RAINY PICTURE
Yesterday's rain is evident on this customized motorcycle with stormy weather artwork. The rains forced many bikers to leave for home early. (Mark Bolton/Union Leader)
Posted on 06/16/2002 7:10:48 AM PDT by 2Trievers
How did this happen? A year ago I covered the Laconia Bike Week for the newspaper wearing ear plugs. The black-leather-clad crowd looked silly to me, as well as the men who spent fortunes chroming-out and customizing their pet bikes. Today, I own an ensemble of black leather, and shop for more. I have a Harley-Davidson with loud pipes and enough chrome to make me proud . . . but not proud enough. When my friend read the sticker I pasted on my black helmet last weekend after attending the Laconia rally (WANTED: A Meaningful Overnight Relationship), she concluded motorcycling had opened up a whole new side to my personality. She’s right. First there’s the sheer joy of riding. The wind blowing on your face, the motorcycle revving under you, and a feeling of oneness with Nature and the Machine. It’s a rush. Curves in the road feel like those cheap carnival rides that spin you faster and faster in a circle until you’re sideways in the air. Your body, gravity, and speed keep the bike exquisitely glued to the earth. And if you like meeting men, there’s nothing better than being a single woman on a Harley. One Friday night, for example, on Ocean Boulevard in Hampton Beach, a guy riding a Harley-Davidson Heritage bike pulled along side of me. We chatted through the stop and go traffic. Eventually, he suggested we ride off to his house. When I declined, he disappeared down a small side street. Fun. Men also approach me when I park. Guys see me with my bike and the next line out of their mouths is: “Nice ride.” A welcome change, however, from “nice eyes.” I’d rather talk about my bike any day. Having a bike is like being a member of a national club. We all wave at each other on the road. Strange bikers pull up along side you at a stoplights, or ride abreast for a few miles and then disappear. Last weekend, I rode past a motorcade of bikers. They were going the opposite direction on Bypass Route 1 toward Eliot, Maine. I banged a U-turn and joined in the fun. It was exhilarating to be among the 25 bikers rumbling down the back roads in staggered formation. People doing yard work stopped and stared. Many people smiled. This Harley has also given me something that two years of living in the Port City has yet to accomplish. A steady supply of chums to hang out with day or night in downtown Portsmouth. I park my bike (free) in the in Market Square among the rows of bikes on the street. Buy a double tall latte from Cafe Brioche and enjoy the biker crowd. You don’t have to talk to hang. But, if you’re in the mood for a little conversation, there’s never any fear of what to say after hello. Everyone speaks the same language: chrome accessories, performance add-ons, unreasonable sound laws, engine sizes, and more technical stuff. A photographer named Dante serves as the unofficial welcoming committee, introducing newcomers to the regulars. He is also the giver of names. So far, he’s dubbed individuals with names like Beanie Boy, Haystack, and Smoking Bob (who always rides up with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth). Come to think of it, I don’t know these men by any other name. Seems everyone has a handle, like CB operators. I can’t wait to see what mine will be. Another thing I like about biking is the mix of people, men mostly, that I meet — from doctors to mechanics. Some are well-heeled and meticulously groomed. Others are scruffy, like the guy with a full body tattoo called Ripper. He was sitting at the Smokehouse at Weirs Beach in Laconia last weekend. I ended up at his table because it was the only one empty and because it had a front-row view of the endless parade of motorcycles turning the corner onto Lakeside Avenue. Soon, Ripper and I were having a great time commenting on the passing bikes, dissing the Japanese sport bikes, and admiring the women riding big Harleys. But there weren’t many of those. It’s only been a few months since my descent into the world of motorcycling. I’m sure there’s more to learn, and enjoy. And, if by chance, you see me riding my white Harley decked out in black leather, feel free to laugh. I’m not too proud to admit it’s all a bit childish. And in the end that’s what it’s all about. Having fun and freeing that inner child in all of us.
The club
The diversity
RAINY PICTURE
Yesterday's rain is evident on this customized motorcycle with stormy weather artwork. The rains forced many bikers to leave for home early. (Mark Bolton/Union Leader)
Sad, but I might one day have actually associated with people who sound like this ....a double tall latte???
She must be under-endowned.
The truth is these people are a dream come true. They make it easier for scooter trash to be ignored by the cops and others because they often even look more hard-core than real bikers. Plus parts are easier to get now,and a increase in the number of women riding is always welcome.
The biggest drawback is you never quite know how to deal with them. I spotted one of these new riders last summer at the local stop and rob,and he was all decked out in the latest Harley fashions,including a plastic Nazi helmet.Everything looked brand new,from his bike and leather to his helmet. As I walked past him,I asked him "If I buy a plastic Nazi helmet,can I be a plastic Nazi,too?" He looked really confused. I don't know why I did this. I wasn't planning on saying anything to him at all.
Bert,my man,there is a different sort of "biker" out there now than it was in the old days. Guys who have attended "sensitivity training seminars" at work. I wondering how she would react to "nice tits",or "you have a purty mouth"?
If you ride long enough, you WILL go down.
Being a FReeper is like being a member of a national club.
Now that is one hell of a paint job.
Sounds like he accessorized right out of the JC Whitney M/C catalog; I often wondered who would buy that kitsch!
With H/D's it's chrome. With Goldwings it's lights. I've seen some of them going down the road lookin' like a freakin' casino!
ROFL!
What's really weird (to me at least) is seeing a Harley rider sitting at a light in full leathers, boots and gloves, with a plastic soupbowl on his head, and right next to him some kid on a crotch rocket wearing gym shorts and tennis shoes, and a $600 full face helmet.
(spoken:) Ladies and gentlemen... The President of the United States! "Fella Americans...Doot, Doot, Doot..." He's been sick!--Doot! Doot! And I think his wife is gonna bring him Some chicken soup Plastic people! Oh, Baby, now You're such a drag I know it's hard to defend an unpopular policy Every once in a while-- Plastic people! Oh, Baby, now You're such a drag 'N there's this guy from the CIA and he's creepin' Around Laurel Canyon-- A fine little girl She waits for me She's as plastic as she can be She paints her face With plastic goo And wrecks her hair With some shampoo Plastic people! Oh, Baby, now You're such a drag "I dunno...sometimes I just get tired Of ya, honey--It's...ah...your hair spray...or something..." Plastic people! Oh, Baby, You're such a drag "I hear the sound of marching feet... down Sunset Boulevard to Crescent Heights ...and there...at Pandora's Box... We are confronted with...a vast quantity of...Plastic people..." Take a day And walk around Watch the Nazis Run your town Then go home And check yourself You think we're singing 'Bout someone else But you're plastic people Oh, Baby, now You're such a drag Me see a neon Moon above I searched for years I found no love I'm sure that love Will never be A product of Plasticity A product of Plasticity A product of Plasticity PLASTIC! PLASTIC PEOPLE!--PLA-HA-HA-HA HA-PLASTIC--You are--your foot--your hair --your nose--your arms--you suck--you love --you are--your being is--you're plastic--blah --blah--blah--plastic Peoples -A prune is not a vegetable --cabbage is a vegetable; makes it O.K. --plastic people--plastic People --you dream about...you think only of...you eat ...you are...Ooo-hoo-hoo... Purple prancing--Plastic people- Pee-Pee-Pee-Pee-Pee-Peep!
ROFL!
Ditto that! What a great line at an inopportune time...almost had cereal exit my nose.
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