Every bike has a bell. We all know why they’re there. Their supposed power over street demons may be a ridiculous concept to some – like me, who is not superstitious in the least – but yet they persist. I just think they look cool. But you’re not supposed to buy your own bell. Right? Well, my buddy Scott bought his bike before I bought mine. But let me back up. Because that’s not the whole truth.
I started talking about buying a bike. I was going to look into it. Think on it. Pray over the idea. Let it simmer inside me for at least two months. That’s not an arbitrary number. I had just applied to refinance my house. I don’t remember if it had been approved or what, I think it had – but they said I needed to wait until the end of the refinance process before taking on any new lines of credit. You know the drill, right? So I was going to use that gifted time to consider whether or not I should buy a motorcycle.
I say gifted because I’m not the most patient of patients. Even though Amazon has changed the way I shop on a regular basis and I have somehow become okay waiting two days for my shit to get here, I’m not excited by the concept of waiting any longer than that. And let me tell you, brother, if Amazon offered a service where they set a 3D printer up in your old lady’s craft room and you could get whatever you wanted instantly? Guess what I would sell half my shit to get?
Anyway, I was given this two-month period where I pretty much had to wait to buy a bike – IF I were to decide it was the right path for me. Well, the refinance happened in record time. It was less than a month and I was done. So I went up to the Indian shop to look at the bikes, and decided pretty quickly that it was the right move for me. In my life. I’m the kind of person who needs to own a motorcycle. And right the fuck now. So I ordered one. Well, remember that bullshit pandemic that somehow wiped out all the flu cases for the year last year? It has set back manufacturing for every facet of industrial production. It’s ridiculous. And now I have to wait 8 to 10 weeks for the bike to come in. F M L.
The point is, I was now going to have to wait longer than some fossils take to form just to get the bike I wanted. So I’m talking to Scotty one night, and I say hey, I’m buying that bike and he says shit son I’ve always wanted a bike too and hey I’m going to go tomorrow to look at a couple of dealerships and see what they have and maybe I’ll get one and blah de fucking blah, he goes out the next day and BUYS a bike, and they deliver it to his house an hour and a half later. F YOU, SCOTT.
Sigh. Whatever. I finally did get it. But while we were waiting, we bought each other bells for each other’s bikes as a sign of some kind of brotherhood. You know, the kind where you have that brother who goes out and buys shit you can’t have? Yeah. So here’s my bell.
I have since had to move it, because as I hit the potholes and other canyons on these shitty Garland roads, the shocks compress far enough for that bell to hit the fender. I moved it to the brake line right below the radiator, where it protects me from whatever the hell it protects me from. Even though I’ve never had to knock on wood.