the car out. There she was, sitting under three crisp white bed sheets. Hidden away. Clean. Waiting.

I never looked. I took the car out and drove away. Parked it again tonight right next to her and never looked. I shirked the encounter. I am not ready, yet.

I will be on Sunday. I think.


Of course she does. Doesn’t she? If a woman knows anything, then she knows how to shop.

Aye, right!Image

I decided to do it in style. Buying a Harley-Davidson isn’t like going out to get some shoes and end up with some more shoes, a jumper, a coat, a sandwich toaster and a skirt. And maybe another skirt in a different colour.

A bike is a one and only job.

Only you….. and me!

So I went to the hairdressers (I needed an appointment anyway), I dressed in black and made my way to Rick’s., the Harley-Davidson dealer. Felt like a million pounds.

I could see a row of bikes though the window as I got out of my car. Temptation behind glass. Happiness was close and manifold.

Entering the massive showroom nearly took my breath away. But I tried to look as blasé as I could.

A guy came towards me. He didn’t look at all like someone who is selling a dream of freedom and power. More like someone who is selling insurance policies. Shouldn’t HD salesmen have tattoos all over their skin? Long hair? A dangerous demeanor about them? At least a beard?

What can I do for you? He asked clean shaven.

You can make me happy. I replied and added with a slightly cheeky smile: With a motorbike!

He grinned. Do you know what you want?

A Sportster 1200 forty-eight edition, black. I said as sharp and clear as possible. These were the magic words that would open up a new dimension for me. Like a matrix key or a spacecraft for another universe.

Coffee? He asked.

Yes! I grinned.

The deal was made. She was mine.