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Well, it’s been one of those weeks where nothing goes as planned.  The planned ride to New Orleans was no exception, but in retrospect it was probably for the best.  I found I was more fatigued from the previous week’s activities than I realized and spent a lot of time resting.

The original plan had Andre, one of my riding buddies, leaving Tucson, AZ with a 2002 Honda VTX 1800 he had just bought from a friend out there.  The bike is great and he got a great deal.  He was supposed to leave Thursday for Florida, but waiting just wasn’t what he wanted to do with the new bike so he left early… like Tuesday early.  This had an obvious effect on the schedule and when I talked with him Thursday evening he was 100 miles west of Tallahassee and driving through weather that most of us wouldn’t take a car through.  I checked the radar for him and saw bands of red in the thunderstorms and told him he was crazy if he rode through it.  The certification wasn’t necessary as he landed in Lake City, FL about 9:00 PM that night.

With fewer than 325 miles left on his trip it was almost senseless to meet Andre for the ride down, but he needed some moral support and I had already taken the day off from work to make the ride.  So, at 5:00 AM I rolled the Harley Davidson Electra Glide that I had just purchased out and started north to have breakfast.  The motorcycle that I had bought with just 700 miles on it a week earlier would finish the day with nearly 2,150 miles on the odometer.

Our ride was pretty basic boring Florida coming down I-75 and the Turnpike as I had done just a week earlier.  The only difference was a quick slip into rain gear as we went through a 5-mile thunderstorm.  We kept them on for the rest of the trip, which may have alerted a lot of bikers of upcoming weather as we passed a lot of them heading north to Biketoberfest in Daytona Beach, FL.

I’m still evaluating the ride of the Electra Glide and continue to be impressed at some elements and disappointed in others.  Probably the worst part of the Harley was the same as the worst part of most stock bikes:  the grips.  There’s nothing worse than crappy grips on a bike and it seems all manufacturers go out of their way to produce the worst possible construction.  They are invariably too narrow and have nothing to absorb the energy of the ride.  This isn’t a Harley problem.  It seems to permeate the industry much like putting crappy exhaust on bikes.  Makes you think, doesn’t it?  I will be replacing these with my personal favorites, Kuryakyn Iso-Grips.  There are many good grips out there and if you’re experiencing numbness in your hands after a couple hundred miles you should check them out and get something to make the trip safer and more comfortable.  It isn’t a good thing when you can’t feel your fingers or have to take your hands off the grips to get blood and feeling back into them.

I left Lavonia, GA pretty much on time with the intent of riding to my daughter’s place in Gainesville, FL that day. It was a distance of about 400 miles and by getting out of there by 2:00 I would have no problem. That didn’t happen.

I went with Dan down to Commerce, GA to go into his bank with him. He was nervous about the cashiers check because he had heard something on TV about people making fake checks. Well, he really didn’t know me that well in spite of several hours of talking on the phone in preparation for the transaction, so I went into the bank with him. He’s a pretty nice guy and it was really along the way using the back route I was planning. I went in with him, the bank manager took the check, he walked out with me to help me be clear on starting directions, and we said good-bye.

I rode south on back roads through very small, single intersection towns for about 30 to 50 miles before needing gas. I stopped at a station to refuel and grabbed a snack to eat something for the first time since I left the house at about 6:00 AM that morning. The ride so far had been beautiful on the country roads of Georgia. I was adjusting to the Harley, which was quite different from the Roadstar in many ways. It felt much, much lighter, which should make sense since the Roadstar was a 1670cc engine and the Electra Glide was only 1450cc. I was impressed at the nimble maneuverability of the Harley, which has the appearance of a larger motorcycle. The fuel economy with the stock exhaust was excellent as I was getting close to 50 mpg later in the ride.

The black Harley Davidson was loaded up with the Screaming Eagle exhaust still in the box and strapped to the back seat sideways. The extra luggage rack was covered with towels and secured to the mini-rack on the back of the travel-pak. I looked a bit like the junketeer from an old movie.

