As much as she might like to try, all the make up, leather, studs and boots couldn't help Mrs. Linklater pass for a Harley babe any more. No matter how dark it is. At her most bad girl, Mrs. L still looked like a Sally Sue Suburban Soccer Mom. The truth is, after falling off a Triumph Trident in the pits at Road America lo those many years ago, she was asked to turn in her dog collar and chainlink bra for garden gloves and a station wagon as soon as possible.
Recently, for some reason, Harley Davidson has opened a huge
showroom not very far from her boring tract house existence. So even if
Mrs. Linklater won't be invited to ride to Sturgis ever again, she can
still relive those halcyon days of yesteryear. She can stop by and
sniff the leather, feel the heat from the pipes, and make people wonder
what the heck someone's grandma is doing annoying the junkyard dog that
patrols the showroom.
The question she has is why would
the world's quintessential bad boy bike manufacturer want to sell
motorcycles in the whitebread and mayonnaise suburbs?
It turns out that most motorcycle riders these days are suburban guys
about 41 years old. A big change from just a few years ago when the
average biker was some urban kid around 27. What we have now are a
bunch of Hells Angels wannabes who carry briefcases by day and long to
ride their hogs at night. After coaching T-ball.
The good news for Mrs. Linklater is
that she now has a place to loiter on the weekends. The bad news is
that all those Marlon Brando lookalikes she used to dream of wrapping
her arms around look more like Bubba from the shrimp shack in real
life. Or they're married with three kids and a mortgage.
Not to mention that Mrs. Linklater isn't exactly date bait in recent
years. But it sure was fun standing next to that dude with with sawed
off t-shirt and the ten tattoos. Who smelled like Aramis.