How it all began for me

I never in my life could have imagined the way owning one simple antique machine could have a direct effect on my entire life the way owning KOKO has had on mine.  It truly is an utterly amazing machine or better yet I should just say she is and always will be one bad bitch.  Sure she's got one hell of an attitude sometimes.  That comes mostly from me not riding her.  She lets me know that she is unhappy about it and makes me have to work to earn the pleasure of caressing her, fondling her, kicking her and then finally mounting her and making sweet sweet miles together.  I've ridden bikes now for better than half of my whole life officially and that isn't even counting the mini bikes, dirt bikes and other insane contraptions kids create and attach a motor to, those years aren't even in consideration. 

For me, the fascination with bikes, big bikes and Harleys in general started when I was just an incredibly small boy.  I am still incredibly small in  the most "true" sense of the word but that will be blogged under psychiatric disorders of mine.  My dad was a cop in Newark, N.J. and it wasn't too many years after riots ravaged that beautiful, yes I said beautiful city of Newark.  He wasn't one of those hide behind a billboard and write ticket cops, he was the guy who truly protected the community and caught rapists and murderers.  A cop before they became these chicken shit "TASER CARRYING" guys now.  We went one day to cash his check because back then, you cashed your pay check.  While standing on line holding dad's hand, I looked down to see my face staring back at me from the reflection in the mirror polished black gestapo boots attached the the biggest, blackest man I had ever in my short life seen.  He was a "motor cop" in the city and he was there to cash his check too.  He picked me up and I near shit.  He carried me outside and asked, "so what do you think, ya like it?"  My mouth dropped open and he put me atop his Shovelhead Police Special.  This was the beginning of a life long addiction.  I started as most did, on a 78 Honda CB 750f if my memory serves me correctly.  It was a shit ton of fun.  It was sort of like an original crotch rocket.  Don't hate me, I was a kid and loved speed and rolling on that Rice Power through the pine barrens of Jackson, N.J. and I had a full face helmet and nobody knew it was me.  Ah hell, I was 20 years old.

After a brief stint on that bike a real kick in the balls nailed me.  I had been feeling horrible for some time and it was only getting worse.  To make a long story short I had contracted Lyme Disease.  At the time there wasn't much really known about it except that it was horrible and life altering.  I was so bummed the lil woman wanted to cheer me up and she knew that I wanted a Harley and wanted one bad.  At the time, 1992 the madening "lists" began to appear at HD dealerships around the country.  She knew that it could take two years to get a new bike.  So while swinging on a swing set somewhere, I can't really remember and staring at the ground she said what do you say we go buy you a brand new bike?  Really?  Holy shit!  Well that did it, I was cheered up and the quest began.  She had already called every dealer for 200 miles in a circle, no bikes were to be had.  She knew that we wouldn't get a new bike but she didn't want to tell me, she was just happy to see me smiling again.  I was working as a machine operator building a prison in So. Jersey near the Delaware border.  One day it rained and none of us really had enough money to go spend an entire day at the hillbilly titty bars down there so on rainy days what else?  We went to the Harley dealer.  Back then they were still small down to earth shops with down to earth people.  Every rainy day I walked in and when they asked if they could help me I said yeah, "I want the bike in the window."  Always the answer was Sorry!  Well one day it wasn't!  Can ya pay for it?  I sure as shit can!  He put away the notebook, the "list" that he had just taken from under the counter.  I WAS NOW A HARLEY OWNER.  I waited two of the longest weeks of my life to pick her up.  The tax rate in NJ had gone up to 7% back then by this bastard of a Govenor Jim Florio.  Well on July 1st, they went back to 6% and that's the day that I picked her up.  What a day what a day what a day!  I mounted up, threw the lil woman on the back and started off my 120 mile ride home on her.  We pulled away, she wrapped her legs around me, kissed the side of my neck and whispered in my ear, I love you, congratulations baby!  I was the king of the world riding my brand new Softail Custom.  That is for about 9 miles.  At 9.1 miles a summer thunderstorm hit us like no rain I had ever seen.  I was now riding on the NJ turnpike on a bike that hasn't been broken in yet and that I have never even ridden a bike like it before with the woman I love on the back and waves from the tractor trailers were washing over us!  I had litterally bit into my bottom lip while riding the first 75 miles.  Well on that ride, that bike and I made a pact.  I wouldn't let anything happen to her, if she didn't let anything happen to me.  For sixteen years we kept that promise to each other without fail and there were times for both of us that it sure as hell wasn't easy.  Here is a picture of my Rodeo Queen, she never let me down once.

It wasn't much long after that bike coming into our lives that I started hanging around and eventually patched into a club.  From there our story takes some pretty damn wild turns so stay tuned folks.