A Facebook friend reposted a two-year-old screed about late-model wankers with their heated handgrips, windshields, stereos and security systems, and I felt moved to respond. As is my wont, I got windy about it. Here’s what he wrote:
To which I replied:
I don’t even like needing a windshield on a motorcycle, and wouldn’t run one if I hadn’t broken my damn back, but I have never seen the purpose of stereos, GPS systems and such. Get your Prius out of the garage, if you need all that shit!
Still, I remember in the early ’70s, cats mounting alarm systems on their rides because…. hey! If some motherfucker gets off with your bike, the odds are you’ll never see it again. Most broke tramps I knew had everything they owned in that machine, and no insurance company was gonna cover a custom bike. You and your bros were all that stood between your bike and the forces of evil.
I’ll never forget sitting at a party back in ’73: we’re all getting drunk and high and grooving to the tunes on the turntable, and all of a sudden we hear a fucking police radio right there in the room with us! Turned out to be the remote for the new alarm system on Al’s Sporty. It could receive a signal from the alarm module if anyone fucked with his bike. No one knew until that instant that it could also pick up radio transmissions! 😱 Talk about freaked out! 🤣
I’ve never had an alarm system on any of my bikes, but I also avoid parking them where I can’t keep an eye on them. If the bike’s not in my line of sight for any reason, it’s locked up tight and I’m checking on it at infrequent intervals. Gotta keep them thieves on their toes!
….if the bike’s not in my line of sight, it’s locked up tight and I’m checking on it at infrequent intervals. Gotta keep them thieves on their toes!
I remember sitting at local beer joints, watching as those of us who rode took turns hopping off our barstools and checking the parking lot. It looked kinda funny, seeing us go up and down like a whore’s knickers, but we all knew none of our rides were safe unless we watched out for ’em.
And it wasn’t just paranoia. I had a customer come in the shop with a Sporty shock that was bent almost in an ‘L’. Naturally, I asked him what happened, thinking he’d been t-boned by a cager. Nope. He was at a titty bar on the north side. He recalled parking his bike and passing a cluster of UT frat boys leaving as he walked in. Nothing happened, he said – no harsh words or dirty looks or anything – but a few minutes later one of his buddies walked in and said ‘Man, what happened to your bike? It’s layin’ on its side out there.’
Turned out someone – presumably the frat boys – knocked his bike over and did a fandango on it: stove in the fuel tank, bent the handlebars, fucked up the gauges, broke the mirrors, et cetera. 🤬🤬🤬
A few months later, I was sitting in a titty bar on the south side, rapping with a friend, and told him that story. He got this sick look on his face, jumped up and ran out the door. I just sat there, kind of amused, figuring he’d be right back…. but then he didn’t come back, so I went to check on him.
As I push my way through the double doors to the parking lot, I see Doc on one side of his bike, and a young couple standing on the other. Doc’s finger is in the guy’s face – he’s obviously pissed – and I’m thinking ‘Oops! Looks like we’re fixing to get down.’ I hit the second set of doors like a freight train, and as I do the chick turns to me and chirps ‘Oh, you think you’re bad?‘ 😲
WTF? 🤷🏻♀️
The guy already looked like he was about to wet himself, with Doc growling at him, but when the chick said that the dude went bone-white, like he was about to faint right there. 😆
Turned out that when Doc walked out the guy was just about to throw a leg over Doc’s Triumph. The kid wasn’t a thief – he was just an idiot showing off for his girlfriend – but Doc told me later that when he hit the parking lot, all he could do was point at the guy and say ‘Don’t!‘ His hand was shaking from the adrenaline rush, he said, and the one word was all he could muster in the moment. By the time I came barreling through the doors, Doc had caught his breath and was just detailing the young man’s near-death experience for him, in great detail. 😈
Then the chick mouthed off at me, making everything worse. 😏
Oooooh, it could have gone sideways real quick-like, but we checked the bikes over, made sure nothing was damaged, and the kid (who apologized the whole while we were out there) insisted on buying us both drinks. He must have had a come-to-Jesus discussion with his girlfriend, too, because before we were done with our free drinks the girl came over, knelt beside my chair and begged my forgiveness. She even kissed my hand! 😲
Damn, I had a hard time keeping a straight face! 😆
Of course, all that happened before ‘biker’ became synonymous with ‘middle-aged empty nester‘ and ‘man-bun-wearing hipster’. 🙄
The Shovel Shop 