Riding is unbelievable therapy. You have to concentrate more on operating a motorcycle than a car and you must pay more attention to your surroundings. This may be part of the key to the therapy, as one tends to forget the daily drudge, happenings, deadlines, etc. while focused on riding. Driving a car or pick-up is nice, but sort of two dimensional. Riding is absolute three dimensional and even involves more of one's five senses. Get smacked by a bug or pass up ripened roadkill...you'll understand. Sounds are much different as the outside is not shielded from you by air conditioning and a stereo system. You discover an entire new world on routes you've travelled many times. You also find yourself "taking the path less travelled". You find that there is a complete new world once you let the bike take you away from main highways and interstates. It is amazing the discoveries one makes on these back roads- even close to home. More therapy. Bikers are funny people, too. Every one you meet is your new best friend. Proper ettiquete demands you ask questions about his/her ride and answer any they may have. You also pick their brains for more of those back road treasures you've yet to discover.
Like many, I'd admired motorcycles from afar for years. I'd fought the fever to get one many times, but would walk away as "common sense" told me they were impractical as transportation and overpriced luxuries as toys. Besides, we were busy raising kids- a demanding and time consuming operation in itself.
I tended to admire the large American V-Twin cruisers. Harley Davidson was the undisputed leader in the market. Everywhere you looked, odds were that the cruiser you saw parked or coming down the highway sported the HD badging on the tank. In 2001, I had to go to a jobsite near Houston. We had some free time one afternoon and a Scottish engineer and I looked for something to pass an afternoon. We were to stay in Rosenburg and discovered that there was a MC rally going on at a local fairgrounds. He'd had a bike "back home" and we decided to plunk down entry fees and wander about. They parking lots had 1000's of bikes we looked at before getting inside. We got inside just in time to watch some insane daredevil leaping through fire on a motorcycle inside a rodeo arena. It looked plenty wild- and to top it off, the guy was in his 70s. We wandered through a motorcycle show. Interesting. We did a lot of people watching. Interesting. We wander through rows and rows of vendors- all catering to the MC owner. Interesting. We came upon a man sitting under a shade tent. Two chairs, the tent, and a yellow cream Indian Chief. I couldn't stop walking around the bike and asking questions. I was unaware that Indian had come back from the dead and was again producing motorcycles. Bad news. The bike was for sale. I told him I wasn't in the market, but kept on asking questions. Worse news. He threw the keys at me. I politely gave them back and explained I had very little riding experience and it had been years since I'd ridden. The thought that I could ride a bike that was easily three times bigger than any I'd ever been on scared the willies out of me. Do you think I could tell him that? No. He throws the keys at me once more...and explained I had a hundred acres to give the machine a spin on. I don't think I ever got it out of second gear. What a rush. I hated the guy for MAKING me do this. I hated giving the keys back after riding it around an open area even more. I thanked the guy for his time and we re-joined reality (back to work). I had the fever, again. I did some homework and found out Indian was marketing their bikes all over the US. They had originally come into being in 1901, versus 1903 for HD. I kind of liked that little factoid. They had pulled out of the market for various reason in 1953. In 1999, after spending plenty money and legal wrangling over the name, logos, and other proprietary issues, Indian once again was producing bikes. My fever was waning and I was happy just researching the history and following the current company. I discovered that there was a dealer in San Antonio. Wouldn't it be fun to pop in and see what a NEW one looked like? Bad mistake. I learned there that Indian was now producing a bike with their own engine- a leap from the S&S engines they were adding to their frames prior to 2002. Bad news...The fever is back and raging. I got over it again, though. Kids are in college and available funds have priority. Note that the kids are in college. I discovered another Indian dealer in Bryan- and these guys are FUN! They are great at answering questions and offering advice. I walk away. I go back. I asked (this is a biggy) what one I was particularly admiring costs. Huge mistake. I walk away. On another trip I find myself drawn back to the shop. We all know each other now. They even offer to help move Kid #2 into a dorm room. We get down to brass tacks on pricing. I walk away to reality again. I got home from that trip and was trying to ignore the bike thing. I came home from work one evening, sat down to watch the evening news, and the lead story was that John Ritter had died. John was by no means a major star, and Tex Ritter was his dad. John died young...in his 40s. His death was certainly unexpected and a major surprise...especially to him. I couldn't quit thinking that he probably had a long list of things to do before he got old or died. These things would be impossible now. That bothered me. OK- that consumed me. I couldn't sleep. We've all heard "Life is short." That's all I could focus on. I picked up the phone the next day and finalized negotiations on the bike I'd been wanting. The dealer was honest, though- he told me that Indian had just shut down the factory. I asked for and received three days to make up my mind if I wanted to go down this road. I spent two days researching parts and related things. I am mechanical by nature and needed to know if I was headed down a road with zero support. I called the dealer back and came to an agreement. I was not going to ride just anything- I'd be on an Indian. After eight years I still consider that to be one of the best gambles I ever rolled the dice on.
