Rick Long's Stories
January 17, 2008
How Much is That Sportster in the Window
By Rick Long
My travels took me to Seattle recently to await the departure of a cruise ship bound for Alaska's Inland
Passage waterway. Rain was in the forecast and living in the southern California desert, it had been some time
since I had owned a decent raincoat. This problem sounded to me like an excuse to visit the local Harley shop.
I stumbled upon a "Motorclothes Only" store that had a new Sportster displayed in the front window. After
finding a suitable windbreaker/rain jacket, I looked at the Sporty for a few minutes and pondered its' plight.
Since bikes sales were not part of this store's business, the bike essentially was destined to sit in the window in
a non-running condition for the foreseeable future. Having long ago decided that I wasn't exactly crazy for
thinking that these machines we love so well might have a soul of some kind, I began to think about what this
particular motorcycle might be going through. Here's what I imagine the machine was thinking:
"The sun is coming up again. I'm lucky to have an easterly-facing window so I can be gently awakened in the
morning by the light and not baked in the afternoon by the intense heat of the westerly sun. If I must sit here, at
least I can be comfortable."
"Let me introduce myself. I'm a new Sportster 883. No, I'm not the biggest Harley-Davidson you can buy and
certainly not the most expensive, but I have a strong motor, an agile frame, and can make a day's ride just a
quickly as the big twins that roar past my perch in this store window or park along the sidewalk while their
owner's peruse the Harley-themed wares sold here."
"All motorcycles long to feel the wind streaming across their headlight and the pavement on their tires. None of
us want to be a "display only" ornament, destined to gather dust while customers ogle my chrome and paint.
Day after day, other motorcycles fly down the road in front of the store. I watch eagerly as they move forward
with a grace and style that is only interrupted by stop lights and pedestrians. My heart jumps when their riders
blimp the throttle and that sound that is so unmistakably tied to the open road fills the air. I know my pipes
would sound good and my motor would run with a steady purr but no one ever starts me up. I just sit, hoping,
wondering would it would be like to really feel the road beneath my tires, to have a few bugs on my windshield,
or to maybe go just a few miles per hour above the posted limit. What a thrill that must be!"
"Days go by and then another week here, another month there. I sometimes get moved out of the window to a
display podium near the back of the store. I really like the window better but I don't always get to stay there.
The worst times are when I get put in the storage area away from the customers. I don't know why they have to
do that. It's so lonely there. Only a couple of people come back there in a day and they don't even look at me
every time. The other day, one of the new employees came back there and sat on me for a few minutes. Oh
how it made me long to have a real rider take me out of here and heat up my engine, scrub off some of my
tread, and let me feel what the other bikes feel. Yes, my days in storage are the worst but at least that awful
sign, "Do not sit on bike" is removed."
"Another day dawns and I'm back in the window. I see something different today. There's a truck from the main
Harley shop out front and some young men are walking in the door. Hey! What are you doing? Why are you
rolling me out the door and now into the truck? (The rollup door on the truck box slams shut) It's dark in here
and I'm scared. Where are we going?"
(Later that day, the 883 is rolled onto the sales floor and lined up with the other Sportsters.) "Wow! I never
saw so many bikes in one place before. What's that tag hanging on my handle bars? I feel so shiny after my bath
in the service department. The other bikes told me I was being brought here so I could be sold to an actual
motorcycle rider. This is the best thing that could happen. I hope I sell soon."
(Several days go by.) "So many people have sat on me that my seat is getting a crease in it. One guy almost
dropped me over on my side. Another one was wearing keys on his belt and almost scratched me!"
"Wait a minute. That woman is seriously looking at me for the third time in an hour. Maybe this is it. Maybe this
will be my rider. She's talking with the salesperson and they are going in that office over there. I do so hope this
will be my rider.�
(And so it was that the woman, new to the sport of motorcycling and so happy to buy her first bike, took the
Sportster home that very day. She had a garage where the 883 could sit warm and dry on non-riding days but
those were few. She rode often and soon joined a group of riders for weekend adventures and the possibility of
longer motorcycle vacations.)
“It’s Saturday again. I hope we go riding today. Oh, here she comes. She’s already got her helmet
and jacket on! She’s saying something about being late. Don’t worry. I’ll get you there on time.â
€�
(They arrive at the clubhouse, park for a few minutes, and head out for the day’s ride) “The group is
taking a mountain road that I don’t recognize. I like twisty roads all right. Wow. A little fast on that corner.
I think I saw some gravel too. Lean left, lean right. That’s a tight one coming up. Leaning, leaning. Oh no.
The rear tire’s in gravel and I’m going down on my left. Ouch! My pegs are folding up and my tank is
crapping the asphalt. There go the handle bars and left grip. We hit so hard my headlight cracked too.�
“Whew. We’ve stopped sliding. Is my rider OK? She jumped up pretty fast so I guess she’s just
bruised and dusty. She sure is yelling loudly at the ride leader. We should have just slowed down and caught up
with the rest of them later. Maybe next time we’ll just ride our own ride.�
“Some of the other riders are helping pick me up. Now a tow truck is here. My rider says I’m going to
the Harley shop to be repaired. She is so nice. She touched my tank and told me I was going to be alright.
Now I’m loaded on the back of the tow truck. I hope I see her again soon.�
(Back at the Harley Service Department…) Hey, there’s my rider! She’s talking with the service
writer. They say I’m going to be just like new. And I’m going to get new pipes and they weren’t
hurt at all. That’s great!�
“The best part of being back at the shop is that I was able to send word to the bikes at the Motorclothes
Only store. I told them to never lose hope. I told them I had felt the wind, and tasted the pavement. I told them
to take care of their rider and they would take care of them. Best of all, I told them it’s really great out here
on the road and that I will look for them and wave whenever I see them.�
By Rick Long
My travels took me to Seattle recently to await the departure of a cruise ship bound for Alaska's Inland
Passage waterway. Rain was in the forecast and living in the southern California desert, it had been some time
since I had owned a decent raincoat. This problem sounded to me like an excuse to visit the local Harley shop.
