New Bike

I should have realized it was going to be one of those days. Early that morning, Susie and I went out for breakfast at a little cafe diner where the waitress told me they were "out of bacon". I'm pretty sure there has never been a cafe in the history of the republic that ran out of bacon, but there it was.

I live in a state where there is neither season or bag limit on bacon. You can hunt bacon with guns, traps, and even poisons. Bacon is the only thing you can legally hunt in Texas from a helicopter, but this diner was out. What a way to start the day.

I picked up the new bike Tuesday morning. I had arranged to drop my truck by earlier because I knew from experience they would have a goody bag full of stuff to send home with me.

Walked into the dealership with a stack of cash and thought I would be out of there in 15 minutes. Nope. Finance manager had to go over all the options with me, then accessories 'girl' had to show me all the latest branded merchandise and clothing, then the parts man had to introduce me to their ordering system (something I'm all too familiar with). Finally the service manager had to show me around (already been there too). Meanwhile, the bike is presumably being prepped and washed.

A few minutes after the grand 45 minute tour, my bike was parked out front and ready to ride. As soon as they got some photos of the new owner of course. During the photos, I pointed out to the salesman that the bike was awful dusty to have just been washed and he frowned and promised to chew out those prep guys.

I rode the bike around the block and back. I walked back in and told them the speedometer wasn't working. This led to the general manager, half the sales force and the entire service department taking turns riding my new bike in order to verify the problem really existed and that none of them could immediately see the problem. Several guessed blown fuse, one read the engine diagnostics code and assured everyone the speedo was bad. Fortunately they had one in stock and after a 45 minute wait for the engine to cool down (the speedo connects way deep inside the hot bits) they discovered the original speedo was simply not plugged in.

Once again, I strapped the helmet on and rode...

...around the block. Now there was a brand new scratch on the gas tank applied by one of the many people who had ridden my bike more than I had been allowed at this point. An hour of buffing, polishing and cleaning later, I rode away once again. This time into pouring rain.

A couple of hours later I walked back in the front door of the dealership shaking my head and mumbling to myself. I avoided eye contact with the salesmen, who all rose from their desks and followed me. Same thing with the clothing and accessories girls who didn't even try to hide the worry on their faces. The parts guy and GM both tried to intercept me on the way by but had to fall in line behind the other employees.

Reaching the service department, the service manager saw the lynch mob behind me and said; "My God! What is it this time?"

I Turned a complete circle to make eye contact with everyone before I replied; "This time my wife had to drive me up here and drop me off..."

As I paused, you could almost smell the panic in the room as they waited for the final blow "...so I could pick up my truck."

You know? For such a friendly bunch of people, they sure seemed happy to see me leave. For all the problems we had that day, the folks at Paris Harley-Davidson were there for me, kept me informed of the status, and made me feel good about the whole experience.