A Wife Watching Fantasy, Too Farbynewbie2008©
Chapter I: My Nagging Dream
Trust me, the only thing worse than not owning a Harley Davidson? Is when all your friends do. But, allow me to clarify. I'm not talking about hard core biker types by any stretch. I'm referring to the pressed shirt and tie types. You know? The ones who seriously don't look like they belong on one? The ones who maybe, occasionally, ride on the weekends? Basically, folks who only want to reply in any given situation, "Harley? Are you kidding? Of course I own one!" You got it, status junkies, not serious riders at all. They wouldn't immerse themselves into that lifestyle if their lives depended on it, they just want one in the garage. If a jet pack coming out of your ass was popular? They'd have two of them.
I on the other had, was not a status junkie what so ever, and didn't aspire to become one. Never did I brag, "Hey, check out my new boat, my new pool?" or God forbid, "My NEW HARLEY?" No way! Most likely because I didn't own any of those things. But hey, wouldn't have if I did. In fact, there was really only one thing I wanted, the Harley, my Harley.
Indeed, I was someone who truly yearned to ride. But, it went way beyond that. I wanted to genuinely experience the riders life. Yes, I was a pressed shirt and tie type too, but unlike my friends? I was the only road-seeker among them. Someone who genuinely wanted to immerse themselves into all things Harley Davidson. Like, being on a long road trip, skipping a shower or two, or three. I mean I wanted the whole deal... Big problem though, my wife was wildly against it.
For quite a few years I'd been the victim of some of the worst heckling one could possibly imagine from my friends, and believe me they were masters at it. Saying things like "Oh, won't the wife give you permission to get one? Did the Boss shoot you down again? What? Did Mommy say you couldn't play tonight? Hey, you better call Janet to see if you can go to lunch with us." I mean some really rough shit.
I have to confess it bothered me quite a bit, to the point that I eventually had to do something about it. Much of what they were heckling me over was absolutely true. Janet emphatically didn't want me to buy a Harley, and was very forthright about it. Many times while driving past the dealership, she'd glance at me saying "Don't even think about it Buddy-Boy."
Secretly, I must have stopped by the local Harley shop well over fifteen times in the past year. I looked at them all, sat on them all, put my hands on the grips, sat my right foot on the foot rest. I did everything except make childlike motor sounds. Let's put it this way, the sales folks didn't even bother coming up to me anymore, they just let me fantasize in peace. I was a harmless waste of time, a confirmed "No-Sale."
Once a determined thought took root in my mind though? Look out. I mean come on, a contract attorney who works their ass off until mid-night some nights? Can't have a Harley? I was about done with that bull-shit. Now, I love my wife dearly, but it's not like I was asking for a fucking helicopter gun-ship, right?
At around 2:00 PM one beautiful September afternoon last year, after an extremely long day of contract negotiation on a new warehouse lease for one of my clients, I decided to do my thing, stop in the Harley dealership for some good ole dream time. Now keep in mind, to me it wasn't just dreaming, it was the cheapest form of stress therapy around, with no insurance co-pay. I simply forgot about work, dove into my small dream world, and found myself riding my toy, motionless yes, but mentally I had put hundreds of miles on several bikes in this dealership.
This particular afternoon was wildly different though, there was a brand new, very aggressive sales guy, one I had never laid eyes on before. As I walked towards my favorite bike, I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was tracking me with that "New Guy - Advanced Radar." I figured I'd have to educate him like I had all the other sales people, with a simple "Thanks, Just looking."
I'm sure being the new guy, all he saw was "Business-suit," which to him meant I could possibly afford one, and I respected that. We all have to make a living. Knowing he was after the hard sell, I casually walked up to my dream bike and simply let him approach. I was actually quite surprised the old school salesmen didn't warn him off, warn him that I was the "Confirmed sale, kiss of death," or worse, "The Habitual Looker."
He paused for a second, not more than five feet from me. When he then confidently strolled over and got well into my personal space saying "I noticed you drove up in the new GMC Yukon. It's okay! I'm going to have one of the mechanics drive it home for you!"
I quickly replied chuckling, thinking they might have been just fucking with me, "You what? Oh yes! Well, no need for that, I'm just looking here, just looking."
