Mile 2,281: These Things Are Not Meant to Sit in Garages

Two kinds of people who talk to me at gas stations in urban Houston: those looking for a handout, and those who want to tell me about their motorcycles. Most of the ones who want to tell me about their motorcycle tell me about a machine sitting in their garage that most of the time sits in their garage. But today was a little different.

A guy walked up to me today while I was stopped for gas during a lunch break. I heard his voice behind me as I removed the gas nozzle, "Man, I love your fatboy."

Here we go.

"Yeah," I replied, "me too."

He went on to ask me what year, and the typical questions that I endured as cordially as possible. He then told me about his 1996 Fatboy that he has put three motors in to keep her on the road. He had my interest at that point. We then stood there talking about road trips, other bikes we have had, and what ride comes next. It was one of those rare occasions when you meet someone and make an immediate connection. This was no weekend rider who spent more time reading motorcycle magazines than actually riding. He rode, and he knew bikes.

But since I could not stand there all day, it was time to get down the road.

On Rocinante and I went, meandering down the busy street. But stopped there at just another stoplight, I heard a voice beside me.

"Hey!"

I looked to my right, and some dude in a pickup had his window rolled down with a big grin on his face.

I retorted gently, "What?"

"Man," he began, "I just love love love that sound."

"Yeah," I replied, "me too."