That One in the Nursery is Mine

After getting the call that my new wheels had arrived for my Harley-Davidson 2005 Softail Night Train, I made arrangements to have them installed. I dropped the bike off at Chandler Harley-Davidson on March 6. It was two wheels so I just assumed that the bike would be done either that day or the morning thereafter. Now what was that saying about never “assume” anything? Yeah, I seemed to have forgotten that. Maybe I was being unrealistic. Maybe I am being impatient. Maybe I just have no clue how long it actually takes to install a couple of wheels. No matter what the reason, it wasn’t done. Instead I got a call this morning saying that the bike was ready to be picked up. All that was left to do was have it washed.


Have it washed? When was the last time that you went to a doctor’s appointment for them to cure whatever ails you and had the doctor tell your wife, “We have completed our examination of your husband and we’ve fixed him up with a shot and some medication. He is available to be picked up. Just let us know when you will be over to get him and we will make sure he is all washed and cleaned for you to take him home.” I’ve never had that happen although I am sure Trina would have gratefully accepted that especially after I had spent a long day outside in 100 degree temperatures on a bike while wearing a leather jacket. I think this blog entry just took a serious detour off the main road. Hang on, I need to go back and read what I wrote so I can try and get my thought process back to where it was going with this. Oh yeah, the bike was done. As soon as I got the call I had Trina run me down to the dealership. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to open his gifts. After paying the balance on the service order I was told that the bike was nearly ready, they just had to finish washing it. I briefly thought about sharing my ponderings about how Harley dealerships are different than doctor’s office visits but then I remembered how off track that made me the first time so I just kept the comments to myself. Trina hasn’t really gotten into the whole motorcycle thing so to ask her to go to a Harley-Davidson dealership is akin to her asking me if I want to go hang out at a fabric store. It’s just not going to happen without some serious bribery. Considering the amount of money I just gave the cashier to pay for my wheels I didn’t have much bribery money left so I suggested to Trina that I could just wait around for the bike if she wanted to go. I had not even gotten the last three words out of my mouth than Trina was already in the car driving out of the parking lot. So I stood around and waited for the bike to come out from the back. I figured 5 minutes tops and I would be out on the road. The five minutes stretched to ten and that went to 30. And while I usually love going into the Harley dealership and look around at all the potential ways to modify my bike, today the time seemed inordinately long. When I had waited 45 minutes I began to worry. Did someone take the bike pretending to be me? I went back and found my service technician just to remind him of what I looked like. He assured me that he remembered my face but that my bike was not quite ready it was being washed. At an hour I wondered exactly what they were washing it with that would take that long. At 75 minutes I began to worry that it was going to take me that long to wash it after a ride I would have to start making my rides a lot shorter. At 90 minutes I was pacing the floor like an expectant father. Finally I think the sales guys were starting to get just as nervous as I was as they kept coming over to check on me. I didn’t think I had that crazed postal worker look about me but maybe I did. Finally the service technician came out to tell me I was now the proud parent of a beautiful bouncing baby Night Train who had just had its bath. Don’t tell Trina but I was probably more excited at that moment than I was in the delivery room when our children were born. It’s not that I don’t love my kids, I really do. It is just that I can deal with a little spilled oil on the pavement a lot better than blood and whatever else there is in a delivery room. I went outside and gazed upon the bike. All thoughts of hospitals, women in labor, and Trina screaming at me immediately left my mind. The bike looked awesome! In fact it was starting to attract a small crowd as people came by to check it out. It was just the right balance of black and chrome to make it look unique. Yeah the bike was finally looking like me rather than just another bike on an assembly line. This time I think I am done customizing. At least until next week anyway.


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