Now I've been coming around the bar for a drink or two, as time has allowed ever since a few Assholes found me across the street at a.m.h. a while back and invited me over...

Everyone has been pretty friendly, give me assistance whenever I asked. Thanks to all of you . Met some folks IRL, who I shall call friends.

Now bein a shy sort I'm not usually prone to talkin about myself but I'll give er a try...

Live in a village in S. Ontario (Canada), fourty years old, riding for twenty nine of em, owned seventeen motorcycles as good as I can figure. Started off with Honda dirt bikes then Honda street bikes. Kawasaki's and Suzuki's too. Then on to British iron, a few BSA's...

Then I got my 77FLH about twelve years ago I think, can't recall fer sure.

My buddy Glen had two bikes, one of em the 77FLH, the other a "sparkling America Superglide". He couldn't afford to insure em both so he brought the 77 over to me one day at lunch while I was working and said ....take er for a ride...

Had a white buddy seat on it at the time, front and rear bumpers, 42 lights, rails, bags, king tour pack, and fairing, all white,on a grey bike. She was a "1200cc king of the highway Electra Glide". Said so right on the bags....

I couldn't have gotten it out of second gear before I was sporting an idiotic grin about a mile and a half wide

The fairing rattled, squeeked, and made a sound at seventy that sounded suspiciously like a goose having its head unscrewed. The headlight shroud buzzed, the exhaust leaked, so it backfired when you shifted, the saddlebag lids flew off at speed, and the tour pack made noises like it was filled with enraged munchkins yet when I stopped and looked, it was empty....

And I woulda' been surprised if it would have gone any faster than eighty five, even being pushed off a cliff. The spring loaded seatpost would try and catapult you over the bars at stop signs if you weren't cool with the " brakes" (a term I'm using loosely)
ka..chunk......

It would jerk and snatch its chains if you didn't shift her just right, the clutch was draggin, and she puffed smoke on the upshift. The mirrors were unusable, due to vibration and there seemed to be an awful lot of them, for just one bike.....

It had a cast front wheel and a wire back wheel...

It would sneeze out the carb, if you rolled it on to quickly and the brakes didnt stop rattling.....

You didn't dare corner it at anything other than grandmotherly speeds, or it would start to wallow....alot.....

The speedo swung wildly between 20 and 80, while making grrrk grrrk grrrk noises.....

It was without a doubt the most endearing motorcycle I had ever ridden, all thrashing and gear whine, and individual combustion events, taking place inches below my balls, and converted into forward motion, by big chunky gears that I could feel moving as I shifted, and a few yards of oily chain. This was without a doubt a motorcycle...., more *motorcycle* of a motorcycle than any I had ridden before.

I *had* to have this bike but of course, that was Glen's intention. That I have the bike, thats why he had me ride it cuz he knew me well enough, to know that I would fall in love with it and I did. A price was agreed upon, the fact I had no money didn't matter, he said to pay him as I could. I went home that night on the bike.

I rode it everday to work 25 miles each way from April first, to Christmas. It never left me standing. I run it hard, sometimes really hard, but I maintain it and it looks after me. Every year I make some changes, freshen the motor as needed.

It often looks different in the spring than it did in the fall. I try and make my own parts where I can I do my own work, I enjoy working on my bike as much as I enjoy riding it.

Its never gotten a name, it's just been "my bike". Always will be. Other bikes I have owned since get named to avoid confusion in conversations. I may own and ride other motorcycles but none of them will ever be referred to as "my bike" even though they are.

The beauty of harley ownership is their versatility, easily changed, to many different styles, so I will never feel a need to forsake my bike for another.

If I want it to have a certain look, I just do it, no need to buy another bike just change the one you've got.

I can't really understand my buddies who buy a new hog every few years, I always say, "oh no, you sold your bike,how could you sell your bike??" but it never seems to bother em, and they seem happy with the new one. So who am I to say....

Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning you will hear me out riding along the shores of lake Erie or up and down the Niagara escarpment, my floorboards sending out showers of sparks as I corner the bike, and my pipes barking loud as I get on the throttle hard..... and bang it through the gears, just me and my bike, alone on the road.

Now if you read all the way through my drivel you surely deserve the libation of your choice. Barkeep...set em up on me......
take two...they're small........

cyclone......and his bike...........