If you ride, you’ll know the agony I am going through. As a rider, we know the freedom the ride gives us, being on the road twisting turns and having the wind and sun cover us. Though my freedom being taken doesn’t compare to those who have lost a loved one because of a violent crime, please don’t think I am obsessed. As a long-time rider of many different bikes and having experienced many different landscapes, my heart is sad because some privileged idiot decided that my bike would be better served in their hands.
The memories of riding in many different backgrounds stick with me as I now live in the past. Riding the Tail of the Dragon, or riding in the dead of winter from Denver to Hickory, North Carolina, all have created fond memories that I’ll always have. I know if you ride, you’ve been caught in a pop-up thunderstorm and, maybe as I have, outrun the rain and sped up to dry off.
I’ve seen the aftermath of bike wrecks, and heard the horror stories of them. Yet, we ride in a perfect sense of protection, and by that, I mean we are always watching out for the other guy who may not be paying attention. I have had a close call or two.
I am 68, and have been riding on and off since I was 16. I am now retired, and I love riding, so imagine my angst knowing my bike was stolen. It was my freedom that someone took from me. The value of the bike isn’t the issue, as I am sure you understand. Rather, it’s the ability to be on the sound of the bike in the elements of the day, watching the world go by, thinking of nothing. When I ride, all the cares of the world leave.
My freedom was a Harley-Davidson Softail with custom paint and a few tweaks to make it sound and handle better. In the past, I’ve ridden an old three-cylinder Suzuki, a dual-sport Yamaha, and an old 1979 Triumph Bonneville 750. It’s the ride, not the bike, that makes it enjoyable.
Though the police, when bothered, will give me some information, trying to provide me with a bit of peace by telling me something they think I want to hear, I understand it is a low-priority crime to them. Maybe it will be recovered—it’s been over a month, and with each day passing, hope dwindles. I am not a violent person by nature. However, if I catch the crew that did this to me, I’ll be more than happy to repay them for what they did to me.
If you see Jeffrey’s Softail, Wisconsin plate V91 VZ, send him an email. He lives in Hudson.
The road has a special call to us who ride, and though I ride solo, for I am not a group rider, we all know the sound of the whispering call to our spirits when we go riding. Whether it be the low rumble of a Harley engine or the sound of any other bike, our hearts know the call, and we are free when we ride. I hope you never become part of the club I was reluctantly forced to join—the club of having your bike and freedom taken from you. Enjoy the time you have with it, and do it often, for nothing can replace what we experience in the ride. Have a great day and riding season. This was my bike.
