I love Lenore. I really do. But today I was idling at a stoplight when a dude rolled up next to me on a sweet, black Harley-Davidson Fat Bob. The rider looked over at me, looked down at my bike, gave me a nod. The light changed and he roared off.
It was like being in the boys locker room again, looking around with that awkward, inadequate feeling you have before you learn there are showers and growers and maybe you’re not so bad off after all.
Lenore’s a comfortable ride and I’m sure we’ll be together a long time, be it for financial reasons or otherwise, but man, I was sorely tempted to take the left turn onto I-74 and ride out to Walters Brothers HD to do a little Father’s Day drooling.
Instead I just reminded myself of the small bike mantra: It ain’t the size of the bike that matters; it’s how you ride her.