While stopped for fuel I checked my phone to see if I had messages or missed any calls. Dan had called a couple times, so I called him back from the field at the side of the gas station I was at, out in the middle of the country. Long-story-short, there was a problem with the check. My credit union had failed to get the required second signature for checks over $5,000. Now, here I am more than 50 miles away from Dan and his bank, behind schedule a little, me with his bike, title and bill of sale, and Dan with no payment in his account. It was unacceptable for me and was the beginning of a series of nightmares.

I immediately called my loan officer and began working on solutions. This took almost 2 hours of my travel time after rejecting their ideas like faxing a form to me ( I was in the middle of nowhere! ) and Dan just “trusting” me until I could make other arrangements. There was no sense and not adequate effort on their part to immediately fix a mistake they had created. It basically wrecked my good start. We finally settled on my idea, which did not provide an immediate fix, but would be the best thing anyone could come up with. Tomorrow, while at the Gainesville Harley-Davidson dealer for the 1,000 maintenance I would have the credit union fax a wire transfer form to me there. I would sign it and they could then wire the money directly to his account. This still required Dan to just trust me for another day while taking his motorcycle hundreds of miles away from him.

My plan had been to arrive at my daughter’s by 9:00 PM at the latest to watch CSI with her. Because of these delays and resulting traffic patterns, I didn’t get there until about 11:30 that night. After a brief talk I went to sleep, planning on getting up early the next morning for my appointment at the Harley shop. That was about the only thing that went right that Friday.

Upon entering I-75 to go north from Archer to the dealership I stopped. That’s all. I just stopped cold. Traffic was backed up as far as I could see and it wasn’t looking good in spite of my 30 lead time I had to travel a mere 10 miles on the Interstate. As I approached the cause of the delay it became apparent that this was going to be a problem that effected me well into the rest of the day. A car and two 18-wheelers had been involved in an accident. I learned later there had actually been a second car, too. The car was nothing but a burned-out mass of crushed metal. The first truck had also caught fire and laid there smolder in the aftermath. The other truck was laying on its side, but had less damage considering the other vehicles. Traffic from the other direction was worse than what I was experiencing and I would have to return this way.

I made it to the Harley shop in just 40 minutes. Considering the conditions, I thought that was record speed. I was 10 minutes late for my 9:00 appointment, but how long could it take to do a routine maintenance and oil change? I learned that quickly. The dealership said I would be there until 11:30 AM to 12:00 noon. With that kind of damage, I was not sure I could make it back to complete the transaction on the bike. I still had to transfer the title, my tag, pay taxes, and get the finalized paperwork over to the credit union by 5:00. It would be very close if successful at all. Since it would only take a few minutes to put the new exhaust on, I asked them to do that, too. It would reduce my cumbersome load on the remaining trip.
Well, I didn’t get out of there until 1:00 PM. It now looked impossible as I had over 4 hours to drive just to get to the tax office to start my work. Within minutes I was at I-75 and sitting in one of the world’s largest parking lots. I called the bank to tell them I would not make it on time. The day had warmed to over 80 degrees. The blacktop was getting hotter as the day grew longer. The exhaust from the literally thousands of vehicles added to the heat. And, like a true biker, I was sitting there in the middle of it on my black Harley-Davidons wearing all black. It was so hot that my black jeans began to burn the top of my legs as they absorbed all the heat. It took me over 100 minutes to travel just 10 miles… and I felt luck to get past the wreckage. There were no reasonable alternatives to I-75. My schedule had been destroyed.

Sunday I left for a business conference in Utah, where I am now. I will only have a 1/4 day window to do my transactions on Thursday if I’m lucky. Friday, at 2:00 AM I am supposed to leave on the bike for New Orleans. Let’s hope everything works out and you can read more in the next entry.

