Real Mean Motor Scooter

So on Friday night I said good bye to my first motorcycle.

It now resides in Illinois with a very nice woman who was incredibly excited to win the bike.

It started it’s life as a factory 2004 Sportster 883. After a season of riding, with my brand new Class M license in my back pocket I put on a lot of miles that first year. But during my time in the saddle I kept thinking about what I could do to make the bike “mine”. I would come home after a ride and write down ideas, look stuff up on the internet and watch about every motorcycle show that flicked across the tv screen.

So in the winter months, as most riders do, with the help of my Dad I took apart my still very new motorcycle. In a few short months things really started to take shape from the ideas that I had in my head. Was it going to be a Chopper, Bobber, Flat Tracker, Board Tracker? What color was it going to be? Every time I would go out to the shop my Dad had done some little thing to the bike to help me along and make it as cool as I thought it could be. I think he was as excited as I was. He was also pretty happy that his kids first motorcycle was a Harley. I also think in the end it was a Bobber, no that it mattered, cause it was mine.

As the cutting, sanding, fabricating, painting, and the myriad of other things that voided the warranty went on in the shop I saved every spare dime I could to buy the few parts that I just didn’t have the knowledge, or equipment, to make myself. So eventually May came around and it was all hands on deck (also known as Jason and I) to get the bike put back together so i could ride in the ever improving spring weather.
I rode a ton that spring, summer, and fall. Making pedestrians flinch from the loud exhaust and fellow motorcycle riders ask me what the hell it was. Every time it made me smile. I knew that my vision and my Dads skills had made something very special.
But now it has gone down the road with a new owner that I hope loves it as much as I did for the years that I owned it. The memories of working late nights in the shop with my Dad are worth more than I have words for.