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 Thanks Guys at D&S! I just wanted to put into writing my thanks to the service staff at D&S for going over and above the call of duty for one of my buddies recently. We were on Day 2 of a 10 day ride and one of my guys developed an exhaust leak. It was late in the afternoon, a Friday no less, when we pulled in. I am sorry I didn't catch the names of the two gentlemen, but they came right out to the parking lot, assessed the situation and got Jimmy right in. I think the last thing any of us needs late on a Friday afternoon is an unscheduled repair job to pull in, but the D&S guys jumped right on it! It took well over an hour, having discovered his brake pads were not wearing well and had actually been installed incorrectly. Anyway, they did a quick repair on his header and installed new front pads (correctly!) and we were on our way. Thanks again for catering to the guys on the road and getting us back on it! Live to Ride I'm not sure where to begin this story or where to end it really. When I saw this chance to share a story, I thought why not share mine? You see, My father always loved motorcycles. He rode for years and I always loved sitting on the tank and going for a ride with dear old Dad. When I was 13 and my sister was 11 my dad had a '79 Sportster. One day he pulled in front of the house and my sister and I were the only two home. He told us he was having a heart attack and he needed help to get off his bike and up the steps. We did our best to help him. We got him as far as the top of the stairs, then had to go to a neighbor's house to call for help. We were both in tears and very afraid. They wouldn't allow us to go with him in the ambulance. He loved his bike so much, as much as he loved us I think. I stayed awake all night and watched the bike out the window at the bike until someone came and put it away the next day.
My father's Harley was still in the shop. With funeral expenses and having us children to take care of, mom knew she needed to get the bike out, but at the time she didn't have the money. So it remained in the shop. A month later I became pregnant and my mother and the father of my baby made a deal to get the Harley out of the shop. My mom sold him the Harley, but it got stolen -- the bike my father loved, the bike I thought my son would grow up knowing had belonged to his grandfather. A few years after my son was born, we found out he has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. He too has always had a love for motorcycles. I tell him often of the Sportster my dad had and how beautiful it was with all the chrome and the saddlebags. Later on in life, I married, divorced and remarried. I now have six children; two have Duchennes Muscular Dystrophy. All of my children have a love for motorcycles. So does my husband, but with all the expenses we have it just isn't possible. When I see that look in his eye when he sees a bike, it takes me back to the look my dad had in his eyes for his Harley '79 Sportster. On the 6th of July this year, it 15 years since my father passed away. Never once will I ever forget him, nor his love for Harleys. In his honor and in his memory I say Live to Ride, Ride to Live! Rider Fellowship
On the 14th of June I was returning to southern Oregon on my '05 Softail® Standard from a three-week vacation in Liberty Hill Texas, getting acquainted with my daughter and grandkids. The trip home was going well until I got to northern New Mexico on US 84 at about 10 p.m. a few miles south of Chama, New Mexico. It was raining lightly as I passed a road work ahead sign - no problem, I said. The next sign I came to said pavement ends next seven miles! I'm thinking (hoping for) gravel. Not so! -- and I was much too far along to turn back. Waiting for me was the thickest and slickest mud I'd ever encountered! There was no way to predict where the bike was going to take me even as I tried to walk it along. By that I mean the tires went where the road took them, which was rarely where I wanted (or expected) them to go. At one point the wheels went out from under me so quickly my bike and I went down before I knew what happened! I immediately got the 629 pounds back up, but then it wouldn't start. I was beginning to wonder how I would get my Hog Roadside assistance and how long I would have to wait for them. I was directing what traffic there was around me as I kept trying to start my bike. Then my guardian angel came along in the form of Alan Palmer, formerly of Oregon, who, as it turned out had bought his Road King from the same place I got my Standard -- D&S Harley of Phoenix, Oregon!! Alan had to go on, and my bike finally started and I was able to slowly continue walking it out the remaining six miles or so of mud. Waiting at the end of my ordeal I noticed a white pick up truck parked to the side of the road as I rode by, mud packed from top to bottom of both me and my bike. I pulled into a closed service station hoping to find a water hose and clean up as best I could. The white truck followed me in. It was Alan! He said he couldn't have gone home and slept not knowing whether I had made it through or not. No hose was available at the station so Alan had me follow him to his home a few miles north. So at midnight Alan and I are cleaning up my bike as best we could in his back yard in Chama, New Mexico. I have thought long and hard about that night and honestly have no idea how I could have managed that night without the help and concern I received from Alan. He had to have been sent there that night for me whether he realizes it or not. Alan, I am so grateful for your help and kindness that night. Thank you so much my friend. Thank you. Last Ride on My Last Bike Note: This was very funny at the time...
