I landed in Dallas, Texas and expected Rick Fairless to bring me a cup of coffee. Then I looked at the large ominous connecting flight screen and tried to find my gate. We are like meth-head ants scurrying around this metal maze looking for our assigned Queen bee to take us to our chosen destination. My Queen didn’t show on the screen.
I dug into my Indian motorcycle canvas briefcase and pulled out my itinerary. It said Dayton, Ohio, oops. I went to visit the American airline desk and to call my lovely AAA travel agent, both sprang into action. It took me 22 hours to reach the beach in Daytona, Florida, but I was cool. I just needed to pick up a new 2018 Roadmaster Indian in the morning and make it to the Tropical Tattoo Bike Show by 11:00.
Nothing to it. The Cabby who delivered me to the temporary Indian Fleet Center was most helpful. In each case as the week unfolded I ask my current Daytona representative where the hell I was going next and they helped with perfect directions and advice. The Cabby told me how to find Willie’s Tattoo Parlor on Ridgewood Boulevard.
