I show up at the Harley-Davidson Fleet Holding Facility to drop off my beloved Low Rider and to pick up the FLSTN Softail Deluxe. "Fucking wow!" That's what popped out of my mouth without thought.

The facility enforcer just shook his head in boredom. I think maybe the staff is getting sick of seeing me (gee, I've heard that before from Bandit, the ex, etc.). What a beautiful motorcycle. Again, they have given me the top of the line of this model with the same basic color scheme as the Low Rider.

Being mentally challenged, the Enforcer must show me the proper way to start and lock up the Softail Deluxe. It seems each model I've ridden is different in these departments. If you read any of my rants, then you're aware that simple things like this can be a dramatic curve ball to me. I believe the scientific term for this is, "maxi-mus retardus." No matter though because the Deluxe looks so fine cruising or sitting, that it almost makes me look good. Sure feels good too.

To me, the front end looks to be similar to the Electra Glide, where I experienced a bit of wiggle at speed. Actually the glide front ends are not the same, but I compared the two. I slid onto the freeway and jump on it, really jammed her up to speed. Surprise.....solid as a rock.

I spoke to some folks who have a vast knowledge of this brand of motorcycle. I was told something to the effect of "The touring bikes and the Deluxe's type of front ends are set up differently." The triple trees are kinda reversed between the two, effecting rake and trail. Theory being that the tour bikes are heavier and need to be more maneuverable at low speeds.

I chimed in with, "Wouldn't a touring bike's main objective to be very stable on the fucking open road?" The Deluxe's front end is better suited for touring than a tour bike? If true, this makes as much sense as me trying out for the Denver Broncos. If someone wants a touring bike and can't handle some weight in a parking lot, then stay off the fucker and buy something else! It's really simple don't ya think? But, this whole theory could be wrong, or it could be right (Isn't there a song something like that?).

Something else that baffled me was that on the way home from picking her up, something was different about the vibe of this bike. For the life of me I couldn't get to bottom of it. When I pulled up to, "The Chateau Stress"...(my house), I realized that this bike did not have a rubber-mounted motor. I started her up again and there it was. The bike wasn't vibrating like a bunch of kids in a jumping balloon. The mirrors didn't look like they were about to be shot into the stratosphere. Solid mount baby. At idol I could see a clear me in the mirror. Of course your ol' lady won't like the missing mega buck vibrator, but I gotta tell you I didn't miss the rubber mount at all. For me, solid mount wins hands down, although I found out later that these models are counter-balanced to kill vibration (it works). Just an opinion, but how about dump the rubber mount and use the savings for Brembo brakes? Yes, I'm going to keep pitching for Brembo brakes, forever.

The oil tank on the Deluxe sits under my ass as opposed to the Electra Glide and the Low Rider, which hold their oil supply in the case under the trans. I started to ponder the pros and cons of each set up. Again I seek the assistance of Wise men who know more of such things than myself. After much flowing of the brew, it was concluded that oil held in the case is too close to the action of all the madness of gears spinning, rods pumping and flywheels gyrating like a 17-year-old. That said, oil would also be more susceptible to high temps and cooking. However, oil held up in the tank is further away from the madness and could possibly experiencing added cooling by traveling in those lines to and from the tank and even a tad more cooling by the tank being out in the moving air. Ah Alcohol, the world problem solver.

The next morning, while still foggy from last night's oil tank brain storming, my niece came by to visit my folks. She was able to visit with mom who is fresh home from the hospital due to a heart attack. I look after both of my elderly parents because the rest of my family is too fucking busy!

The niece was unable to visit much with dear ol' dad because on this particular day, his Alzheimer's was acting up and he was on the roof with his underwear on top of his head singing " Moon River" at the top of his lungs. At this point she agreed to a photo shoot with the bike.

She just finished med school, very intelligent and hot ta boot. Her qualities came in handy when the police arrived concerning dad. She was able to convince the cops not to haul dad away. No one from the neighborhood called them, hell, I could even hear the old lady in the house behind us singing along with him. It was the Police Helicopter cruising by that spotted him on the roof and the fine bike in the driveway, that attracted their attention and had them assume there must have been some wild Billy Jack movie, party going on. It was all squared away thanks to my niece.

The Low Rider gets its name partly from its 26.8 inch seat height. The Deluxe should be re named "Ball Scraper", because this baby has a 25.9 inch seat height, which is the lowest in the H-D line up and just about the lowest in the whole industry. You can feel the low center of gravity and with the cool, wide handlebars and righteous floor boards (don't get me started on that again), she's real easy to maneuver.

Her solid feel came in handy one day when I went to buy a pack of smokes two blocks away and took the 30-mile return trip home. The mother of all insects decided to end its life on my face at highway speeds, but not before leaving me a present. The fucker stung me. I started feeling really weird and felt the need to haul ass home.

She got me home. I made some phone calls, but no one picked up. I looked around the neighborhood and most were not home. No way I could drive to a doctor's office. I started feeling real dizzy and kinda high, almost like Quaalude...remember them? So, with no help in sight, I did the only logical thing one does in a situation like this, start drinking, heavily! Bandit answered the phone and told me to remove the stinger and then put some mud on the hole, which I did. It took the pain away. So I just sat with a bottle of Jack and rode it out. Boy was I high, but not an alcohol high. Very strange, it lasted about four hours.

The Deluxe can be ordered with a detachable wind shield. I'll called Monday to see if they'll slap one on. Fucking bugs with their stinger shit...fuck you little fucking fucks! Come Monday, you pricks will once again be murdered by genuine American plastic! Although I must say, it was an interesting high. Well, sort of. After that experience, all I can say is, if this bike came equipped with a vagina, I'd marry it!

The next morning, my bud The Chief called and sez he heard I conned them outta another bike, and wanted to go for a ride. He had a gang of four other riders ready to ride and then informed me that I am the fifth. Actually it was more like....Ring!.. Hello?

"Hey, it's me...get yer fat ass out of bed...we're riding today, we'll be there in ten minutes"!

Ya gotta figure, are ya gonna say no to a 6'6" high ranking cop? Looks like I'm riding today even though I have some weird insect poison hang over. Besides, this bike is so goddamn good looking, it was an easy decision all the way around. We all met at the usual location, fueled up and hit the fuckin' highway.

We headed towards Cook's again, and hung out for a few. On this particular day, the only thing to do there was drink a lot, get drunk, and crash on the way home. Since that was not an option, foreward we rolled. A few miles down the road, I noticed one of our motley crew fuckin' around with his helmet.

I'm thought,"what in the shit is this idiot doing?" Ha! a bug got into his helmet and decided to fuck with him. Unlike myself, he was able to eradicate the little bastard and didn't even get stung. That was definitely it. I was gonna get that shield put on first thing tomorrow morning.

On to the top of the mountain for food at the infamous "Lookout Restaurant" some 40 miles south...that's right kids, up Ortega Highway, again. It's a bit of a climb. It's 9,000 feet above sea level location (just shittin' ya). This time, I'm not on a 1200. I had the same power as The Chief and his little yes men. The pace started to pick up. Okay fuckers, ya wanna dance? I was ready this time.

We really start gettin' on it and I'll be damned. Not only did the Chief kick my ass, again.....but they all did! Oh, how I damn thee professional cop motorbike training to the depths of hell! It was embarrassing. Again, it wasn't my bike. It was my level of skill. Here I was, some Charlie Brown lookin' little fucker holding on for dear life racing up this curvy road that would put some La Mons race courses to shame, and these, approaching 7-foot-tall, off duty sons-o-bitches were swooping through these turns with big grins on their mugs and even checking text messages with one hand.

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