I stumbled upon a "Motorclothes Only" store that had a new Sportster displayed in the front window. After
finding a suitable windbreaker/rain jacket, I looked at the Sporty for a few minutes and pondered its' plight.
Since bikes sales were not part of this store's business, the bike essentially was destined to sit in the window in
a non-running condition for the foreseeable future. Having long ago decided that I wasn't exactly crazy for
thinking that these machines we love so well might have a soul of some kind, I began to think about what this
particular motorcycle might be going through. Here's what I imagine the machine was thinking:
"The sun is coming up again. I'm lucky to have an easterly-facing window so I can be gently awakened in the
morning by the light and not baked in the afternoon by the intense heat of the westerly sun. If I must sit here, at
least I can be comfortable."
"Let me introduce myself. I'm a new Sportster 883. No, I'm not the biggest Harley-Davidson you can buy and
certainly not the most expensive, but I have a strong motor, an agile frame, and can make a day's ride just a
quickly as the big twins that roar past my perch in this store window or park along the sidewalk while their
owner's peruse the Harley-themed wares sold here."
"All motorcycles long to feel the wind streaming across their headlight and the pavement on their tires. None of
us want to be a "display only" ornament, destined to gather dust while customers ogle my chrome and paint.
Day after day, other motorcycles fly down the road in front of the store. I watch eagerly as they move forward
with a grace and style that is only interrupted by stop lights and pedestrians. My heart jumps when their riders
blimp the throttle and that sound that is so unmistakably tied to the open road fills the air. I know my pipes
would sound good and my motor would run with a steady purr but no one ever starts me up. I just sit, hoping,
wondering would it would be like to really feel the road beneath my tires, to have a few bugs on my windshield,
or to maybe go just a few miles per hour above the posted limit. What a thrill that must be!"
"Days go by and then another week here, another month there. I sometimes get moved out of the window to a
display podium near the back of the store. I really like the window better but I don't always get to stay there.
The worst times are when I get put in the storage area away from the customers. I don't know why they have to
do that. It's so lonely there. Only a couple of people come back there in a day and they don't even look at me
every time. The other day, one of the new employees came back there and sat on me for a few minutes. Oh
how it made me long to have a real rider take me out of here and heat up my engine, scrub off some of my
tread, and let me feel what the other bikes feel. Yes, my days in storage are the worst but at least that awful
sign, "Do not sit on bike" is removed."
"Another day dawns and I'm back in the window. I see something different today. There's a truck from the main
Harley shop out front and some young men are walking in the door. Hey! What are you doing? Why are you
rolling me out the door and now into the truck? (The rollup door on the truck box slams shut) It's dark in here
and I'm scared. Where are we going?"
(Later that day, the 883 is rolled onto the sales floor and lined up with the other Sportsters.) "Wow! I never
saw so many bikes in one place before. What's that tag hanging on my handle bars? I feel so shiny after my bath
in the service department. The other bikes told me I was being brought here so I could be sold to an actual
motorcycle rider. This is the best thing that could happen. I hope I sell soon."
(Several days go by.) "So many people have sat on me that my seat is getting a crease in it. One guy almost
dropped me over on my side. Another one was wearing keys on his belt and almost scratched me!"
"Wait a minute. That woman is seriously looking at me for the third time in an hour. Maybe this is it. Maybe this
will be my rider. She's talking with the salesperson and they are going in that office over there. I do so hope this
will be my rider.�
(And so it was that the woman, new to the sport of motorcycling and so happy to buy her first bike, took the
Sportster home that very day. She had a garage where the 883 could sit warm and dry on non-riding days but
those were few. She rode often and soon joined a group of riders for weekend adventures and the possibility of
longer motorcycle vacations.)
“It’s Saturday again. I hope we go riding today. Oh, here she comes. She’s already got her helmet
and jacket on! She’s saying something about being late. Don’t worry. I’ll get you there on time.â
€�
(They arrive at the clubhouse, park for a few minutes, and head out for the day’s ride) “The group is
taking a mountain road that I don’t recognize. I like twisty roads all right. Wow. A little fast on that corner.
I think I saw some gravel too. Lean left, lean right. That’s a tight one coming up. Leaning, leaning. Oh no.
The rear tire’s in gravel and I’m going down on my left. Ouch! My pegs are folding up and my tank is
crapping the asphalt. There go the handle bars and left grip. We hit so hard my headlight cracked too.�
“Whew. We’ve stopped sliding. Is my rider OK? She jumped up pretty fast so I guess she’s just
bruised and dusty. She sure is yelling loudly at the ride leader. We should have just slowed down and caught up
with the rest of them later. Maybe next time we’ll just ride our own ride.�
“Some of the other riders are helping pick me up. Now a tow truck is here. My rider says I’m going to
the Harley shop to be repaired. She is so nice. She touched my tank and told me I was going to be alright.
Now I’m loaded on the back of the tow truck. I hope I see her again soon.�
(Back at the Harley Service Department…) Hey, there’s my rider! She’s talking with the service
writer. They say I’m going to be just like new. And I’m going to get new pipes and they weren’t
hurt at all. That’s great!�
“The best part of being back at the shop is that I was able to send word to the bikes at the Motorclothes
Only store. I told them to never lose hope. I told them I had felt the wind, and tasted the pavement. I told them
to take care of their rider and they would take care of them. Best of all, I told them it’s really great out here
on the road and that I will look for them and wave whenever I see them.