When I was given the chance to ride the Electra Glide, I jumped at the it, literally! When I saw it at The Holding Facility I got a little excited and ran towards the back end of the bike with the intention of leaping over it and mount, ala The Lone Ranger. My short legs dictated a different outcome. I haven't slammed my nuts that hard since the third grade, very painful. After the official five-minute recovery time out, Bandit whispers to me “Jon, you can take a long trip on this bike.” Ha! He thinks I’m that stupid. I'm not falling for that one again; I now know that a trip on a pier doesn't last long at all.
At my humble abode the next morning, I prepared some coffee and made my way to the garage. The FLHT sat there just beaming in all of her glory, almost seductively screaming “take me; take me for a ride you fuck!” Who am I to dispute something that out weighs me almost four to one? Sometimes one gets that little devil dude on their shoulder that yells, “fuck responsibility, deadlines or bills.” Yell he did and I listened. After popping the blister on my foot from spilling hot coffee, unplugging the phone and it was off to the bank to drain the extremely limited funds I had in my account.
So I sez to my sparkling faithful steed, “Which way, pal-o-mine?” It turned towards Laughlin, Nevada. Nothing I could do about it. Shit, I didn't even call for reservations. No matter, this ride had more than enough room for the gear I packed. I was ready for anything, from sleeping under the stars, to staying at some Billy-Bob's Bug And Breakfast, or whoopin' it up at Harrah's. When I got on the highway, the first thing that jumped into my head was the feeling that I really wanted to keep going for many, many miles. It'd been a long time since I really felt that way on a new bike, or any bike for that matter.
Past all the madness to the open roads of the desert: Ah desert riding, nothing even comes close when you're on the right bike, which I was. The desert transformed me in a weird way, it was hard to describe, but of course I did anyway. The harsh terrain hints to you that you're not free from a life threatening disaster. But the calm and almost deafening quiet thrown on top of the stunning beauty can almost be a religious experience. On a bike such as this, one doesn't think about crap like aftermarket high performance parts taking a shit on you. Confidence in the machine came in truck loads. It allowed mind to soak in so much of this magical land, a land that not so long ago was explored by rough and gruff frontiersmen on horseback. Hell, I almost felt like a cowboy out here. Just me and my horse…on the move, alone, just the way I like it.
Sometimes you travel out here with other “cowboys”, but this particular weekend, the other cowboy’s women folk were not too happy with the idea of a sudden men folk get away. So I went it alone. Poor me, (wink, wink).
There seems to be a trend with some owners of this bike to cut down the windshields. This seemed retarded to me but, it's just my opinion…..and unfortunately, I have many. I'll keep mine in all of its full length glory, planted atop the unique “bat-wing” fairing. You see, just about every thirteen and a half minutes, I found myself yelling like a lunatic, “HA! MISSED ME AGAIN MUTHA FUCKERS,” at the desert insects that were just murdered on the front of my genuine H-D plastic. Both fists thrown towards the heavens in a quasi Mark Farner victory pose, (I can do this because I have cruise control).
I ran into some interesting characters on my way to losing money at the casinos. Many wanted to just shoot the shit about this here shiny motor-type-sickle. At a rest stop, I had one very talkative older gentleman truck driver from Oklahoma insisting that Honda just bought out Harley-Davidson. I couldn't convince him otherwise. Nice fellow and all that, but it may be possible he was a couple of sandwiches shy of a picnic. I told him, “Someone’s at the door, so I gotta go.” He gave me a puzzled look, but actually bought it.
I came across three bikes pulled over to the side of the road. I had some tools and my cell phone, so I stopped to see if they needed anything. Turns out two of them had FLHTs. I could ask some questions. They only stopped to take a leak, everything was fine, but they were friendly so we all took a break and shot some shit. They circled my bike and noticed little things about it that was more bitch-en than theirs.
“Hey, that's a six gallon tank,” and shit like, “you got cruise control and six gears.”
I told them how comfortable the new seat was and one yelled, “Hey Carol, come here and check out this seat…can she sit on it.”
“Sure,” I replied.
The little lady hopped on with a stunned look on her face. “This is really nice,” she said in a melting sensuous voice, with a gleam in her eye looking at me like, “wanna take me home sailor?”
I had to pass on this, being that Carol's dude was taller than Bandit and about 350lbs. I won't go on about what the other dude’s bike was because it will sound like I'm bullshitting. Oh fuck it…okay it was a Low Rider, the very model I'll be riding for the next article. Oh yeah? Fuck you; I've got a picture to prove it from their camera that they e-mailed me!
