I don't know where to start this one. At 4 a.m. on July 21, exactly one week before my Buell needed to be prepped and ready for the roll out to Sturgis, I boarded a U.S. Scare flight for the southeast, namely Charlotte. I was headed to finally meet the people I had only previously e-mailed about a charity run.

Mike Pullin, the founder of Run For Breath, lost his 16-year-old son to an acute asthma attack three years ago. He started the run to help the American Lung Association and its camps for kids with lung diseases. Mike is the parts manager at H-D of Charlotte, but my first contact with the dealership was Paul Davis, master mechanic and Buell fanatic. Paul has continually sent me Buell tech tips, recall warnings and advice. He was the leader of the Buell Report on Bikernet. Then I started an e-mail correspondence with Mike about his run, and with Sandy, Mike's girlfriend and the dealership’s office manager. They invited me to be the special guest at their 3rd annual run and I accepted, natch.

A day or two before I boarded that comfortable, four-hour blaze from one side of the country to the other, I spoke to my old friend Lee Clemens of Departure Bike Works in Richmond, Virginia, who recently lost his 29-year-old son in a freak motorcycle accident. The impact on the long-time tough guy was severe and I wanted to get together with him, even for a few moments. Lee volunteered to ride up from Richmond, which would take him about five hours. I had one concern about inviting Lee to Charlotte. I always thought it was chicken shit if you invited and paid someone to come to your party, and they invited along a buddy. I was there to concentrate on Run For Breath, not my friend. My concern soon disappeared as Mike and Lee bonded immediately. I've always heard that talking about something helps the healing process, and these two talked at length.

We immediately scooted over to the dealership, where I met Ken, the owner, and some of the staff. I was guided through the new dealership to the service department, where I met Paul for the first time. This was the bastion of the old guard. All the main mechanics were seasoned core riders from the old days and experts in their fields. Paul has worked with some of the noted performance specialists in the country, and his partner, Buffalo Bob, has been a long-distance rider and mechanic for over 25 years. Phil, "The Historian," has news clippings from the beginning of the bike scene in Charlotte. Phil has one draw back to his historic ramblings and mechanical abilities: He can't see for shit. As an example, Mike explained that he sported a full beard for years until he shaved it to a goatee. The next day when he came to the shop, Phil got real close to him and looked at one side of his face, then the other, "You losin' weight, Mike?" he’d asked. They even have a mechanical intern who is the shipping and receiving person for the dealership. French Fry can't wait for her opportunity to become a full-blown mechanic and anytime she has a break from her regular duties she hits the service department to volunteer to perform oil changes and detail bikes.

As the afternoon waned and the sun drifted into the west, saloon neon alerted us that it was time to party. We picked up our bikes at Mike's pad. Dude and the staff of Cycle Sorcery offered me a 107-inch rigid American Eagle. While I rode the stretched custom that shone with new polish and paint, Dude rode his long standing Shovelhead with highbars that was recently painted Oriental blue. Dude and his motorcycle are one in the same.

We putted to Sharkeys for grub and a brew, but we ended up drinking Jack and the food was history. We dug up enough scraps for an appetizer and sipped whiskey while surrounded by women. We were as innocent as newborns when Jennifer, the tall redhead from Hamster Hell, arrived. She has a look that rakes frame without welding and her hair starts fires as she streaks down the road on her new all-black Softail. She's tall enough to lip-lock without bending down. I go all to rubber around her and she arrived with two other girls. Stephanie, the blond boob carrier, and her girlfriend. Suddenly I had no appetite. As their sparkling eyes bore into me, I fumbled with my plastic fork, pressing it hard enough against the paper plate to snap the tongs. Beads of sweat built on my forehead as I looked at the girls and confessed, "The sexual tension's too high girls.