Three Words...

Three words?

Oh. My. God.

Or, more accurately...

Harley Fucking Davidson!

Or perhaps...

Mid Life Crisis?

I got back to the hotel from the Chinese theatre, decided to get some room service food and enjoy a couple of beers with the air conditioning on. After a couple of hours Chappers bounded into the room and asked that I go with him to the parking garage. There I was confronted by two men - one a big burly 'don't fuck with me' Hells Angel type chap, and the other a scrawny pastiche of PeeWee Herman. The salesman and delivery driver in fact, there to hand over two gleaming machines. Mid life crisis well and truly made reality!
The machines in question, as delivered by Drew (HA) and Walker (PeeWee - and since when was Walker a given name?) were: A beautiful black StreetGlide for Chappers, and a mad looking Nightster for little old me. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with all the stuff I brought out with me, mind you! Some might fit into the hard luggage on the StreetGlide, but the rest will have to go in a rucksack - anything left over will have to go to a charity shop somewhere. There's nowhere to stick any throw-overs on the Nightster.
I've never been particularly keen on Harleys at all, seeing them as a machine for middle aged middle classed middle managers. That and I passed my DAS on a CB500, mainly ran around London on a series of 600cc 4-stroke street bikes, followed by a short and ill fated spell with a street-fightered Fireblade that led me onto 4 wheels for a bit. Always feet-under-bum bikes. That just feels 'right' to me. I have to admit though, I've always had a bit of a dream to go across America on a Harley, living the cliché. That's not the plan, by the way. Right vehicle for the dream, but the route is probably going to be a bit more chaotic, taking us where we fancy at the moment we set off.
So, all in all Chappers has will pretty much have convinced the maid we're gay by the time we check out. God knows what she'll do to purify and protect herself once she sees the leather garments hanging up!

Talking of leather garments, we're going shopping tomorrow - or so I'm told. We need to get some suitable attire for riding motorcycles. No way can I do the t-shirt and shorts look. I've face-planted on a sleeping policeman in Romford, followed by a 40 yard slide on my neck and back, and thanks to some decent kit I walked away with a headache and a scuffed nipple (never did work out how I scuffed it). I suspect my travel insurance probably doesn't cover road-rash skin grafts either. Hopefully we can find some armoured textile jeans and jackets like the couriers wear at home in summer. Matey-boy apparently fancies something with tassles, and a piss-pot helmet. I bet he'd get a hat with a spike on top, bottomless chaps over stone-washed denim, and a porn star moustache if he could.

Well, I'm getting rather excited after this little surprise. It's been a while since I've been on two wheels, and I've never ridden feet forward before. This is beginning to actually become a little adventure, rather than a week in a Hollywood hotel!

I'm off to the parking garage again to get all moist-eyed and excited. I'm more giddy than a kid waiting for Santa to bring half the toys section from the Argos catalogue!