A Mechanic's Dream

I've been putting this post off for awhile now...and I suppose for good reason. When I began to dump my thoughts and experiences out onto the internet, I knew I would eventually need to establish why I was doing all this at all. I have all the posts planned out...except for this hump I need to get over.

My wife recommended that I take a moment and explain myself before I move into more technical posts. So here goes nothing.

It seems that HD bikes have a poor reputation of existing in two states; a trailer or a garage in pieces. It strikes me as odd that something so popular is often at the butt of many jokes. I can understand why. Aside from what you will see and hear talked about in these pictures, I also have another HD bike that sits in the garage in disrepair.

Dad spent most of his 20's and 30's on this. Now it gathers dust.

Indeed, my father's lifelong hobby is contained well within the motorcycle that sits in my garage. That particular motorcycle saw years upon years of travel in his younger days. Over a decade of neglect and his untimely passing have now placed the bike in a state of limbo. Aside from this one there were two more that my father owned. Essentially, these others were built or semi restored from parts he scrounged in the 60's and 70's. None of these three bikes was any newer than 1960. This was my fathers collection, his hobby and really, his life.

The daily drivers. 1946 (purple) and 1941 (black).

I have never been able to find where I belong in this world. In school I struggled everyday to fit in. I was a very small minority in a majority community and school. I was never smart enough, nor did I fit the religious traditions of the majority. I was socially awkward, having never gone to pre-school and frankly, I had a difficult time making friends. It was difficult to decide what I was supposed to be. On one hand I was told that I needed to do well in school and be very smart, on the other my family taught me hard work, manual labor and hard skills were the most valuable. These conflicting messages meant that I did not know which way to turn. In the end, I was not good at either aspect. I didn't do well in school and I could not operate power tools very well.

It did not help that my father was simply not around much and when he was, he was angry. Looking back at the last 10 years with him, I can't understand why he was so angry when I was young, but that is how it was. Although dad was a mechanical genius, he never took the time to teach me.

My mother's father (Grandpa) and her brother (my uncle) were two huge male influences. Being around that I learned to value labor and understand a bit more about the mechanical side of things and even learn how to use basic tools. Oddly enough, 20 years later, my uncle is still helping me.

It would not be until my late high school and college years that I would try and spend more time with my father, slowly trying to acquire some wisdom. I realized, the more evenings I spent with him in his basement, just how involved in motorcycles he was. He would pull down bags from boxes and be able to say exactly where every part went. His labeling left much to be desired, but there was a method to the madness.

The effort I was putting in was still too little too late. I was doing poorly at school. I finally had hit a roadblock at college that I was not able to overcome. I was not willing to put the effort into school that I needed to at the time. I choose to accept what I always thought would happen to me by dropping out of college and getting a warehouse job.

In retrospect, this 5 year detour and my unwillingness to put the effort into school was a huge factor in why I am just now getting a motorcycle. If I had no dropped out what could have been different? Might I have built that '49 Panhead with dad? Would we have been able to ride more together? The damage I did to my life is, when considered, very difficult to swallow.

By the time I had finally finished a degree, acquired my masters and found a job I realized that my father was in the twilight of his years. He began to have heart problems, a very common ordeal for his family. After about a year of ignoring doctors orders and refusing surgeries dad suddenly passed away. It was sudden and too soon. Just as I was establishing myself and the bike I wanted to build with him was becoming a reality, he was taken from me very quickly.

Why bring all this up? Why throw out a semi autobiographical post? I feel it necessary to explain why I am now obsessed at all hours of the day with learning how to work on bikes. I feel I need to make up for lost time. I feel I owe it to the other side of me to learn better how to work with my hands. I abandoned labor and getting my hands dirty when I received my masters degree. I am now trying to live less in extremes and bring back a balance. I want to discover if I can be anywhere as good as my father was with his hobbies.

The reality is, is that I am not getting any younger and my family shrinks yearly. My aunts and uncle who were once vibrant and fun are moving into retirement age. Having children of my own is a real prospect for this coming year. It is time to stop making excuses, find the things I enjoy and excel at them and perhaps after 30 years of not knowing, finally find where I fit in.