Harley Story

Let me ask you something – you ever want to just go, just take a ride and see where you end up? I mean, weekend’s coming up. Take a day, or maybe a four-day weekend, you know how far you’d get on a 750? Mm. Man. And not like on the interstate or the tollway, just go. Literally, wherever the road takes you. Whatever road you take. I’ve had that dream all my life.

So – Can you help me? I want to buy a motorcycle. No, really. Yes for me. Well that’s why I’m here. I’ll have to figure that out.

I didn’t always use the wheelchair, but I’ve always had trouble walking. When I was a kid it didn’t matter, my parents drove me everywhere.  I found my freedom in stories and novels;  I could barely walk a block, and if I ever fell down I might not be able to get up again.  I could get down the back stairs; if I fell in the small yard my Mom would hear me and come help me up.  Once in the yard, I could be a little more active.  I’d throw a ball against the house or garage next door, or bat at a tennis ball, or, when I was very young, ride my tricycle or my pedal car fire engine.  But even in the backyard, even when I was very young, I would sit on the back steps of the screened in porch and read.  Stories and novels fired my brain and lead me to adventures I could never dream of.  And because there was no way to go farther – that would keep me from falling down – I had no idea where I could go.  And with no idea where to go, I had no need to go anywhere.  It’s kind of like how you need to have experience to get hired, but how do you get hired without experience?  But I also didn’t really have anywhere I needed to go, no after school job or anything. When it came time to get my license there wasn’t really a need. Where would I go?

Can we look at this one? Oh, that’s a nice ride. Softail, right? Hm, let’s see. That’s not bad. I might be able to get on that, not too high.

But then I hit college.  Carbondale, Illinois.  A state school, it was huge.  The dining hall was a good block and a half from the dorm, the campus was across the street, and the communications building was many many blocks down the road.  I was fairly mobile back then, and my parents and I figured I could walk from the curb into my classroom buildings, so we looked for some way to get from one building to another.  I don’t remember why, but we wound up art a Honda dealer. Their three-wheeled off-road models were very popular back then.  I could scramble up on it, but the only way I could reach toward the handlebars was to lay almost flat on the bike, and even then, I didn’t come close.

My parents settled on a different three-wheeled vehicle. A scooter. It was called an Amigo chair and worked great. As long as I was on flat, smooth ground. It had trouble on uneven sidewalks and tipped over on steep curves.  Sometimes the straight line between two places goes across a slanted or curved sidewalk.  And let’s face it, when you’re 18 and you’re on wheels and you’re late for class, you don’t always slow down when you should.  And you know you lean into the curves, you shift, you got two wheels on the ground you’re fine, right?  I took a few spills.  There was this one curve, I’ll never forget, from the back of the dining hall to the basement, where the mailboxes were.  And incline with a sharp left turn at the bottom.  And even though I knew it was coming, even though I was careful, I’d still spillover, books, notepads, papers everywhere, fluttering down around me.  And it was worse on the snow. It had a tiny front wheel drive, a chain, and it would dig a hole in the snow, hit bottom, and spin.  It only lasted one winter. From then on, it was one of these.

Yeah, they do pretty good. And I like to think there’s an art to driving a chair. You need to judge where to aim and how to use momentum to get over icy sidewalks. The biggest problem with this is construction. Torn up sidewalks. It’s a mess.  Don’t get me wrong, I know you don’t mess with mother nature, and rain, snow and all that can tear up the sidewalk.  But when they go to put it back together there are these gaping holes that go down to who knows where.  And I know that those steel plates are supposed to be safe – “drive a truck right over it” one guy told me – but I don’t care.  I just see myself plummeting into darkness, crushed beneath my wheelchair.

What’s that one? Wow, 750? Yeah. Okay, that, that would need to be modified somehow.

When I was in grad school I got a little assistance from the state. Very little. No, they don’t pay for everything. Yeah. A lot of people think that.  Anyway, they wanted to “rehabilitate” me and they figured that to do that, I had to learn how to drive. They set me up with a referral agency. The agency decided that I just needed help reaching the pedals. So, pedal extenders. But back then they had to be permanent, and this agency only had one car. So, they modified me – they made a six inch thick block of wood that attached to my shoe. Only my right shoe. It must have weighed ten pounds.  Made finding the pedals kind of – awkward, to say the least.  The first try was driving around the parking lot at the agency. And the only way for me to use the steering wheel was to lay on top of it and hold on. Which was great, until I needed to check the rear-view mirror. My head was in front of the mirror, so while I was laying over the wheel, I had to strain my neck back, like this, and look in the mirror.  I went around the parking lot a few times, learning the basics.  After one circle, I was pointed at the highway. So, there I was with the instructor:

“What now?”

“Go forward.”

“That’s the highway.”

“Yeah. Go ahead “

“Onto the highway?  The honest to God real highway?”

“Go straight, look both ways, when it’s clear, go

 “You’re the expert.”

And so I crossed over into the New World.  What did I know?  I did what I was told.  The highway was mostly straight, mostly empty, with gentle curves, broad intersections, really wide shoulders, and lots of room to come to a stop.  You could start slowing down a block early and the worst that would happen was that someone would just pass you by.  I went where and how my instructor told me.  And the whole time I was laid out over the steering wheel, neck regularly craned back to check the rear-view.  Every now and then he’d have to push down on the brake if I couldn’t find it or steer quickly if I had to avoid something.  There was just so much to pay attention to.  And all of it under high stress and major discomfort.  I got better with the block and started to feel a little more at ease with the contortions I had to perform, even twisting from the hips to reach around to get the gear shift and turn signal.  After a few weeks I started practicing the license exam, parking in the same places every time.  Uphill parking, downhill parking, three-point turns, I don’t even remember what else.  And I practiced each maneuver in front of the same place.  In front of the same house.  Every time.  For weeks, however long it took. I’m sure I provided the neighbors with hours of entertainment: “there is that car again!”  Finally I took the test.  And I did it exactly the same way I practiced, in exactly the same places, and I actually passed.  Got the license.  And I never got behind the wheel again.  Not even a victory lap back from the exam.  So much for the New World.  A few years later, time to renew. I took an eye test, and renewed my license. Here’s the punchline: I got a little Good Driver certificate!

Since then I’ve done a lot of thinking. A lot. One thing I’m good at? Figuring things out. Imagining how I’d do something. Running simulations in my head. And what I keep coming back to, what just feels right, the simple solution, is a motorcycle. 

This time, you’re not going to modify me. I’m going to modify the bike. Chopper handlebars, narrowed a bit maybe. Extensions or an offset on the footpegs. This can work.

I’ve had this dream all my life. Hit the road, see where it takes me.  Whatever road I take.  So what do you say. Let’s write up that order.

Thanks. And I’m going to need a sidecar. For my girlfriend.