I lived in
My last ride on this bike began on a very hot summer day when a group of about 25 of us, (some wearing colors, some not), took off over the
While on this back road we decided to pull over and take a break by climbing down a hill to a shady little creek for some adult refreshment and relaxation. When it was time to saddle-up, we all climbed back up the hill the way we came down; all except for Tornado. Tornado had a bad knee from a crash many years ago and so he had to seek another route up the hill and as he was trying to make it on this little trail he had found, he slipped, and in trying to catch himself, reached-out and grabbed a rug that was hanging over a tree limb. Well, he and the rug he grabbed went a tumbling back down the hill together and wound up sitting in the creek. That's when we started hearing the screaming. It seems that there was a big yellow-jacket nest in the rug and they weren't at all happy about Tornado moving them to the creek. When I got to Tornado, his head and face were covered with yellow-Jackets and he was already swelling up like a hideous monster. No one really knew what to do, however, there was one suggestion: that we use some of the creek mud to draw the poison out of his face and this seemed like a good idea. So, we started to paste this creek-mud with green mossy-slime stuff all over Tornado's face. Fortunately, within our group we did have some prescription medication whereby we could take the edge off of the burning pain for him. (No -- we didn't have a doctor in the club, just a lucky rarity that some narcotics were on hand.) We finally got on the road and stopped at a gas station just before getting on the
I smile at him and say, "Never happen Tornado, they are too cute for you." This challenge only strengthens his bravado and so he walks over to the side of their car and says, "Hey baby, want a ride on my motorcycle?" The girl riding shotgun turns to look at Tornado and just starts screaming. Tornado just stands there for a moment sort of paralyzed - and then just freaks out. The driver, (now staring at Tornado too), romps on it and they do a couple little fish-tails and in a cloud of smoking-rubber, they are gone! Tornado is breathing hard and obviously shaken a bit and he asks me, "What the hell was that all about?" I just laughed and said, "Tornado, look at yourself." He turned and looked at himself in the reflection of the gas station window and saw that his face looked like a well-rotten lumpy old cantaloupe with all of this dry mud and green creek-swamp-slime hanging off it. We didn't have to wear helmets back then, but if we did, I think Tornado would have worn his over his face on the rest of the ride home! From that day, all anyone had to do to get a laugh among us was to say, "Hey baby, want a ride on my motorcycle?"
Like many stories that I tell, I have trouble remembering just whenit was that I took that trip. So I get up from the chair and rummage through the vest and jacket that I wore and look for a receipt with a date on it. Yep, here is one, Bullhead City AZ. Laughlin Run, April 28th 06. What a nice time Tom, my son, and I had. Left Ashland on a nice clear morning. I usually ride by myself but over the last 2-3 years my son has ridden with me, twice to Sturgis and now to Laughlin. He is a great companion. Still willing to do whatever Dad wants to. His Aero gets poor mileage so we stop more often and I get more chances to take a break. We rode down to
We had been watching some black clouds as we rode around
The rain quit but my 02 Wide Glide wouldn't start. I had put in a new battery just before we left. The starter just clicked. So Tom gave me a push and I couldn't get it to start. A customer came over with a booster battery and got me going. We got checked in and got to park right outside our room and under the cover of the porch. At least we were dry. (The room was free if you bought a $25 dinner coupon). I checked the WG and it still wouldn't start.
In the morning Tom gave me a push, the WG fired up and we were off. The first stop was a cat house for pictures. Tom wanted to go in and see if they sell T-shirts. I had no interest in anything but getting to Vegas and getting the bike fixed. So, we split up, him taking his time and pictures and me riding straight through to the dealership, about 300 miles. Bought gas in Tonapah and Beatty and never turned off the bike. I exited off I-15 and while sitting at the light, I could see the H-D sign about two blocks ahead, the oil light comes on, the turn indicators start flashing and the odometer is flickering on and off. Oh, Oh, I've got big problems. I was able to ride the two blocks and get in line for repairs. It turned out to be the stator. A new battery, stator and seven hours later I was back on the road. The mechanic stayed a couple hours late to finish up my repairs. Good Job.. Tom came by while I was waiting and I sent him ahead to get the room we had reserved at Kingman and to go ahead and check out Laughlin. We stayed in touch via cell phone and we met up at the motel.
The next morning we headed down Rt. 66 to Oatman, on the way to Laughlin. What a neat old town (thank you, Gene) and a nice ride through the mountains. We found a restaurant that offered two breakfasts. Tom and I each ordered the # 2 and coffee. The table next to us ordered the # 2 breakfast and 6 Bloody Marys. We were having fun now! We walked down one side of the street and up the other looking into the shops. There were three burros walking around town and they got quite a bit of attention. There are only 15 or so buildings in Oatman so the town was getting pretty crowded when we left. As we headed down to Laughlin, about
I like Laughlin. When it got too hot we ducked into a casino for refreshments and cards to cool down. Walking along the river in the shade of the casino was nice. Tom won a few dollars at blackjack and decided to let casino buy the requisite T-shirts so we bought 3 for $30. After one full day we had had enough and were ready to hit the open road. The next day we headed for home via Pahrump and
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The heart attack never stopped Dad from riding. His health had ups and downs after that. A few years later he took his Sportster in to have it all chromed out and he seemed the happiest of all. Unfortunalely, he never got the chance to ride it again. Before the chroming and customizations were finished, he had another massive heart attack and was hospitalized. A short time later he passed away. It was July 6th of 1992.
