|How do you make a
grown HD man break down and cry? Easy. You merely roll into a retro meet (60's
attire, hot rods, and MCs), at a local burger/ice cream joint, on a Saturday night, riding
your bright red Honda SuperHawk, with a set of 'period'
hard side bags. What's that you say!? Side what?
I felt like Moses, as - merely shifting into neutral and not so much as throwing a glance at a corral of Harleys - I saw the sea of Knuckles, Pans and Shovels part, allowing the CP77 through. "Why my brother in law had one of them DreamHawks back in the early [...]ties." That's what you would have been saying, were you a HD rider at that meet. I sure did feel like a member of the clergy as, suppressing a heartfelt sob, one by one, they would come up and make their confession.
I forgave them all. I was all kind benevolence; I held them to my bosom, patted their twitching shoulders and said "there, there..." I left them there, all meek and broken up; I knew they needed some time alone. Time to spend in quiet reflection. As for me, well, I had important business to attend to, as in the opposite end of the lot I chanced a glimpse of a 1960 Cadillac coupe. It was slick and sexy and transcendent. Pale lavender. It was all there. I rode home in silence.