THE WRITE GRIP A bike by any other name… Stevie Lynne Happy Thanksgiving and a very Merry Christmas to you! I pray you’ll get to spend the holiday season with those you love, be able to remember anyone you miss with more smiles than tears, and that you’ve been good enough for Santa to treat you with something special. I find myself very thankful and feeling blessed when I think about all the things that have taken place over the past year. So many positive changes have occurred in all aspects of my life, including riding. I’ve always wanted a Heritage Softail, and now after the better part of a year on one I do love it. Thanks to my boyfriend’s mechanical skills it’s fun to run and really comfortable. I do have to pay a bit more attention to where I park again, especially if there is any kind of an incline as I get used to handling a bike that’s heavier than the Sportster I rode for many miles. I’m glad it’s still in the family, now my brother’s, and I can’t help but hope if my niece grows up to have an interest in riding she’d like it for her first bike. It wasn’t my first, probably won’t be my last, but oh what a soft spot I have for it in my heart. The bond began the day I first saw this particular 1200 Custom on a trip to one of the area Harley dealerships. I was walking along a row of bikes and although I know it sounds unbelievable, it was as if this Sporty came to life for second and picked me. Out of the corner of my eye I caught it performing the same type of maneuver a dog would make against another when vying for attention; a playful nudge to jostle into position and say, “Look at me.” It worked. A small test ride was all it took to prove to me that I liked the way this bike felt and sounded as much as the way it looked. The vibe that this machine’s personality was that of a big red Doberman, always ready to go out and play, prompted me to name it “Dobie”. Play we did: on lots of backroads in Central Virginia, up to Atlantic City, down to New Orleans, through beaches, campouts, and even a few spills. Some of these adventures I’m sure I’ll reminisce on in detail at some point. But the point I’m now trying to get to, lollygagging along here just as I do on the bike, is how its nickname originated. I’m always ready to admit, when given a limited amount of time and the choice, I’d wind up opting to ride this motorcycle over washing it. The friends I rode with noticed and continually pointed out to me that my bike was usually the dirty one in the group. After this teasing revelation had been passed along to me the umpteenth time, I turned to the DMV with a sort of visual reply in mind. D1RTY1 was available to order on a personalized plate. With Dobie’s new name tag on display, I had great fun rolling into a parking lot to meet up for a ride. When questioned if I would wash my bike anytime soon I could say, “No! I’d have to go through the hassle of changing my license plate.” Or if I heard, “Hey, did you know your bike is dirty?”, a shrug and gesture toward the back of the motorcycle would bring a laugh when the tag was spotted. For a bike by any other name can provoke a smile…and that is sweet.
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