Wednesday, October 10th, my Roadstar departed for its new owner. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the bike wasn’t so nice or if I was selling it due to some disappointment. The bike had been wonderful, powerful, and beautiful. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the transport driver hadn’t said, “Damn! That’s a beautiful bike.” before he rode it down to the truck he had parked around the corner. But, I was supposedly moving forward over the next few days.

After closing loose ends at work in preparation for being out of the office for a week, I headed home that Wednesday evening. I had yet to pack and prepare for the trip ahead. I had borrowed money from my savings account and a line of credit to cover paying for the next motorcycle until I could come back with the title and take out a formal loan with my credit union. I had planned very carefully and had the timing pretty tight on everything so that it would go smoothly over the next few days.
My plan was to get a flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Atlanta where the owner of the motorcycle would pick me up. I would ride with him about 100 miles to Lavonia, just 5 miles south of South Carolina. Dan was a nice guy and reminded me in some ways of my father, though he was just a few years older than me. His features, demeanor, and chain-smoking came from the manual my father had lived by. An ex-marine, he had operated a excavation company in Washington for years before retiring. The toll on his hands forced him to ride very little and he decided to sell the motorcycle.

Upon arriving at his home, I got to see the bike in person for the first time. I had already sent a $500 deposit for the motorcycle sight-unseen and with only one photo on the Internet. Perhaps that wasn’t a good idea and I didn’t ask enough questions. I hope you learn some questions from this blog entry.

The bike had been stored for some time in a shed. Now, if cared for properly, this would not be a bad situation. But with years of no riding, washing, waxing, or general care I found the bike very dirty and with pitting on the chrome. There were points of rust that had begun at connection points on the bike. I realized I was stuck here, 100 miles from the airport, and with $500 down on a bike that did not have the value in it that it appeared.

The motorcycle is a 2005 Harley Davidson Electra Glide standard. It had only 700 miles on it, which seemed to ring both good and bad to me. My usual method for establishing a fair price on a bike is to simply take the average between trade in value and retail value. I failed this time and eventually paid more than I really should have. The trade value on the bike was about $9,500 and the retail about 13,750. That would put the value at $11,600. Given it had some accessories including a small travel-pak, quick release sissy bar and luggage rack, and a set of Screaming Eagle exhaust I could increase the value by another $800 if I paid near retail for those accessories. Accessories should only hold a value of 20% to 50% depending on condition and your personal “need” for them. That would total about $12,400 for maximum price for this bike. In negotiations I actually over paid several hundred dollars.

But that was just the beginning of what would become a very bad ride home. I’ll talk about that more in the next entry.

I just sold my motorcycle to what appeared to be someone not far from here in Florida.  The buyer’s profile showed that he lived about 200 miles away.  This was great, I thought.  I might see my bike at Bike Week in Daytona Beach or somewhere on the roads as I ride.  Then, I got a phone call from the buyer and he turned out to be in Ohio.  Well, that was alright.  Afterall, I just wanted it to have a good home.  I love the bike and I’ve put a lot of care into it.

In the conversation I learned the buyer is part of a group that purchases under that login name.  The purchase of my Yamaha Roadstar wasn’t for him.  He was a broker for foreign purchases.  In seconds I learned my bike was destined to someone in the Czech Republic!  WOW!  I never imagined that one, but it seems there is a blossoming business for people in America to purchase motorcycles locally and then ship them to buyers they represent in foreign countries.  This circumvents American sellers that list their motorcycles for sale only to the US or Canada.  It also creates a medium for buyers to get those bikes that require local pick up and/or buyers to arrange for shipping.

One can’t help but wonder what fees are associated with conducting such a transaction.  Shipping the motorcycle alone must raise the final price more than $1,500.  I would imagine a good commission rate would be about 10% or a flat rate of between $500 and $2,000.

Imagination and the creation of new markets never ceases to amaze me.  Someone saw a concept in a void that could be filled with a simple service.  Now, they’re making money as bike brokers, buying motorcycles in America for buyers in other countries.