15K

So last week marked a milestone between me and my Fatboy. I rolled the odometer past 15,000 miles. While this doesn't seem like a huge accomplishment, it can be a small rite of passage for the casual biker. Of course, every additional 5K seems like a rite of passage...

At 15K, it's also time to take the bike in for the equivalent of a visit to the doctor. Time to change out your fluids, check your brake pads, change your filters, etc. So, I set up an appointment with the local Harley service shop and ride over on Saturday.

Of course, the earlier you come in, the quicker you get out. Harley opens at 9am on Saturday so I make sure I'm here at 9am. It's kinda quiet but it's still early.

I ride up behind the shop and park in the line of Harleys on display. Some for sale. Some for pickup. I glance at a shiny black trike off to the left. Nah...

I hand over my registration and fill out the standard billing form to the guy behind the counter. He asks me a simple question, "Synthetic or standard?" 

"What?"

"Synthetic or standard oil."

Quiet in the lot

"I have no idea." It's never good to look foolish in front of the service guy. Too late. This is why I bring my bike into the experts. I just ride.

It looks like I take standard. "Sounds good to me," I mumble sheepishly and walk out with the sales guy to look at the bike. He goes over it quickly, checking lights, ignition, makes a few notes and tells me to take a seat. I'll be here for a few hours.

Ten minutes later, the actual service person comes up, goes through a similar routine and sits on the bike ready to take it into the basement where it will be strapped to a stone slab, hooked up to electrodes, and brought back to life through volts of electricity traveling down a kite line. One can dream.

He plays around with the lights and it looks like he's fumbling around with the two additional front lights, as if he can't find the switch. I call over from my seat at the picnic table, "There's a switch on the back plate." 

"Thanks, I haven't really been doing this too long. Just started today." Sarcasm. Strike two. 

I chuckle an apology, he asks if I want the throttle tightened up. It's a little loose. "Sure" is my inane reply and he pulls away with my bike to the laboratory. Pipes sound good. I'm glad it's nice outside.

A young girl with dyed red hair, covered in tattoos, and wearing a Lamb of God sweatshirt comes out to set up a table and a grill. On Saturdays they make breakfast. Score! At least I can have some pancakes while I wait.

Bikers arrive and exit for the next hour, picking up a serviced bike or dropping one off. A few souls hang around the picnic tables like myself, waiting for their bike to come rolling up out of the garage. The day is gorgeous and we want to ride!

The monotony is broken as a "newb" assistant drops a full dresser on its side while attempting to back it out of the parking lot. Ouch! A few of the bigger fellas walk over to help as the kid stands there with his hands on either side of his head, probably thinking, "I'm so fucking fired right now!" At least he had the sense to let it go and not play hero. Probably saved himself a broken leg or worse.

That's gotta suck!

 

A gang of Asian bikers roll up on a bunch of street bikes, not all Harleys. They're an amiable group and I start up a conversation with them. Turns out three of them are brothers and they ride a lot together. They like my Oakley Madman glasses and I pass them around so the guys can take pictures wearing them. 

After about a half hour they take off and the waiting goes on. Two black guys roll up from Brooklyn, Byron and Terrence. Bryon's got a big ass Dyna and Terrence is picking up a brand new Breakout that he's having new pipes strapped on. We spend awhile trading stories and Byron has us in stitches pretty soon. He's a funny guy. We trade stories of routes we've traveled and he tells us about a guy who had a train horn custom installed on his bike. He goes on to tell us how he blew it behind a car that cut him off as Byron watched a pedestrian basically jump out of her shoes. Pretty soon we're all laughing, but you had to hear Byron tell it. Funny guy.

Lunchtime is rolling around and I'm getting antsy. Red comes out and throws hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. Say what you will about Harley, but these guys run a class shop. I'm happy to wait if you're going to feed me. After my second hot dog, the sales guy comes out to tell me the bike is done, they're just cleaning it up. I can pay inside.

Looks like new

$500 bucks. Well, at least I met a few new friends and had something to eat...

A few minutes later Al, the detail guy, rides up on my bike. Damn! It looks good. He speaks in a slight Middle-eastern accent and continues to buff the bike down with a handful of polishing cloths. He compliments me on how clean I keep the bike. It looks like new for a 2001. Damn straight! She's my baby (...ok my other one.)

I throw Al a tip, say my goodbyes to Byron and Terrence (he's still waiting on those pipes) and rumble out of the parking lot. Maybe we'll ride together some day.

It's about 2:30. Killed most of the day. It was a pretty eventful day considering I was just waiting. Aside from making a few new friends, I saw some great bikes, ran into a Mason friend of mine (Luiz. I'll probably blog about that later), ate a few grilled meals, and got an invite to a Hells Angels rally.

When you hit your next motorcycle milestone, my recommendation is don't just drop off your bike. Go hang out at your local service shop. You'll be surprised at how quickly the time goes and you'll make some new friends.