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Last year early in the spring I was two-up with my lovely wife on the Bagger, for the first time. I had put roughly 300 miles on the clock and was still getting to know the bike. My wife asked me to pull into this particular mini-mall to pick up some graphics she had ordered.

There were five or so heavily customized large displacement Road Rockets lined up in the parking lot outside this graphics store, their respective owners wearing color-coordinated leathers, standing nearby shooting the breeze. As I pull off the boulevard and into the parking lot, I spot an empty parking spot near the store. I decide to grab this spot. In order to do so I had to make this tight 270 degree turn. Mind you, I'm rolling along at about two mph . . .

As I'm easing into the spot I decide I'm a little too close to the car parked in the stall to the left, so I try to tighten my turn a little more, only to find I'm already up against the steering lock. I'm already too close to the parked car for comfort, so I can't goose the throttle to stand the bike up. Over I start to go.

I stab the front brake and lurch to a stop as the bike starts to fall to the right. I plant my right leg down and catch the Bagger just before it goes all the way over. However, the Bagger is now at a 45 degree angle to the pavement, my wife now hanging on for dear life. I hit the Kill switch and try to pull this leviathan back upright; no way! It feels like I'm trying to pick up the entire parking lot . . .

So here I am, about two-thirds into the parking stall, leaning to the right, arms & legs locked, almost but not quite tipped over, stuck in this position, with a half-dozen hardcore riders witnessing my predicament. The wife is hollering at me for being an idiot, and asking me if she should get off (yes please, dear). She sort of tumbles off; I try to pick the Bagger back upright. Nope, nothing doing. At this point I'm thinking this scene would make a great Southwest Airlines commercial (wannna get away?).

One of the leather-clad Rocketeers saunters up & asks me if I could use some help. Sheepishly, with all the quiet humility I can muster, I meekly reply "yes". He grabs the handlebars while I gingerly swing my left leg over the bike, still trying not to drop it all the while. Together, he and I wrench the Bagger back upright. I swing around to the left, walk the bike the rest of the way into the parking spot, flip the sidestand down and breathe for the first time in what seems like ten minutes. The wife is yelling at me for being such a bonehead, I'm thanking the Samaritan for pulling me out of my embarrassing predicament, and the Samaritan is standing there saying "nice bike" over & over.

That guy could have just stood there making fun of my sorry ass, but he didn't. The two of us were at such opposite ends of the riding spectrum, I sort of expected him to say SOMETHING derogatory or at least humorous at my expense. Much to his credit, he resisted this perfect opportunity to rub my nose in it. He and his buddies just kept fawning over the still unscratched Bagger. You know, those hardcore Rocketeers turned out to be pretty nice guys . . .

The next day I spent half the day in an empty parking lot practicing my full-lock turns. I didn't quit until I could do 360's against the steering lock in both directions, stopping without putting my feet down. Jack Bauer would've kicked my butt for being such an uncoordinated wuss.

That guy could have just stood there making fun of my sorry ass, but he didn't. The two of us were at such opposite ends of the riding spectrum, I sort of expected him to say SOMETHING derogatory or at least humorous at my expense. Much to his credit, he resisted this perfect opportunity to rub my nose in it. He and his buddies just kept fawning over the still unscratched Bagger. You know, those hardcore Rocketeers turned out to be pretty nice guys . . .

Oh, that's just a prime example of Wisconsin Nice.

Out here in Cali, leather-clad strangers would also rush over to help you in such a situation.

Then they'd try to @#$& you up the #$$.