Picture it. A soft warm afternoon. Sitting in the shop with a friend. The stories and the preferences flow, and newly found toys are touted. A brief bit of good natured banter, and, suddenly, the bet is made. The road beckons. I quietly and smoothly sneak out of the garage on his two-wheeled accomplice, and ease down the road. Less than half a mile from the house I find the ramp. I aggressively lean into the corner for the on-ramp, briefly releasing the throttle to grab a bigger handful. Not really knowing what to expect, but willing to test it truthfully, I give the same masterful twist I am accustomed to… oops! My eyes widen as, while still leaning hard into the turn, the front end starts to rise like a spirited crotch rocket. holy chit! It’s like a rocket powered freight train! I tuck the front end to lift the bike to vertical while still staying with the throttle, and compliantly the bike stands up and the front end keeps rising. I grab a little clutch and the front wheel gently kisses the ground before popping back skyward in third gear. It finally settles in mid-gear and the speedo just spins it way through 4th and 5th gear. A scant few seconds later, at around 135, I ease off, and jiggle my body around for the feel of it. The machine feels like it’s welded to a set of rails. I flick it lane to lane a time or two, popping brazenly through a little traffic, much much faster than I should have, but the speed had picked up so quickly that I was on them much quicker than I expected. I decided it was time to eject from the slab, and I elected to see if the stoppage was as good as the go-age. yup. It bled the speed like dropping a piece of cotton out a car window. I checked the clearance on the off-ramp and was past my comfort zone before it ever clicked a peg on the asphalt. I puttered across the surface streets, my head shaking in wonder as I played with the slow speed handling. Not hugely impressed, as it was slow and heavy handling, but it was still incredibly smooth and predictable, easily a match for any touring bike I’d ever straddled. Unmerciful acceleration away from the stop signs. (I could get myself in trouble with this thing, and soon.) As I slip silently up the drive into the shop, I see my friend sitting, with a knowing smile on his face, next to my gorgeous, and yet now somehow lacking SEEG. I slip up next to my bike, dropping his on the kick stand and killing the motor. He leans back in his chair, smirking, and utters the forbidden words of horrifying truth…. “you lost a bet, didn’t ya buddy”… dammit!
Therefore, in addendum, I hereby state, “ I will NOT, under any circumstances, cast aspersions or denigrate, any new toys that my buddy may bring into my shop, and I will not make the assumption that because it is not a Harley that it is not worthy”
bet paid.
note to self…..
Furthermore, I will NOT, ever, in the foreseeable future, under any circumstances, offer to make, as part of a bet, public admissions pertaining to the quality of ride and potent acceleration of a frickin’ hot rod Goldwing!
Loping cam or not, no touring bike is supposed to go like that. [smiley=nervous.gif]
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Topic: Public Admission of Shame... (Read 1877 times)