Today I said goodbye to a very close and dear friend, one that stood by me, carried me, got me out of tough situations, and made me feel more free than anything else. No, I’m not talking about some clandestine lover who passed. I’m talking about my 1993 Harley Davidson Sportster.
I donated her to Cars for Causes because of a major engine problem that would have cost more to repair than the bike is probably worth. As the tow driver loaded up the Sporty on the flatbed, I reflected on all the good times I had on that bike, and even some of the bad ones.
A little over a year ago, some absent minded driver decided that she wanted to be in the same lane I was in, but forgot her basic physics where two masses cannot occupy the same space. I came out pretty close to unscathed, but the Harley was tore up. No worries, I have awesome insurance and the bike made a full recovery, or so I thought.
About two weeks after getting the bike back from the shop, the motor took a dump, threw a rod, and made some hellacious noises. After lots of research, I realized that rebuilding the bike was going to be too complicated for me to handle, not that I couldn’t, but I just didn’t want to put the energy into it. The bike that gave me tons of good times just didn’t have the same appeal to me anymore. So I locked her up in the garage until I figured out what I wanted to do next.
Since we got nailed pretty hard on taxes this past year, I finally decided to try and donate the bike for the right off. Of course, I did it for charitable reasons, but I’d really like to not take such a hit next year. Plus, it helps on the cash flow since I’m not paying for the insurance anymore.
I’ll miss her, but she’s going to a good home. Now that she’s gone, I think my mother feels a lot better. She never liked the ride, always thought I was bound to die on it. I’m sure Les is happy for that too, because whose going to teach the kid how to be good man if I’m wrapped around a telephone pole?