They took off before me; I was still hanging, taking in all this wonderful quiet. A quick look at the watch indicated it was time to get moving. A good amount of miles passed under me….man, it was getting a little hot out there. Oh great, I was talking to myself, OUT LOUD! It was the bike! It was too smooth. It was so calm out there; I was almost in a meditative state. No stress, phone calls, or re-draws. It was almost too calm. “She’ll be comin' around the mountain when she comes,..she'll be…..hey, look at me, you piece of shit rattle snakes….I'm Robert Blake, and I'm a cop, on my 'lectra blue”! (After slapping myself really hard).” That was the clincher, I was losing it.
I had to pull off and get my shit together. At the next rest stop, I met a down to earth couple taking a break beside their bike. I pulled up and shut her down, “How ya doin?”
I had to ask them if something was wrong and they said, “No, you look better now…when you first pulled in here, you had this mad man grin on your face and we thought you may be nuts.”
I had to explain that I'm not nuts; I'm just not used to being this happy and relaxed. It was that damn bike. It won’t ride rough or give me any of the shit I'm use to 24/7. We were going in the same direction so we agreed to hang on the highway together until the 15 Freeway about 200 miles down the road. I talked them into taking pictures of me for this article, which they did. But you won't see any of them because my camera and notes disappeared from the face of the earth when I got home.
Long story, but my dad is at the house because he has Alzheimer's. I take care of him. but sometimes my sister will watch him for a few, enabling me to take sanity trips like this. He was mad at me about some stupid shit when I got home and disposed of my gear in his sometimes vengeful way. So had to run out, buy a new camera and start this thing from scratch while the deadline was already upon me. Oh well, another day in the life, right?
What a comfortable ride, it was like a fucking Cadillac or some shit. Wind protection from the windshield was great. Some buffeting at speed but shield riders know all the tricks and easy fixes to erase that stuff. Floorboards, what can I say? love 'em. Some brands try to get cute and design the boards artsy fartsie with weird shapes that don't do shit for your feet. These were made for feet: a fucking man's feet…very accommodating. I could even do some toe tapping with my boots to Humble Pie blasting through the ipod I lifted from my daughter before my departure, (yes, this bike can come with a bitchen stereo system, but the one they gave me didn't have it).
The saddle that came on this bike stock was spectacular! It seemed almost as big as my ex-wife's ass, but this saddle didn't look like a Goldwing gaudy thing. This bad boy also kicked up in the rear section a bit that gave some secure lower back support…..very cool when it came to serious saddle time.
ABS braking system worked great (a $795 option), and we all know this bike wouldn't be considered a light weight (780 lbs with liquids). I'm a real shit when it comes to brakes and I was satisfied with the Brembo's.
This particular bike I was on came with electronic cruise control (a $245 option), no, not that little screw thing under the throttle. Having this option was a treat. Not only could I give the right hand a break here and there, but I could also flip someone off and pick my nose at the same time,…now that, my friend is progress!
The 1584cc motor was as smooth as a baby’s bottom (before the kid shits). This bike had power to burn. Passing big rigs was a breeze, even going up a ten degree climbs (just kidding). The six-speed transmission was also very smooth and still has that wonderful “clank” noise as I shift. We wouldn't have it any other way.
The dash displayed a little “6” on it to indicate when in sixth gear. How cool was that, especially when one is mentally challenged such as me? Bumps? We don't need no stinkin' bumps! I didn't feel shit on the road as far as bumps or thumps went, and my pussy-weak back really liked that. I didn't even dial the suspension or anything. Stone stock, baby.
Okay, here we go. Did I have any complaints? Yes, yes I did….a major one. My complaint is the fact that the powers that be at the Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Company do not understand what a nifty guy I am, and should let me keep this wonderful bike. But noooooooo! They want me to pay for it or some nonsense like that. They made me turn it back in. They made me give it back. Oh, parting was such sweet sorrow. This, my friends, is my only complaint concerning the bike.
But seriously, I just didn't have any gripes with this bike. She ran strong and didn't complain much when confronted with billion-mile-an-hour desert cross winds. Never coughed, sputtered or complained of menstrual cramps. Never bucked, kicked or made my hands get numb from vibration. Fucking gas mileage was even good. No, there was no math involved here, it was ol' school good mileage detection …didn’t have to fill up that much. And the topper, she looked great sitting outside of a casino.
Damn you Bandit, my heart was broke more from these test rides than any women I've done in my days, and I'll tell you what, it's all y'alls fault, ya sum-bitch!
Well, my job is done here, I must be moving on from my heart break. Besides, there seems to be a new Low Rider sitting in my garage just waiting to have pictures taken and have some shit written about her. I will be stumbling in your direction again sooner than you'd wish.