Time passed, we got involved with the MC community. I helped form one local club, didn't like the direction it was headed politically, formed a second local club which eventually turned into a political quagmire, too. I was done with clubs. I'd made lots of friends but chose to ride an an independent for the future. This seemed to be a great plan. We were then invited to come take a look at an older motorcycle club. I balked, but I was assured this was a little different. This was an understatement. It was a small club that had been around for years. They had gotten past the political BS years before and now seemed to be an eating club with a motorcycle disorder. Hey...our kinda deal. We joined up and are proud to wear the colors of the Roadrunner MC. Beep Beep My Ass.
Speaking of time passing, Indian's demise in 2003 finally led to another rebirth of the company in 2009. The old company from Gilroy, California was completely gone and a new Indian Company was to build bikes near Charlotte, NC. I avidly followed any news I could find on the new company and of course was focused on the new bikes. I toyed with the idea of getting a new one. Why? I already had one that still draws onlookers anywhere I park. It still runs great. I don't need a new one, right? I particularly followed news on the engine upgrades. They had played with the Power Plus 100 and added steroids. It was now 105 cubic inches and fuel injected. I'm sort of "old school" and liked my carburated version...but still....
I wouldn't consider the first year production models with any real enthusiam. I figured to give them a year to work out the bugs on the new bikes and production. Good plan. The information I was getting all looked good. OK...maybe it would be neat to have a new one. What would I do with the old one? Mary weighed in on this item. She did NOT want to come up to an intersection and see someone ELSE on the bike waiting for the light to change. She asked "What would be so bad about having two?" Bless her little heart. She had just locked in forever in my mind. She is not for sale or trade under any circumstances. I'd seen a new color combination listed on the bikes. There were few pictures of the new color combo- Plains Sky Blue and Cream. I was partial to the Deep Red and Cream on the '03, but since it looked like we were keeping it, I needed a second color scheme. We decided the only way to really know what the blue looked like was to go see one. We weren't rabid about getting one, but thought that we had never really been east. We decided to go look and be somewhat prepared to make a deal. We contacted the factory dealer near Charlotte and told him we'd like to come meet him, see the new bikes, and we'd love a tour of the factory. He said he'd set it up. We drove 1300 miles to see what Prairie Sky Blue looked like. We walked into the door at the dealership and the first thing we see is a row of factory fresh Indians- and the blue/cream one is at the head of the row. Big mistake. Again. After about two days, I'm writing a check and headed home to wait on delivery.
We joke now that we should qualify for some government programs. Why not? We have two Indians living under the roof- we should get reservation status.
Life is good. Mary claims the new bike is much more comfortable for her. It is built much like the '03 but has a completely different ride and handling. The most similar thing about the new one is that it draws onlookers anytime I park it. That's always fun. The neatest thing is when you walk outside a restuarant and find an oldtimer looking it over. I love the stories they have about "back when" on an Indian...
You'll suffer more posts on motorcycles in the future. We really enjoy the history of the motorcycle and have travelled to see museums or even stopped to take a look at a single bike of interest. Now, if I could only locate a vintage Indian at a modest price....
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