The ’77 FXR rested in the center the old stained wooden floor. Two Triumphs, a Norton Commando, and a couple K model Harleys in various states of repair and disrepair were parked along the dingey poster-covered east wall. Decades of two wheeled freedom….An old 80 inch flathead was on its kickstand by the parts counter; an old display case with cracked glass.
The nicely restored “Roadburner of theThirties” had a dirty ballcap hanging on the jockey shift….The chrome of the FXR gleamed brightly even in the dim light. The dark orange paint with the cream inserts on the tank and fenders were trimmed in antique gold, the hand of a real artist. The tall apehangers gave the bike just the right amount of old school….The spoked wheels really set it off. Hell, the old man never really liked mags even though his Electraglide had them. The owner straddled the bike, setting on the rich dark brown leather seat. Comfortable, as if they had known each other for years. Which, in fact, they had. She was dressed in tight dirty jeans, well worn heavy boots and a fitted tank, filling the clothing most adequately. Her bare skin was covered with brightly covered ink ( as was most of her body the old man suspected…. ), showing the years of the lifestyle on the road….She turned on the fuel valve under the gas tank and pulled the choke on the Super E, snapping the hand throttle twice with her left hand. Turning on the dash mounted ignition and hitting the starter switch….The starter whined, lighting off the 80 inch Shovel at a stacato high idle. She eased the choke in as the chromed motor warmed, settling into a low, healthy rumble. Showing the old man some well inked cleavage….The young mechanic smiled and shook his head, seeing he had done a good top end rebuild on the Shovel….
Damn, those straight pipes sounded sweet….Wayne stood behind his parts counter watching the old man standing by what few new bikes he had on the floor. He looked over his glasses, rubbed his stubbled chin. Smiled, knowing how much the old man was enjoying the whole scene. Wayne walked from behind the counter and the shelving full of parts. Around the old flathead to load the old woodstove by the large doorway that led to the back shop. Pouring another cup of joe from the pot on the old wood burner into a cup he kept on a shelf by the old stove. He thought about his business and what it had turned
into in the last several years….