CEO Column for the
September, 1998 Electric Consumer Magazine

How I spent my summer vacation: Part III
 

Let’s see, last year it was twelve states, two countries and 3,000 miles in eight days. The year before, in the first of my motorcycle adventures, it was over 3,000 miles through eleven states in eleven days. This year my 1981 Honda never recovered from its winter hibernation so I anticipated any summer adventure would be limited to listening to Phil Cowan and Terry Coby retelling their stories from their biker trip to Sturgis, SD last year, the trip I wished I’d made.

But while in Colorado Springs a few weeks ago I learned of a fellow who rented Harley-Davidsons by the day. Never having ridden a “hog” I thought the Rocky Mountains would be a nice, scenic introduction and would help ease my pain of being bikeless this year, so I booked one.

Assuming a rental Harley would most likely resemble a World War II relic, imagine my surprise when the rental guy delivers this brand new bright blue Heritage Soft Tail Classic right to my hotel. As visions of scratches and dents and sugarplums danced in my head, I signed away the kitchen sink, my first-born, and who knows what else on those eight or ten pages of releases he brought with him. All just for the privilege of riding this very loud machine through the Colorado mountains for twenty-four hours, or two-hundred miles, which ever came first.

Did I say “through” the mountains? Well, I did start out that way, but I’ve always wanted to see Pike’s Peak, and since this was the weekend of the annual Race to the Clouds (the Pike’s Peak Hill Climb), I figured that the saddle of a Harley was the proper way to do the Peak. (One of these days I’m going to figure that my figuring tends to get me in trouble more often than not!)

I should have expected trouble when the guy taking my ten bucks at the gate made some sarcastic remark about my golf shirt being too warm; I mean, it was 89 degrees when I entered the park. I should have taken another clue from the race fans already gathering along the road as they would turn toward me as I bellowed by, smile, yell something, then start laughing; I thought it was just the Harley. Another tip I should have picked up on was about a third of the way to the top the pavement gave way to a mixture of gravel, dirt and clay (not a good combination for a two-wheeler) with no guardrails anywhere. And the last sign I think I missed was the handful of bikers I passed going down the mountain; they all were wearing helmets (rental didn’t include headgear that fit), gloves and jackets.

Since the thought of trying to turn that thing around on gravel scared me about as much as finishing the trek to the top, I continued on. I actually started feeling relaxed (cocky?) and began passing the sissy cars and pretending I was actually running in the next day’s race. All that did was increase the wind-chill factor. By the time I pulled in at the summit the thermometer read 34 degrees. I had the shivers and absolutely no view of the valley as the snow was falling so hard you could barely see across the parking lot, except when the frequent lightening flashes would brighten everybody’s day.

Some lady offered to take my picture next to the summit sign in exchange for letting her kids pose on the Harley. I had to have some proof I was there, so I agreed.
 
A park ranger said everybody had to stay in the gift shop until the lightening storm stopped. A few cups of coffee later I heard him quietly radio for the snowplows, and I decided it was time to get my bike off that mountain.

It took me an hour and a half to slip and slide that Harley 14 miles down the Peak. When the snow stopped it was replaced by a tornado-spawning thunderstorm. When that stopped I spent an hour cleaning the bike so the rental guy wouldn’t know what I had done, and almost done, to his motorcycle.

Bumper sticker: Real men don't need guardrails!

The only business lesson I think I derived from my misadventure was that people will gladly pay more for what they want, than they will for what they have to take. I could have had a car for a week for what I paid for that one day of hoping I wouldn’t die. But what a ride! I remember thinking how miserable and scared I was, but the further I get from the Peak, the better the story gets about how I spent my summer vacation one afternoon on a Harley.

 The view at the top was lousy
 and the helmet didn't fit,
 but the sound was wonderful!

P.S. When I got home, I immediately fixed my Honda. Life is good.

8/4/98