Easy Rider and Chopperguy

The three motorcyclists at work were all standing in a row, warming up the bikes. The Suzuki and the Honda were feeling playful and started to take turns revving their engines. After each of them wound it up a few times, giving several quick twists of the throttle, they looked over at me. I reached for the throttle and gave it one solid twist. The buzzing of their engines was completely drowned out. No other sound could be heard. The blast of sound bounced off the privacy fence behind us, back across the parking lot, and then bounced back at us again from off of the factory wall, surrounding us with 3d chopper thunder.

I love 2 inch drag pipes.

These observations are for entertainment purposes only and should not be construed as indicative of others' experiences. Results may vary.

On my shift at work there are three people who ride motorcycles to work. In the line-up are a 2005 Suzuki sport bike, a 2007 Honda Shadow, and my 1965 Harley-Davidson Ironhead chopper. Of the three bikes, the '65 chopper starts up with the fewest cranks of the engine, and I'm the only one kickin' it. The chop has more miles on it than the other two combined even if you only go back to the last rebuild. The chopper has gone farther in a single day than the other two combined even though it has one spring for front suspension while each of the others has four between front and rear. My chopper cost less to custom build than either of the stock bikes. My bike is the most likely to be seen in the parking lot regardless of the weather. All three bikes get roughly the same gas mileage. In fairness to the other guys, the '65 is the only one that marks her territory.

Actions speak louder than words, or so they say. I don't need no stinkin' shirt that says, "Choppers for Life".

Well, not quite an actual workplace conversation. It happened in the parking lot after work. I park next to a Suzuki sport bike every day. He and I are the only riders on the shift. Our bikes are like Yin and Yang. His is bright and shiny yellow. Mine is long, black, and marks its territory. Most nights my bike starts in two or three kicks. Tonight it took seven. Then I listened to him pushing the starter.

Me: Wow. That was about seven kicks right there.
Him: I know.

He pressed the button a few more times and it eventually started.

Him: Damn. That would have been at least 30 kicks. Can you imagine having to actually kick it that many times?
Me: Oh yeah. I can imagine that just fine.