I got bored and rode down the Fo'c'sle saloon. I needed a woman and a beer. I quit Coronas when Coral's family hauled her away from Sin Wu and south to escape the winter. I liked that chick. She was small, light, a helluva cook, young and agile. Great big soft tits. She had skin as soft as whipped cream. You know.

I gazed across the long rustic wooden bar at the line-up of imported beers and cringed as my glance caught the golden sunlit hue from the tall Corona. Suppose I still missed her breakfast burritos, if you get my meaning. I ordered a Sam Adams to avoid linking my voluptions Coral through another south of the border beer and a slice of lime. Just as the dark amber glass touched my lips a poisonous scent jarred my nostrils, as a 5 foot 4 brunette bumped me while slipping onto the barstool next to me. The dark, award-winning, brew rolled comfortably across my tongue and down my throat where my tonsils once hung out.

The flavor held a rich wintry coat as a soft voice whispered, "Excuse me." Our green eyes met and her pliant features and warm sincere smile melded with the full taste of Sam Adams. That had to be the best swig of beer I ever savored.

"I'm celebrating," she continued and I liked the relaxed sound of her voice. "I just graduated from rider training school today." She spoke with no edge, yet with enthusiastic confidence.

"What are you riding?" I asked.

"I'm picking up a new 2004 Sportster tomorrow," She said.

I was immediately intrigued. My first Harley was a '69 Sportster. I respected the 2nd string V-twin all my adult life, although I was a tad on the large size for Sportys. I watched the new model line-up for 2004 with abject curiosity.

Releasing the new rubbermounted Sportster line-up seemed perfect timing. Lately new and custom motorcycle prices have crested big candy levels. The chasm between Twin-Cams and Sportsters grew with vast big twin improvements, accessories and Screamin' Eagle performance opportunities. Sportsters needed to jump the gap to keep up. Reliability and resale value were deep considerations growing grievous. Sportsters needed lower price tags yet bolstered net values or fewer riders could consider them players. Her green eyes sparkled.

"Can I buy you a graduation drink?" I said then added. "How about picking me up tonight? I'll give you a hand with the Sportster tomorrow."

"Would you?" she said, and that was all I needed to hear. Since this is a G-rated section of Bikernet, I won't follow my evening's exploits and jump right to the motorcycle. I delivered her to the dealership the next morning, on a towel, strapped to my rear rigid fender. I was nearly as excited as she was, but my mind blistered with considerations. Over the years I watched a number of brothers introduce women to motorcycling with mixed results. What the hell, you only go around once, right? She comfortably hurtled the one-night-stand fence and slipped something more under my skin.

My first impression of the all-improved rubbermount Sportster Custom gathered around the retained classic styling. It still looked like a Sportster, although the fuel tank on the 1200 Custom models was completely redesigned, uniquely changing the look while still solidly identified undeniably as a Sportster. The capacity on the tanks increased to 4.5 gallons, translating into a usable range of over 150 miles (depending on conditions).

She stood by my side as we gazed at the sleek new model. I could sense her respect and concern for her life aboard the completely redesigned Evolution 1200 powertrain, with performance cams, more torque, and a 9.7:1 compression ratio. I reviewed it with an eye for the future of Harley-Davidson. Could this line-up open the door for a new more-hearty Sportster era? I received positive signals. The custom with pull- back risers, forward controls, bullet headlight and lower seat height provided the look: long, lean, and mean. Add to that the mountains of chrome that come straight from the Kansas City Assembly Plant, and the result was a custom motorcycle worthy of the Sportster badge.

While staring at her new ride a young mechanic approached me, "Sir, would you mind if I slipped this under your bike?" He held up a rough cut chunk of cardboard. "Is that a Panhead?"

I looked at his wary gaze directly and nodded. "Yes, it's a goddamn Panhead, but I'm not a 'sir'." The kid disappeared in a Doc Martin flash.

"Wilburn," Gene, a veteran mechanic, advanced. "I rarely see you here. You're trading your Panhead for a new Sportster?" He said with a wry smirk. "Good move."

"It's tempting, but it's her first ride," I said and introduced Gene to Layla. "Would you take her through it from stem to stern?"

"Sure," Gene said and rolled the Custom onto a lift.

"I heard they're 50 pounds heavier than the previous model? I can't see it"

As he shoved it onto the lift Layla looked at me with longing. "Hold it, Gene," I said recognizing new rider desperation. He dropped it off the lift and she swung a shapely leg over her ride and sat firmly in the saddle. It fit her like a glove. One positive aspect to women riders is the appearance of that luscious, petite, female form on a Harley. Women look hot anywhere, but on a motorcycle they give it punch and power, like a light agile jockey aboard a massive thoroughbred. I admired the tough lines of the motorcycle mingling with the sensual curves of her body.

Where moments ago she looked like a novice lion trainer sizing up an angry beast, suddenly her face flushed with self-assurance. She was comfortable.

Gene took over and hauled the beast onto the lift and explained why the new model weighed more. "The frame is longer, the 150 tire set-up larger, the new forward controls and passenger peg casting are more substantial. The frame was also redesigned, strengthened and additional rubbermounted engine case extensions added to the weight." The new Sportster weighed 554 lbs. while a Softail Standard dry weight was 629 lbs. and an Electra Glide Classic tilted the scales at 776 lbs.

