When I was given the chance to ride the Electra Glide, I jumped at the it, literally! When I saw it at The Holding Facility I got a little excited and ran towards the back end of the bike with the intention of leaping over it and mount, ala The Lone Ranger. My short legs dictated a different outcome. I haven't slammed my nuts that hard since the third grade, very painful. After the official five-minute recovery time out, Bandit whispers to me “Jon, you can take a long trip on this bike." Ha! He thinks I’m that stupid. I'm not falling for that one again; I now know that a trip on a pier doesn't last long at all.

At my humble abode the next morning, I prepared some coffee and made my way to the garage. The FLHT sat there just beaming in all of her glory, almost seductively screaming “take me; take me for a ride you fuck!" Who am I to dispute something that out weighs me almost four to one? Sometimes one gets that little devil dude on their shoulder that yells, “fuck responsibility, deadlines or bills." Yell he did and I listened. After popping the blister on my foot from spilling hot coffee, unplugging the phone and it was off to the bank to drain the extremely limited funds I had in my account.

So I sez to my sparkling faithful steed, "Which way, pal-o- mine?" It turned towards Laughlin, Nevada. Nothing I could do about it. Shit, I didn't even call for reservations. No matter, this ride had more than enough room for the gear I packed. I was ready for anything, from sleeping under the stars, to staying at some Billy-Bob's Bug And Breakfast, or whoopin' it up at Harrah's. When I got on the highway, the first thing that jumped into my head was the feeling that I really wanted to keep going for many, many miles. It'd been a long time since I really felt that way on a new bike, or any bike for that matter.

Past all the madness to the open roads of the desert: Ah desert riding, nothing even comes close when you're on the right bike, which I was. The desert transformed me in a weird way, it was hard to describe, but of course I did anyway. The harsh terrain hints to you that you're not free from a life threatening disaster. But the calm and almost deafening quiet thrown on top of the stunning beauty can almost be a religious experience. On a bike such as this, one doesn't think about crap like aftermarket high performance parts taking a shit on you. Confidence in the machine came in truck loads. It allowed mind to soak in so much of this magical land, a land that not so long ago was explored by rough and gruff frontiersmen on horseback. Hell, I almost felt like a cowboy out here. Just me and my horse...on the move, alone, just the way I like it.

Sometimes you travel out here with other "cowboys", but this particular weekend, the other cowboy’s women folk were not too happy with the idea of a sudden men folk get away. So I went it alone. Poor me, (wink, wink).

There seems to be a trend with some owners of this bike to cut down the windshields. This seemed retarded to me but, it's just my opinion.....and unfortunately, I have many. I'll keep mine in all of its full length glory, planted atop the unique "bat-wing" fairing. You see, just about every thirteen and a half minutes, I found myself yelling like a lunatic, “HA! MISSED ME AGAIN MUTHA FUCKERS," at the desert insects that were just murdered on the front of my genuine H-D plastic. Both fists thrown towards the heavens in a quasi Mark Farner victory pose, (I can do this because I have cruise control).

I ran into some interesting characters on my way to losing money at the casinos. Many wanted to just shoot the shit about this here shiny motor-type-sickle. At a rest stop, I had one very talkative older gentleman truck driver from Oklahoma insisting that Honda just bought out Harley-Davidson. I couldn't convince him otherwise. Nice fellow and all that, but it may be possible he was a couple of sandwiches shy of a picnic. I told him, "Someone’s at the door, so I gotta go." He gave me a puzzled look, but actually bought it.

I came across three bikes pulled over to the side of the road. I had some tools and my cell phone, so I stopped to see if they needed anything. Turns out two of them had FLHTs. I could ask some questions. They only stopped to take a leak, everything was fine, but they were friendly so we all took a break and shot some shit. They circled my bike and noticed little things about it that was more bitch-en than theirs.

“Hey, that's a six gallon tank," and shit like, "you got cruise control and six gears."

I told them how comfortable the new seat was and one yelled, "Hey Carol, come here and check out this seat...can she sit on it."

"Sure," I replied.

The little lady hopped on with a stunned look on her face. “This is really nice," she said in a melting sensuous voice, with a gleam in her eye looking at me like, "wanna take me home sailor?"

I had to pass on this, being that Carol's dude was taller than Bandit and about 350lbs. I won't go on about what the other dude’s bike was because it will sound like I'm bullshitting. Oh fuck it...okay it was a Low Rider, the very model I'll be riding for the next article. Oh yeah? Fuck you; I've got a picture to prove it from their camera that they e-mailed me!

On to Page 2...