The Motorcycle and The Mountain Bike
As I mentioned in my introductory post, I am a patch holder in a national motorcycle club. I have also at times been slightly “overserved”. The following story happended a while back…
(ALL NAMES ARE FICTICIOUS TO PROTECT THE GUILTY)
I met up with some of the guys in my club at a friends bar not far from home. Some brothers were coming into town from another state and as usual,one of the guys was throwing a party for the out of towners. The plan was to meet, have a couple of rounds and ride to a brothers house about an hour away. Just as we sat down, Chicago’s phone rang. It was Bazwell calling to let us know the other guys were running late, so we had some time to kill. One thing led to several others and quite awhile later eight of us were westbound in a close formation. The ride out was awesome. It was warm enough to wear just a t-shirt under my colors. One of the great pleasures in my life is to be on the road with my bro’s, the only thing remotely wrong with riding in this state is the fact that Michigan maintains a regressive helmet law thanks in large part to our mole faced canadian transplant of a governor (more about her in future posts).
Okay, back to my story. We stopped for gas half way there and got to Bazwell’s about 10:00pm.
It’s always great to meet and spend time with guys from other parts of the country. You find that, for the most part, you could take a guy from a Chapter in New Jersey and drop him into a Chapter in Michigan, and the guy would fit right in. Even the Ohio guys are cool.
It started to rain just as we pulled up and Bazwell, being the consumate host, moved his cars out of the garage so we could park inside. I knew staying out too late wouldn’t do much for my standing at home so I made sure I was the last one in. Last in, First out, sounded like a good idea. To make a long story a little shorter, Bazwell has two beer fridges in his basement and a full bar. I looked at my watch at 12:30 and knew I had better be getting home, but by this time I was having a little trouble remembering where I parked. One of the guys from out of town asked me if I wanted some coffee before I left, but being cognizant of the time (if little else), I said my goodbyes and told everyone I was cool to ride home by myself. When I got up to the garage, I couldn’t find the light switch but knew about where I had parked. As soon as I sat down on the bike, I knew this probably wasn’t the best idea I had ever had. I decided to close my eyes for a minute and then ride home. A few minutes later I tried to start my bike. I pressed the start button, nothing. I pressed it again, nothing! All of a sudden I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Bazwell. He looked at me and started laughing. The conversation went something like this:
Baz:”What are you doing bro?”
Me: “Baz, I think I ran my battery down, you have a charger here?”
Baz:”AHH… I don’t think that’s going to help.”
Me: “Why not?”
Baz:(Flipping on the garage light) “Because your sittin’ on my daughters Mountain Bike!”
Needless to say, I had several cups of coffee and, depending how you look at it, got home very late that night or very early the next morning!