Giving up the Harley

It was time

It had quietly arrived; without fanfare, without so much as a whisper.

The inevitable moment of change was like the visage of a stranger suddenly recognized as an old companion. “I know you”

   Each age has its passages, and this was no different.  I had to get my Harley hauled to the shop because it wouldn’t start.  It wouldn’t start because I neglected it for over two years. I passed it numerous times during my comings and goings; sitting in the garage.  It had become garage art. Collecting towels and umbrellas on its handle bars and seat.  I had agreed to sell it.  Having successfully deflected my wife’s curiosity as to why I never rode it, I lost conviction to the reasons I argued for keeping it.  Part of it was that I found myself always busy with something else, along with the growing knowledge that my wife dreaded me getting hurt.  I surrendered to the fact I couldn’t go for a ride and dismiss her worry, even if I liberated the time to go out on the road.  Lastly, I was growing fearful of local traffic; in that, I realized, it was time to let it go if I were too afraid to ride. 

   I tried to start it up, but ran the battery down in the effort; so then was forced to have it towed to the motorcycle shop.  

There was a time in my not so distant past where I needed to take mental rescue missions out into the frontier in order to quiet my restlessness.  Somewhere living my everyday life, that need had calmed.  I no longer required an escape; the ache just left me.

   I bought the Harley back in 2003 when I desperately needed to feel free.  Having the Sportster fed my sense of adventure.  I could, if I wanted to, ride to the Pacific whenever the notion struck me; it never did, but I was content to know I could if I wanted to.  As the days and then seasons turned me towards different things, I became less aware of the pressing need to identify or protect my freedom with my mechanical trump card ~ The Harley.  I named it Blue Blaze because it was fast as anything I had ever been on.  I enjoyed it most during autumn.  The weather was brisk as the cold bit into my face when I opened the throttle up.  I enjoyed looking back at the leaves stirred up in my wake on country roads. It gave me a sense of affecting my surroundings.

   Well, all of that is finished now.  I walked the bike up onto the tow truck and escorted it to the shop for reconditioning.  I’ll pick it up tomorrow and then post the ‘for sale’ on the Internet.  I have friends who ask me to send them photos; along with what I’m asking for it.  The amount doesn’t matter, not really. The relationship has been broken.  It’s just a piece of equipment that is taking up much needed space in the garage.  I guess if I had a preference, if I could ask for anything, it’d be for a buyer who was a dreamer; a dreamer with a need for wings.

Now that’s poetic