Thinking I had just put the wooden stake in his "New Sales Guy" heart, he then practically cut me off saying "It's okay, just bring it back on Monday. I'm having a guy come get it and fill the tank. Just bring it back on Monday. If you like it? Buy it. If you don't, then don't." I mean he had his had out asking for my keys. If there was ever a used car salesman degree? Or in this case, a Motor-cycle sales degree? This guy would have had a PhD, and would have graduated with honors. Everything he threw at me rendered me powerless.
I thought hard about it for a few seconds, but finally caved slowly holding my keys out. Before I could even bull-shit my way out of it? He instantly snatched them from me, threw them twenty yards across the showroom to a fellow in a greasy mechanics outfit, and there we stood. Almost as though, the more distance he could put between me and my keys, the better his chances of closing the deal were.
The look on his face said "You're taking this bike home, and you're going to accept it." Now, I had been in this place many, many, times before, and not once did I ever I hear more than a single, "Can I help you?" I seriously had to give it to him. In actuality, all I required was a nudge, and the hook would be firmly set in my jaw. He sensed it, and rolled me. He would have made an excellent contract attorney.
You want to talk about putting a carrot in front of a hungry mule? I could have easily asked for my keys back, drove off, and performed my same routine day after day. However, in my moment of weakness, I replied, "Alright, what are the limits? How much can I ride it, you know? To see if it's the one I really want?"
He simply replied "Just don't take it out of state, and you're good." Without any thought what so ever, I began acting like a big shot buyer. They had no idea I was terrified of what my wife would say. In fact, I secretly told the mechanic to keep the Yukon, and bring it to the residence the next day. He agreed and that was one hurdle down. I didn't want a stranger pulling into the driveway with my vehicle. It was going to be enough of a shock for Janet seeing me on this bike.
Three seconds later there was a team of sales guys coming over, moving other bikes out of the way, slapping me on the back, opening the showroom sliding glass doors, saying "Best bike on the floor, you'll love it, that one was made for you." It was like a bucket of blood had been dropped into a pool of sharks. Several of the old-timers kind of held their hands out as if to say "I've tried to sell you that bike a hundred times. What the hell?"
My mind was absolutely spinning in anticipation of hopping on it, and for the first time, with it running. I knew I could ride it fine, but up to this point I had never once test rode a bike from this dealership. It was almost as if my stress therapy was now over. I had graduated, telling myself, "Okay, Remember that peaceful, safe place? The place we've imagined all these months and years? Yes... That's the one. That special IMAGINARY place? Okay, great, deep breaths now... "It's Real!!! Get your fucking ass on the bike."
As mush as I would love to blame it on my inner therapist, within five minutes it was outside. They then had my ass on it in seconds, and it was cranked over. I'm telling you, It thundered just like I dreamed it would. They quickly Xeroxed a copy of my drivers license, slapped a courtesy half helmet on me, and off I went.
I quickly realized this thing was so perfectly balanced, it drove itself. It just went. I can honestly say it was everything I dreamed it to be, tie flopping behind me, suit jacket fluttering, pant legs flopping in the wind. It was simply incredible, perfect. I forgot about work, daily stress, and everything problematic in my life, completely.
I rode the longest way home I could possibly think of, and I mean taking every cross street. After around thirty minutes or so, I finally turned up our street. It was at that moment when reality seriously kicked in. As I turned up the street, I could see in the distance our White Yukon sitting in the driveway.
Yes, that one. The one I asked so fervently to be delivered the next day. I think it was at that moment I realized I would have to face the music. I could have rode all evening, but I'd still had to confront the fact that my Yukon was now in my driveway, it wasn't me who put it there, and let's not forget, I still had to pull into the driveway on a new Harley $16,000 Harley.
Just as I came to within fifty yards of the home, I could see Janet with the garden hose watering the plants and landscaping in front of the house. I knew I was in for it because she never watered the plants around dusk. I jokingly revved the motor in an attempt to get her to turn around, but to my astonishment, she didn't.
I then slowly rolled into the driveway, and kept the engine running, thundering it every couple of seconds in an attempt to again get her to turn around. Nothing! My wife simply continued to act as though she had ear plugs in. After a few seconds of this, I just knew I was in deep shit. She didn't even acknowledge me. I could have rode in on a trumpeting African elephant, and she wouldn't have turned around.
