The perfect vehicle for joining together both transportation
and recreation is the motorcycle. Back
in the 1960’s a friend inherited a motorcycle shop from an uncle and he asked
me to help him with some cleanup around there in exchange for one of the
bikes. It had been closed for about two
years due to his uncle’s illness, and things were a mess, but we were both
excited about eventually hitting the road for some fun.
The store was oddly shaped and we commented to each other
more than once that it seemed much smaller on the inside than it looked on the
outside. One afternoon as we were
talking about it, we decided to actually measure the building. We were in for a surprise. The northeast wall of the building was about
eight feet shorter on the inside than the outside wall. It didn’t take us long to determine there
was a wall hiding a room on the other side.
Edd and I made quick work of opening a hole in that wall,
and on the other side we discovered eight 1939 Harley’s with sidecars still in
crates. They were all painted a
military grayish/greenish/brownish and looked as though they may have been
surplus stock, or possibly “diverted” stock.
Either way, they were in the room we had discovered. We took serial numbers and contacted Harley-Davidson
and the United States Army, but no record of their existence could be
found. A bit of paperwork later, and
Edd was the owner of seven of these machines, and I was the owner of the eighth
one.
Oh, the work.
Restoring these vintage bikes wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. Learning to ride one wasn’t easy either, but
it was worth it. Luckily for us, there
were a number of ex-servicemen still around who had experience with some of the
odd features of these rare motorcycles.
Over the next few years I did some trading around of
motorcycles starting with trading the Harley for an Indian Chief (plus some
cash). The Indian was traded away for
something else (also with some cash), and eventually I ended up with an almost
new Harley (and a lot of cash).
One day I was riding the motorcycle to work when I realized
I needed to sell the bike and make a car my main form of transportation. I was making the transition from westbound
Interstate Loop 820 to southbound I35W on the north side of Fort Worth, and I
was high on the long curving overpass when I spotted a skunk up ahead. I moved to the left, and so did the
skunk. I moved to the right, and so did
the skunk. I moved back to the left,
and so did the skunk. Finally I just
held on and ran over the skunk. I
really didn’t have much choice in the matter.
I returned home to let my employer know I wouldn’t be coming in for a
couple of days, as I needed to get rid of a certain odor.
While the odor eventually disappeared from my body (I threw
my clothes away), the motorcycle was a different story altogether. Each time I tried to ride it, as it warmed
up the smell of skunk returned. I
completely dissembled the bike and washed each individual part in tomato juice
and baking soda, but after reassembling my very clean bike, the odor returned
just as strong as ever.
I advertised the motorcycle in a local newspaper, and went
through a long list of potential buyers before I found one who didn’t mind the
smell. In fact, he liked it. He was a biker from a nearby club (don’t
ask), and his handle was “Skunk.”
Perfect. I saw Skunk riding that
bike a few times over the next few years, and once I saw it parked outside a
store I was entering. As I walked by
it, there was no doubt who owned it. It
had been over three years, but the smell was still there.
When I was preparing to leave Texas to move to California,
Skunk stopped by my home just to chat.
I hadn’t spoken to him since the day he purchased my bike, so I thought
it was unusual for him to show up at my door, but there he was. He said he was getting married in a couple
of months, and he was inviting me to the wedding. He told me that bike had changed his life. I didn’t ask details, but I went to the
wedding.
And what a wedding it was.
Everything was black and/or white.
Nothing smelled good.
Nothing. And the happy couple
rode off on that same smelly motorcycle leaving behind a trail anyone could
follow, if they were brave enough.