Gene's a veteran of the Harley world, yet willing to help the bright-eyed Layla with her new endeavor. "Always wash your own bike," Gene advised. "You want to know this machine and cleaning is the way to discover loose heat shields or brackets. Guys, I mean riders, who work on and clean their own bikes always make it home. They discover loose fasteners, cables that need adjusting and frayed wires. If they're smart they're proactive and make necessary repairs quickly."

I quizzed him about the mechanical nature of the new beast. He mentioned that some of the electronics were touchy with performance upgrades, then said, "Check the oil. It's the toughest operation on this bike." The contoured oil tank cap and dipstick were concealed with slick, polished stainless steel and it was slippery. With a light fingertip press, the cap released and bounced upward, but turning it counter-clockwise against the resistance of a large rubber O-ring was difficult and a bear to return to position. Although once free, the dipstick was a breeze to read with a guage indicating hot and cold levels.

Gene explained that unless the Sportster leaked, she could check the oil levels at 1,000 mile intervals. "But don't overfill it," Gene warned.

Gene started with the throttle cables and demonstrated the adjustments and what to look for. "I only adjust the pull cable," He said digging two 3/8-inch, open-end wrenches out of his Snap-On tool box. "If the throttle feels dry or rough," Gene explained, "open the clam shell (switch housing) and oil the cables with a light oil. The cable can have between 1/8 and 1/4-inch of slop, but should never be tight." Tight cables cause immediate wear and elevated engine idle.

He pointed out that new models have sleeker grips for smaller hands, although the bars remain 1-inch in diameter. He moved to the air cleaner and removed the two counter-sunk Allens with a small ratchet purposely. He pointed out that they don't need excessive tightening and that the new air cleaner could be checked every 2,500 miles and replaced at 5,000 miles.

Finally, on the right side of the bike, he pointed out the belt adjustment. The belt, cold, flexed through half of the gauge on the lower plastic guard with light finger pressure and felt appropriately snug. I pointed out to Layla, who was taking notes, that loose belts squeak, since I've set them too floppy several times to prevent wheel bearing and mainshaft bearing wear.

Belts prefer to be adjusted snug. "The factory calls for adjusting the belt tension with no rider or cargo on board," Gene added. "There's a Belt Tension Gauge that applies 10 pounds of upward force in the center of the lower belt strap." Each mark on the lower measurement slot represents 1/8 of an inch. The belt should be adjusted to flex 1/4 to 5/16 inch. "The factory recommends rotating the wheel to several locations for an accurate measurement."

Gene adjusted the clutch cable tight to afford a user friendly clutch. We used the coin gauge for demonstration, then we decided to remove the derby cover (27 mm Torx screws) to adjust the clutch pushrod. We were beginning to lose Layla. She sat quietly jotting notes, but I could tell her emerald-eyed enthusiasm level waned.

"You should adjust the clutch cold and the primary chain hot," Gene pointed out and Layla scribbled, "since the clutch hub grows and tightens the chain with the heat."

We jumped to the primary chain inspection cover and checked the chain. Gene point out that the chain adjuster hangs in the open below the primary for easy access. "It takes a 7/8-inch open-end wrench," he said, "a 1/4 Allen and should be adjusted hot." The new Sportster manual called for 3/8 to 1/2 -inch cold and 1/4 to 3/8 inch slack while hot.

The throw-out bearing held a spring and lock nut which popped into Gene's hand. It was a breeze to adjust with a small screwdriver after the cable was set free. He bottomed-out the clutch adjusting screw slightly and backed it off a quarter to a half turn (the locking nut position may force some final adjustment). Then he replaced the hex lockplate and spring, then the quad rubber ring and the derby cover. He tightened the Torx fasteners in a crossing pattern to 108-inch pounds. The cover only fit in one direction, but the toughest assignment was that damn quad gasket that constantly jumped out of its groove, until we tilted the bike slightly toward the right. "If the factory can install 'em dry," Gene spat, "why can't I?" With the cable loose we lubricated it with a fine oil.

We tightened the cable using the rubber-boot covered adjuster with the coin clearance measurement in mind.

"Any coin will do," Gene pointed out.

I've adjusted cables for 30 years, yet Gene showed me a new trick. I looked at Layla and was certain she was slipping away. It was an acid relationship test. Occasionally when she thought we neared completion she'd reach for her deerskin gloves, only to substitute them for the notepad again.

Gene didn't simply adjust the slack using the position of the lever. He pulled on the clutch cable housing as it entered the lever bracket then tightened the cable adjuster until it showed 1/16 of-an-inch space between the cable ferrule and bracket. We were finished. He coated the cadmium plated adjuster and cable end with grease to prevent damage to the rubber boot and rust from reaching the adjuster.

As we buttoned up the operation he pointed out how easy it is to inspect the rear brake pads. "If they are wearing evenly and not too much," Gene said, "you're good to go. I looked at Layla and raised my eyebrows.

"We got the word," I said. "Let's hit it." She dropped the rumbling Custom a block from the dealership, when she attempted a turn from a dead stop, with the choke still operating and idle high. The bike lurched and died, then fell over dinging a mirror. First ride jitters. I made her jump onboard and keep riding. Haven't seen her since.

Throughout this season we'll experience this new 2004, 1200 Sportster Custom in the hands of a new rider. We'll hop it up, if she'll let me get away with it. We'll customize it, if our relationship doesn't crumble and see how we can make the new world of Sportsters sing. That is, if I ever see her again.