On Sunday morning I hopped on my bike to head out to Captree Park to meet my dear friend Bill for coffee.
The Captree parking lot serves as an informal hang for motorcycle and car enthusiasts on Sundays before the town starts charging for entry during the summer season. These types of gatherings draw a diverse crowd. You get everyone from grizzled bikers, hot-rodders, Euro supercar drivers and you might even see a woman on a motorcycle mixed in.
Bill and I stood directly behind my motorcycle sipping our coffee, talking and generally minding our business when two men walked next to my bike and started checking it out.
“What year?” the taller of the two men asked.
“11,” I answered and he nodded.
He then went on to tell his friend how obviously uncomfortable and awful my bike must be. “Just terrible. Terrible. What you want is something like that…” as he pointed to the Harley-Davidson 883 parked next to me.
Then in what could only be described as a facepunch worthy moment, Mr. Expert then looked at me and said,
“Is it uncomfortable riding on the back of that thing?”
I scanned his face for a moment to see if he was just busting my chops but I saw no signs of anything but dead seriousness.
“I have no idea,” I answered in disgusted disbelief.
Now that I think about it, my response was technically untrue. But in that moment of trying to restrain myself from lighting him up with a nice go fuck yourself that was what came slithering out of my mouth.
Bill, who is a prince, deadpanned to the guy, “You, my friend, are sailing into uncharted waters.” He then went on to laugh himself silly.
You just can’t make this shit up.