I don't like wave threads...but this is a good one
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The bike's passenger seat swept up just enough that I could see over my father's shoulders. That seat was my throne. My dad and I travelled many backroads together...searching for the ones we had never found before. Travelling these roads just to see where they went. Never in a rush, just be home by supper.
I remember wandering down a backroad with my father, sitting on my throne watching the trees whiz by, feeling the rumble of our bike beneath us like a giant contented cat. A motorcycle came over a hill towards us and as it went by, my father threw up his clutch hand and gave a little wave. The other bike waved back with the same friendly swing of his left wrist.
I tapped my dad on the shoulder, which was our signal that I wanted to say something. He cocked his head back slightly while keeping his eyes ahead...
I yelled, "Did you know him?"
"What?"
"You waved at him...who was that?"
"I don't know. Just another guy on a bike....so I waved."
"How come?"
"You just do...it's important."
Later, when we had stopped for ice cream, I asked him why it was so important to wave to other bikers. My dad tried to explain how the wave demonstrated comradeship and a mutual understanding of what it was to enjoy riding a motorcycle. He looked for the words to describe how almost all bikers struggled with the same things like cold, rain, heat, wind, and drivers who didn't see them, but how riding remained an almost pure pleasure.
I was young then and I am not sure that I really understood what he was trying to get across, but it was a beginning of something. Afterwards, I always waved along with my dad whenever we passed other bikes.
I remember one cold October morning when the clouds were heavy and dark, giving us another clue that winter was heading in from just over the horizon. My dad and I were warm inside our car as we headed to a friends house. Rounding a corner, we saw a motorcycle parked on the shoulder of the road. Past the bike, we saw the rider walking thru the ditch, scouring along thru the tall grass, crowned with a touch of frost. Dad pulled over and backed up to where the bike stood.
I asked Dad..."Who's that?"
"Don't know" he replied..."but he seems to have lost something. Maybe we can give him a hand."
We left the car and wandered thru the tall grass ditch to the biker. He said that he had been pulling on his gloves as he rode, and that he had lost one. The three of us spent some time combing the ditch, but all we found were empty cans and bottles.
My dad then turned and headed back to the car and opened the trunk. He rummaged thru various tools, oil containers, and this and that until he found an old pair of crumpled up leather gloves. He continued looking until he found an old catalogue. I understood what he was doing with the gloves....but I had no idea what he needed with the catalogue.
"Here's some gloves for you" my dad said as he handed them to the rider..."and I brought you a catalogue as well."
"Thanks"..I really appreciate it." He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out an old chain wallet.
"Lemme give you some money for the gloves" he said.
"No thanx" dad replied as he handed them to the rider. "They're not worth anything and they're old anyway".
The biker smiled. "Thanx alot."
He pulled the old gloves on and unzipped his jacket. I watched as my dad handed him the catalogue and the biker slipped it inside his coat. He jostled it around, positioning it up high, centered, and then zipped it up. I remembered now making sense of why my dad had given him the catalogue. It would keep him a bit warmer. After wishing the biker well, my dad and I left him warming up his bike.
Two weeks later, the biker came to our home and returned my father's gloves. He ha
Still, there is a group of people who ride bikes who truly are a breed apart. They appreciate both the engineering and the artistry in the machines they ride. Their bikes become part of who they are and how they define themselves to themselves alone.
They don't care what other people think. They don't care if anyone knows how much they paid for their bike or how fast it goes. The bike means something to them that nothing else does. They ride for themselves and not for anyone else. They don't care whether anyone knows they have a bike. They may not be able to find words to describe what it means to ride, but they still know. They may not be able to describe what it means to feel the smooth acceleration and the strength beneath them. But they understand.
These are the riders who park their bikes, begin to walk away and then stop. They turn and look back. They see something when they look at their bikes that you might not. Something more complex, something that is almost secret, sensed rather than known. They see their passion. They see a part of themselves.
You have expressed what many of us truly feel about riding and sharing the experience with other riders our comrades. This should be the end all for Wave Posts. No question.
Just wave to your fellow two wheel brothers
From now on no more "waving" threads. They will from now on be called "Air Handshake" threads.
I don't care how much syrup you pour on it......this is still a "wave thread"![sm=deadhorse.gif]
I'm sorry...This is officially an "Air Handshake" thread, so its ok.
I don't care how much syrup you pour on it......this is still a "wave thread"![sm=deadhorse.gif]
I'm sorry...This is officially an "Air Handshake" thread, so its ok.
Whew...
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The Best of Harley-Davidson for Lifelong Riders
i still don't get it. do we or do we not wave at people wearing leather fringe on themselves w/assless chaps?



