I love my bike. It has become a part of me over the last twenty four years. It has faithfully taken me through blizzards, hailstorms, the edge of tornadoes, windstorms, rainstorms, and all types of terrain. It is my modern-day horse, my transportation and my home.
I wouldn’t trade my old ’93 for any other bike in the world. Let me say that again…I wouldn’t trade my bike for any other bike in the universe, no matter how fancy or powerful or expensive. Those bikes may be cool, but they ain’t mine.
When I go to rallies (or today’s vintage bike show) I see lots of bikes, lots of cool bikes. I see lots of bikes I’d love to have and ride. Yet none would be worth giving my baby up for. She’s all I’ve got, and all I want. She’s my baby.
She’ll never break my heart, or leave me for another rider. She’ll never leave me (although she has left me standing by the side of the road, through no fault of her own). She doesn’t have an endearing name like Gloria or Wind Spirit or anything like that. If I think of her at all, it is as ‘baby’; as in “come on baby, we can do this”, or as in “yeah baby, roll!” Sometimes it is a grim, adrenaline-gripped “we’re gonna live through this, baby.” So if my steel steed is called anything, it is Baby.
I’m happy when I ride my baby. Nothing brings a smile to my face like a good ride on her…
I’m happy when I ride my baby.
When I bought her, I could have had any other bike in the world. But I chose her…the 1993 FXRS-C (Low Rider), the last year the Motor Company made the bike. It is one of 113 made that year. It is the culmination of years of FXRs, the ultimate FXR. Her eighty-inch motor has more ‘balls’ than any EVO has a right to. It is the last year before injectors and computerized crap. It is one of the last bikes that a fella can work on by the side of the road, without a computer to diagnose it.
It has the highest ground clearance of any Harley to that date (even Sportys). It has the lowest seat height and center of gravity. That’s important because I have short legs and I like to dirt-bike her. She’s fixing to get a skid-plate so I can ride even more fearlessly through ATV trails and rock-strewn jeep roads.
Yep, I wouldn’t trade my baby for anything. As far as I am concerned, it is the best bike Harley Davidson has ever made. She is definitely the best bike for ME. That’s what matters. For other riders, other bikes speak to their souls. Some like baggers, some like boulevard bikes. Any rider who has found the perfect bike for them, the bike they think is the best damn bike, is a lucky rider.
I am one of those lucky riders.
I have all that I need…me and my baby. And miles of open road. I can work for gas and food. I can save for parts and accessories. If I have my bike and a guitar (and time, freedom to ride, and health), I have all I need.
It’s a good feeling, like none other.
Me and baby are going to ride north soon, then maybe out to the Pacific Ocean. We’ll ride down south for winter, maybe even into Baja Mexico. It’s an act of faith, riding out in a twenty four year old bike. Even though she has had new valves and the top end looks good, even though she has a new main shaft bearings and fourth/fifth gear in the tranny, even though her entire charging system has been replaced (starter, battery, regulator, and stator), she is still an older bike. Anything can happen.
That’s the faith in riding out…faith in my own ability, and faith in my bike’s ability to get there. Sure, I may have to guard her if she breaks down, I may have to work on some ranch for skimpy pay to get a new something-or-other, but we…will…make…it.
I love my baby, and am thankful to have her. If I died tomorrow, I would die a lucky man, to have seen so much of our beautiful country on her, to have had so many adventures, to have explored so much on her. I love her as much as a man can love a machine. Perhaps more accurately, I could say I appreciate her, value her, am thankful for her. that’s close enough to love for me.
So ride on, crazy old scoot, packed up like the Beverly Hillbillies. You can keep up with those 103 and 113 inch bikes. You can do it…and did.
Enough typing, it’s time to ride her….through a beautiful late-summer Colorado day. Out to meet new friends, to ride with other bikers, to go see my mates and brothers, my fellow riders. Take me there, baby, you can do it!
Tales of a Lone Wolf 