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Code of the Road

 In the sport of motorcycling there are unwritten pieces of knowledge passed from rider to rider. In the Code of the Road, Hawk Hagebak shares these pieces of knowledge for you to read at your leisure. Hawk will answer your questions, share some experiences and provide you with motorcycling travel tips that will compliment your already extensive knowledge of the coolest form of transportation in the world.

 

 April 2010                                                                  

Kindred Spirits? Hawk with a Hack? (Part II)

      Fortunately, my desires to keep my word to my daughter and buy that infernal sidecar were met by my successful arrival in Butler, Wisconsin! If you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, click on Archived Codes on the left and read the March 2010 Code of the Road.

     However, there’s much to do before buying the sidecar rig and getting it back to Atlanta. For starters, I needed rest. I had arrived in Milwaukee at 1:00 am and was welcomed by my brother’s brother in-law. He was kind enough to wait up for me and give me the beer that is required of a man after a trip of that endurance. He and his wife live in a charming house in the historic district. After carefully confirming that I was indeed parked on the side of the street that wasn’t going to be swept too early the next morning, off to bed I went.            

      In the morning, the sun came up too early and my bones creaked with age and anger for being moved too soon. Looking outside, I could see a couple feet of snow on the ground and thought it was splendid. Once downstairs, my hosts thought less of the snow, remarking, “It’s so ugly, I hope you get to see it when it first falls.” After a few cups of coffee and confirming the directions to Butler, we were off to breakfast.

    Since they had been such gracious hosts, I told them to pick the spot and I would be glad to buy the breakfast. After a brief, albeit polite debate, they settled on “McBob’s”. They assured me that it was within walking distance and a good local watering hole.  McBob’s might actually be McRobert’s, but I can’t say for sure, but it’s a genuine Irish bar in Milwaukee and soon I would discover vast differences between Atlanta watering holes and those in Milwaukee. We ordered Bloody Marys. They arrived at the table with the standard tomato juice vodka base with ice, but the most unusual garnishes. Perhaps I’m sheltered, or maybe naïve to the world, but before McBob’s, I’d not seen a Bloody Mary with a grilled hot dog and pickle wedge as a garnish.  To widen the gap between my world and that of southern Wisconsin, I gave the waitress my best RCA dog impression when she asked if I wanted a beer chaser with my breakfast. “Beer chaser? What, like do that make beer here or something?” Just kidding, I know that Milwaukee is famous for making two things- Beer and Bikes.

     After breakfast, I bid my hosts adieu and took the 15 minute drive to Butler. Along the way, I passed the Harley-Davidson factory and considered taking time out of my travel day for a tour, but reconsidered. After all, I reasoned, “Milwaukee is only a half day’s drive; I can come back next weekend!”

     Following the directions from my brother’s brother in-law, the trusty Google maps and to be triple sure, Mapquest as well, I found Competition Cycle. I was greeted by several bike mechanics that were curious what nut would drive all the way from Atlanta to buy that sidecar. A few asked what it was going on and seemed pleased with my reply, “I’ll get her pinned to a ’93 Goldwing.” I was relieved to hear one reply, “Good choice, man, that’ll be cool.” The shop is somewhat of a history lesson in motorcycles as well. If ever you get the chance to wander around in there, they have a Police Servi-Car from a local jurisdiction that still has the old radio and ticket book mounted to the handlebar. There were old Indians (not talking about the cigar store kind either) everywhere. I spent 10 minutes there before I felt the road calling. Given an opportunity, I could spend a day or two just kicking around the shop, tinkering with all they had on display, in the process of refurbishment or helping with simple repairs. Just to say that I’ve tuned a ’48 Indian, it’d be worth the labor to get the bragging rights.          

             

    Well, the hack rig looked just as good as advertised and I was pleased. The shop owner and another couple of guys helped lift it into the back of my weakling truck, got it all tied down, shook hands and parted ways.

     Snow was everywhere from Wisconsin, through Illinois and into Indiana. A strange thing happened to the scenery in Indiana. With low clouds slowly pouting snow, visibility was reduced to about ½ mile. I’m accustomed to reduced visibility, but seeing the ghostly wind farms “materialize” from the dark snow clouds was unusual and striking. “The things you see when you drive instead of fly!” I thought to myself, or maybe I said it out loud, who knew if I was actually talking or thinking to myself? I was pretty road weary and ready to be home. The trip was going well and I checked the sidecar often, just to make sure my baby was still there. It was and it even maintained its rightful place, square in the center of the truck bed, through a windstorm that came up as I made it from Kentucky and into Tennessee. I was sure at one point that my light truck was going to be carried away by the breeze, but the sidecar proved to be too much weight to lift, so I was spared.

     I arrived home on Saturday night, a little after supper, with my beautiful wife and appreciative child keeping my dinner warm. My wife remarked; “You’re never doing that again, I worried about you from start to finish.” I was secretly pleased that someone cared enough to think like that, but my motorcycle spirit is too flighty to be held down by worrisome thought.

     Today, the sidecar and my ancient Goldwing are being married in a quiet ceremony in Watkinsville, Georgia. The service being presided over by Nathan Mende, minister of motorcycles. Nathan is the only man in Georgia whom has the absolute trust of every hack rider I’ve spoken to in the state (and if you own a hack rig and live in Georgia, I’ve probably spoken to you about Nathan).

    I’m looking forward to seeing and feeling what the sidecar will be like on the Wing, but rest assured, it’ll be the start of a new chapter of family motorcycle adventures.  

 

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

 

 

 

 

 

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