Angels in Loafer's Glory (Part One)

"God's Little Acre Chapel"
Just up the road from where
I dropped my brand new bike
and found an angel

The day I picked up Harley was a memorable event. It was late last summer and my brand new Ultra Classic had so much shine to it that I was glad I was wearing my shades. Ron Napier was trying his best to give me the new owner's orientation walk through. I was having a hard time hearing him. There were moments when I think I completely ignored him. I was so enamored with the look of this bike that my attention was hyper focused on Harley, and Ron was coming in a distant second place on my radar screen.

For some reason I do remember one of Ron's parting quips before I saddled up and rode off into the afternoon sun. He said something about reminding him to teach me how to pick up my bike in the event it fell down or I dropped it. I was aghast! It seemed an improbable scenario. I had never heard of a Harley rider "dropping" his bike. Surely...he jested? Besides, what was the big trick to picking it up even if it did fall down?

I had only known Ron for a short period of time. I had learned he was good at cracking jokes, so I figured this might just be one of his jibs. Sure, he was teasing me. He knew that I hadn't the riding experience that many guys have when they take delivery, so he was probably just having fun with the newbie.

By the time I leisurely circled the parking lot I became too enamored to think anymore about what Ron had said. I might as well have been some star struck lover, cause I couldn't think of anything but my bike as we slowly got to know one another in those first few laps. What started out as lustful fantasy from Harley magazines and catalogs had materialized into true love as I got high on the reality that this bike was really mine. Yeah, how else can you describe it? It was courtship. The bike and I were a new duo, and we were meant to get to know each other. I made the last loop around the parking lot and headed for M20.

Those first few days seemed a blur. I was loving my bike, and all the stuff that went with riding. I had gotten a new anniversary helmet to match Harley. I had also gotten an entire set of new leathers.

Gosh... the leather. I think I caught a leather fetish in eighth grade. I remember all the cool 8th grade guys wore fake leather back then. Some cheap variety of vinyl I suppose - because nobody could afford the real thing. Still, it gave everybody that James Dean tough guy look. By the time we added silver chains (dog collar choker chains...and yes...we really did that) to our belt loops, we had the appearance of being very tough rumblers. I bought my own chain, and this grade 8 girl bought me my fake black vinyl jacket for a birthday present. O happy day! Unfortunately neither the jacket or the girl would last long...lol   Hello! My name is Joseph. I have had a leather addiction for.... Ooops. That's what I say on Wednesday nights. Back to Roads and Riders. Maybe because I never got an early fix in actual leather it fueled the desire for the real thing. At any rate, being able to buy biker leather when you really are a biker...well hey...can there be anything sweeter than that? Eighth grade is a distant memory, but I am finally in my element wearing real leather on my real Harley. I may have felt silly as a biker impersonator back in grade 8, but shucks. I am the real deal now, eh?

So the real deal had hit the Michigan roads in a brand new Anniversary Edition H-D. Harley and I were having a time. I was testing the curves, gently feeling out the clutch, doing the 500 mile break in period. After several rides around town, I decided that I soon needed a longer and more distant afternoon jaunt.

I had known this unique little place in Blanchard called Loafer's Glory. I figured it would make for a food destination, as well as a nice ride. I was dreaming about the homemade soup I hoped for and had thoughts of the baked pie for dessert. I picked out a clean white t-shirt, my leather vest, my boots, and the other appropriate biker accoutrements.

It was a beautiful day. Harley was looking great, and I was in my comfort zone. No suit, no tie, no problems (Kenny Chesney has nothing on me). The only thing that bugged me was that I noticed the back roads to Blanchard had just gotten a fresh resurfacing. That's not a bad thing, other than they used a rather economical approach to paving. There was lots of oil and tar, upon which they layered a truck full of pea gravel. Sure, they rolled the entire surface, but on a hot sunny August day, the oil still squished and the pea gravel was dusty. I was not enjoying the thought of what that might be doing to Harley's bottom.

I cruised into Blanchard like I was the only guy in town. Well, I was pretty much the only guy in town. Seemed a slow day in Blanchard, other than I did a double take when I saw this passenger van filled with gentle looking senior ladies. As I was parking they were going into a restaurant. Now the fact that I saw a bunch of seniors didn't throw me, but the entire gall darned group were sporting these bright red hats! I must admit it made my head go tilt, and I was wondering if I had entered the twilight zone. Was I seeing things? There were twenty some female seniors, and twenty assorted red hats of a flamboyant nature. In Blanchard. In the middle of the afternoon, with no one else around.

Now I am still trying to figure the logic behind all of these red hats, and if indeed they were real or imagined. Maybe my brain had fried from the sun beating on my black helmet during the ride in? Simultaneously I am backing Harley into a good curbside parking spot. I am still gawking at the disappearing red bonnets as I place my foot on the ground, readying the kickstand for a solid plant on terra firma.

That's when it happened. I hear the oil and tar squish as my foot slides away from Harley. Before you can say geriatric, I stood spread eagle as Harley plopped to the ground underneath me. It had happened so fast I never even had time to realize what was going on! In reality, even if I did have a clue, I would never have been able to keep Harley upright at that point. The bulk of 950 pounds of Milwaukee's best had a mind of its own with gravity working on Harley's side. My 155 pounds (well, 160..no 165... actually....its none of your affair) never had a chance.

So there I stand looking cool enough by myself - but rather foolish next to my shiny brand new bike which now lay in an unbecoming manner on the ground. I realized it was a good thing Blanchard was having a slow day 'cause I was imagining the jeers of multitudes from the sidewalk. It seemed like I had gotten away with this though. No one seemed to see it happen at all. Excellent. All if have to do is pick Harley up, and get my bike back on track. Sure...sounds easy. I grunted, I groaned, and I said a few bad words. It wasn't happening. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe he wasn't joking. Was there a special "method" to be employed when picking up a dropped Ultra Classic??

I walked down the sidewalk looking for help. Not a man to be found. I walk back and Harley is still laying on the roadside exposing our impropriety. What were my options? Do I call a tow truck? Is there a warranty toll call on this, kinda like 1-800-droppedmyharley? Why doesn't H-D have OnStar?

I was embarrassed and a little ticked off. Hey, this wasn't my fault, was it? If it wasn't for the bad economy (cheap paving and resurfacing processes).... If it wasn't for the strange phenomena of the red hat vision... I wouldn't be in this mess, would I ? Bike school never warned me about red hats or cheap county paving methods.

I was still gazing at Harley wondering how I was ever gonna get this machine upright. I remembered all those 4x4's I'd seen with cable winches on the front end. That's what I needed... a winch. I wondered if they sold them as an UltraGlide accessory in the parts catalog?

That's when I saw the angel.

Click here for next installment...

-JR
Posted 01/08/2004

Dr. Joseph Rivard, PhD, is an educator, motorcycle enthusiast, and former competitive handgunner. He has written extensively on topics related to the field of education, and now enjoys writing for pleasure about his newest passion - riding his Harley across the backroads of Michigan.

Joseph was born and raised in Michigan, but feels he is only beginning to appreciate the hidden beauty of the rural areas now that he is seeing it from a two wheel perspective. Joseph lives in Mt. Pleasant and looks forward to meeting new friends and fellow riders as he seeks out the best in 2 lane blacktop across the state. When not riding or working, Dr. Rivard spends much of his personal time with family, which includes his best buddy {who gets around on four paws}.

©Copyright 2006, Joseph Rivard, all rights reserved. No text, graphic, or video found on this site may be archived or redistributed without written consent of the publisher, Lee Wonnacott, Kannapolis, NC. Copyright 2006.