A Chromium Deficiency?

Web's Sporty Goes Through a Mid-Life Crisis

By Spark

It started innocently enough in the Harley shop two weeks ago. Well, that's not exactly right. It actually started last Christmas when Web got me a new Road King Classic loaded with sparkly goodies. Now, here I am riding around on Chromosaurus Rex, and she's riding beside me on a Sporty with nearly 50,000 miles on the clock. She rode it to and from Sturgis, to and from rallies in the nearest three or four states, and she hangs out with a crowd that favors big baggers and long trips.

Last month, as we rode through the hill country during the ROT rally, I saw one woman after another blasting by on their new rides. Vrooom - Woman number one is confident as she leans into a long sweeper on her new Dyna Low Rider, ponytail in the wind and 88 cubic inches of rubber-mounted power purring along.. Blubbaduh, blubbaduh, blubbaduh - Woman number two is stylish as she pulls up to the gas pump on her new Fatboy, sporting Vance and Hines pipes and acres of chrome-plated excess. Cruncha-cruncha-EEEK!-thunk-clank- Woman number three is in awe as she discovers the love triangle that exists between front brakes, gravel parking lots, and custom painters.

.Anyway, last Saturday, as Web's birthday loomed on the horizon, we found ourselves at the Harley shop. Because of her height, any bike we considered would need a low seat height. Fortunately, HD has come to the rescue with several models. We tried Fatboys - "I rode your old one, and it was like riding a couch." We tried Dyna Low Riders -"To set it up for distance, I would need to add a windshield, big bags, extra lights, and different handlebars. And it would still be heavy." How about a lowered Road King? "Boring. I rode yours over here twice this week for parts, remember?"

Boring? My bike is boring? I sure didn't think it was boring when I forgot to flip off the cruise control after a long straight stretch and it pulled me through an S-turn at 75MPH. They almost had to perform a seat-ectomy to get me off it.

"OK then," I asked, "what do you want?"

"I like my bike. It's light, it's fun, it handles great. With the Mustang seat, it makes a comfortable long-distance ride. I've talked to too many people who have been pressured from a Sporty to something else, and they still miss it."

"So do you want to keep it?" I asked.

"Sure, it just needs a few things to brighten it up," she replied.

"Such as?" I asked, trying to figure where we could bolt anything else besides the halogen lights, saddlebags, windshield, highway pegs, solo rack, fork bag, and electronic compass.

"Such as a chrome primary, chrome cam cover, chrome sprocket cover, chrome brake lever, chrome belt guard, chrome Thunderstar wheels front and rear, and a fat tank painted to match my blue fenders. I really hate that tall Sporty tank."

What is it about middle age and chrome? Is it the ultimate compensator, or what? I personally think that we get a chromium deficiency in our diets over the years, and that only repetitive cycles of bug application and chrome polishing can release the correct balance of the mineral into our bodies. Perhaps it's mental. Maybe the hypnotic effect that you get when you're standing in the shade and you look over a parking lot full of Harleys on a bright sunny day is particularly calming. What do I know? Maybe we're just a bunch of crazed two-legged raccoons, and we have to play with shiny things.

Oh boy. I had been set up by the master. Time to put my money and my wrenching time where my mouth was. That's a lot of stuff to bolt on one little Sportster, I thought, and that puppy already has nearly 50,000 miles on it.

"I guess if the bike dies after we put all this stuff on it, well just roll another Sporty under all the chrome," I said.

"Works for me," she replied, and the frenzy began.

My house now looks like a Fed-Ex depot, with boxes coming and going all day. We've got the local Harley parts, the local non-Harley parts, the internet Harley parts, the internet non-Harley parts, and a dozen catalogs open to pages with hundreds of variations of gas tanks. We've got cards from painters. She's on the phone with a guy in California talking cam covers.

A few years ago, OK, 25 years ago, this was me. I was knee-deep in bike parts, all used, all from a junkyard, and all scratched up because we were poor and young and stupid at the time. (We're just poor and stupid now, thank you.) I was desperately trying to build the perfect ride from junk parts. Some nights she couldn't cook dinner because I had tanks baking in the oven, hard-curing the cheap enamel paint so it would stand up to gas. I spent three weeks polishing out an engine that I salvaged from a bike that had caught fire. I could never find the perfect set of handlebars. And I was in heaven.

Face it, setting up a bike the way you want it is a lot of fun. I've re-built the same bike three and four times, just trying to get it to look and handle the way I want. I've done it with a little cash and a lot of work, a lot of cash and a little work, and a lot of cash and a lot of work. It's a challenge, it's creative, and it's a blast.

So here we go. The way I figure it, the bike is at mid-life just like us, so it needs all the chrome it can get. Wave at us as we ride by. I'll be the one on the black Road King. She'll be the one on the blinding flash of light.