Back in the day, when the sun never stopped shining on us, I had always found a reason to sneak out of work. It seemed like the party never ended. I had found a decent outlet, outside of drinking, to vent the stress/paranoia. I had scrimped up my money to buy a Harley Davidson. This was a blast.
People knew me from flying around town on my Harley, wearing a replica German war helmet and sporting a black trench coat. It wasn’t for fashion. It was cheap and it somewhat protected me from the elements. One of my shipmates had noticed my stormtrooper outfit and asked me about my motorcycle. He usually would talk about it using a sheepish look on his face. We used to talk about different kinds of motorcycles. He kind of caught the bug.
I had overheard him reading the want ads looking for motorcycles. He might have made calls and asked around. He didn’t have the dough for one. Others might have been a little too far to venture out for. He finally corners me at work and asks: Can you go with me to pick up my new motorcycle? Of course; I said yes. We finally got around to riding together after he took a riding class. We went out after work to ride together. We both rode relatively conservatively. My buddy, “Pauly”, was riding a Ninja. I was on the Harley. What came next was moderately humorous.
Pauly asked if I wanted to race. A Harley Sportster 1200 outweighs a Ninja by a bit. I decided to try anyway. It was the saddest race that Jacksonville FL ever saw. We both never threw the throttle around. We both stayed relatively close to each other until we got within a traffic light one half block away from his apartment. I knew I was going to lose. I did what any jackass would do:
I cheated. I floored that metal beast to 50 mph and drove through a gas station parking lot. He went to the light. I aimed for curb right next to the road I needed on. I pulled a “Grease” style jump right in front of Pauly. When we finally made it back to the apartment; he asked “what the f*ck”? I told him that I had the need for speed. (He is a fan of Top Gun). We laughed and had a beer.
The moral of the story: Cheaters win, when it comes to bragging rights.
Mogadishu Matt 