I then turned the bike off and slowly got off. As I did, she methodically turned, pointed the hose at me saying sarcastically "Oh, I'm so glad the Yukon got home safely, wasn't that nice of the guys at the dealership?"
I then kicked into "Damage Control Attorney." Although I have little arguing experience in the court room, I was desperate. I had to defend my client, the Harley. I replied "Yes, I didn't expect them to do that, but before I knew it, they were bringing the Yukon home. I was on top of that pretty thing, and well, awesome aren't they? I mean full service all the way. They could have been arrested they way they talked me into this. They practically forced me onto it, completely violated my civil rights in every way."
She then looked at me expressionless saying "Not funny. You know I don't want you on one of those. I'm so glad you can take it back on Monday. I heard all about the little excursion they afforded you, ride it all weekend? Bring it back on Monday? What a sales tactic, must have been a new sales guy, right?"
It was as if she was there. Now, Janet is a Registered Nurse, not a psychic, but I was beginning to wonder. The only thing I could reason was that she cornered the poor mechanic, and grilled him like a CIA operative.
As she was speaking to me, I looked back at the bike as though it was my inner child's, "Dream rocket ship," rubbed my hair, and replied "Baby doll, I don't think I'll be taking it back. I love it. I love you too. But, Honey, everyone I know owns one, and whether they ride it or not, they love having one. This is something I want. I'm safe on it. I work hard. I'm stressed to the max with work. I can finally afford one. It's something I genuinely want, Baby."
There was the most uncomfortable ten seconds of silence when Janet finally threw the hose down, and walked off saying "Pull it in the garage. I don't want the neighbors thinking we're dumb enough to own one."
This tension went on for hours, when finally I blurted at dinner, "Listen, Baby, it's just a motorcycle. Frank has one. Mike has one. John has one. Your own brother has one. Everyone has one. I want a Harley of my own. I'm tired of missing out on all the things they go to, things we'd have a blast doing. I want you to enjoy it too."
She then replied "Oh, I've herd the stories from my brother. I can't wait to sit my ass on the back of that thing for ten hours just to get to Daytona, the Dakota's, or God knows where else. You do realize, they just stay parked at the place you go to? I mean, you ride to wherever, you get a hotel room, and then you ride ten feet away to a club, oh wow! That sounds like a hoot. Oh, we'll be real bikers. Good God, Scott."
Now believe me, sitting my ass on it for a ten hour road trip would have been my idea of heaven, but I replied in an attempt to make her think I had some sense, "Nope, I would rather rent a trailer, pull the bike behind us, and then enjoy ourselves. No way I could sit my ass on that thing for ten hours, and then survive all those, you know? Ten foot long road trips? I think the ten foot road trips would be the worst. You know? Starting it? Riding it ten feet, all that shit?"
In my sarcasm, I must have said something she actually needed to hear. She profoundly stared at me for about ten seconds, when eventually, and only slightly smiling said "Okay, let me get this straight. We could drive there, pull it behind us on a trailer? Not ride it, just get the damn thing there? No long, insane, hey look at me? I'm a biker, or hey look at me? I own something you don't, like your infantile buddies? We'd just pull it to where we are going, and then ride it once we get there. No road trip bull-shit?
In my shock, I practically choked on mt bottle of water replying, "Gah! God yes, I mean NO. Of course we wouldn't road trip."
She then continued with "You do realize, I've heard of all the long road trip stories from my brother I ever want to hear, and listen, not one of us are hard core bikers. You're an attorney for God's sakes, Scott, not a Hell's Angel. And I'm not some smelly old bitch riding on the back, one of those old women who haven't showered in six months."
Granted, her father and brother pushed it on her and her family growing up, to the point that it set with her like Chinese water torture, but this was different. I sincerely wanted it to be an enjoyable thing shared by the both of us.
It was at that moment, I realized she wasn't disgusted with the bike what so ever, she was disgusted with thoughts of riding all over creation to get to where we were going. Relieved, I replied as convincingly as possible, "Are you kidding? We'd be so worn out just getting there, we wouldn't even enjoy being there. Trust me, I just want to ride around, after, getting there. I can't imagine riding there, then having any semblance of a good time. Only idiots would do that."
She then giggled and said the most beautiful, calm, and understanding thing I could have possibly heard at the time stating, "Alright listen, I love you, sweetheart. It sounds like you have a little sense about it. I love you so much it hurts, but in the future, please include me in on any decision this big. I know you've wanted one for a long time. All your buddies have one and you don't, and yes, that's my fault. I honestly want you to have it as long as you keep some common sense about it." I can't tell you how relieved I was to hear her say that. I could now actually enjoy having the bike.
The next morning in my excitement, I woke at 6:00 AM, nudged Janet and nervously asked, "How about we take a ride?"
To my surprise, she slowly responded, "Okay, but just around the neighborhood though, a few minutes away."
I quickly and excitedly jumped into jeans and a t-shirt, when I asked, "You're going to change into something?"
She sleepily replied "No, I'm good. Why? Just around the neighborhood right? That's it?"
I figured since it was so early, she reasoned that very few people would be on the road, plus we weren't exactly going cross country. We lived in a gated housing community, who would care?
Now, I didn't really give it much thought, but Janet being the hot wife she is, at five feet three inches tall, one hundred and nineteen pounds, beautiful athletic body, amazing legs, a cute pony tail halfway down her back, wearing only a tight tank top I bought her that said "NIKE... Just Do Me?" With skin tight white cotton pajama shorts that said the same thing on the front and ass? I knew we were in for some unwanted attention. I must say though, I was so excited knowing my new toy was in the garage, what she was wearing quickly became the last thing on my mind.
I'm pretty sure it took me all of about thirty seconds to run to the garage, press the garage door button, and thunder my new baby to a start. Everything about it was like Christmas morning as a child, from the fumes I smelled as it started, to the feel of it's thunderous vibration. The amazing echo in the garage as I walked it backwards was absolutely beyond words. The fumes and smell of the newness burning off the pipes was exhilarating.
Just as I backed it out, Janet ran out the front door in what she woke in, yelling over the engine "Just around the neighborhood, Okay? I'm not dressed to go anywhere else. The neighbors are going to kill us, it's so early and this thing is crazy loud."
I must admit, the only words I heard was "Okay... Anywhere... Crazy... Loud."
She then climbed onto the back, and after a few throttle blasts, off we went. It was rather a slow start, not wanting to turn her off by scaring her. She clung to me as if her life depended on it, but once she realized I could operate the beast, she relaxed considerably.
All bullshit aside, I had never rode a bike of this caliber in my life. The most bad-ass bike I had ever rode in my life was my dirt bike as a teenager. Still, I pulled it off like an old pro, mostly because it was a sixteen-thousand dollar street machine that could have rode itself.
My main goal was not to traumatize her though, so I quickly decided to head back home. The instant I turned down our street, Janet said "No lets ride some more. It's okay."
In my shock, I rode right past our home and continued on out the front gates of the community. As it rolled around to 9:00 AM, the traffic began to pick up considerably. As it did, so did the attention she was getting. I mean she was only wearing skin tight pajama shorts, no shoes on her beautiful tanned feet, with her cute pink toe-nail polish, and a skimpy tank top saying "NIKE... Just Do Me?" The whistles and stares were obvious as we rode on.
Just as we were about to take it onto the freeway, we stopped at a red-light, directly across from what looked like four young Hispanic guys going to a construction site. They had their windows rolled down when one of them leaned out and said "Oh My God, Baby... I've never wanted to be a Harley seat until today. Please God, just let me be a Harley seat."
Janet instantly turned to them and said with a grin "Oh my God, Yes, if only you were a Harley seat. Please God, turn him into the silliest looking motorcycle seat, right now." She then blew him a kiss.
All his buddies laughed out loud as the light turned green and we rode off. It finally dawned on me that she was actually enjoying herself, and the attention she was getting? It was like pouring gasoline on a flame, the more she got, the more she enjoyed it.
We rode for about an hour more before deciding to head home. Once there, Janet began going on and on about how fun it was, saying "Let's take another ride this afternoon."
Chapter II: Our Unusual Trip
As the exhilaration left her lips, I quickly agreed and headed to the house. Right after pulling into the driveway and admiring my new toy for a few seconds, I calmly entering the front door behind her. I then bolted to the computer and began searching for bike events, any biker events. I firmly believed I had to strike while the iron was hot. My chances of springing a biker event on Janet was now better than ever. She genuinely enjoyed our little outing, much more than I would have ever dreamed she would have.