We were intrigued. I believe, in fact, the response was, “that’s AWESOME!” We committed right then, that next year, we were going to rent Harleys, too!
Problem: I did not have a motorcycle license. Next problem: I had never ridden, sat on, or probably even touched a street bike of any kind. This was going to be very different from the dirt bikes of my youth.
Once home, I started researching what I need to do to obtain my motorcycle license. Short answer is, in Michigan, not much. My “road” test was administered by a dude with a van and a scooter who met me and some other poor soul in a grocery store parking lot. After a couple loops around the lot, I was all set for my test. Some cone weaving, some panic breaking, stop here, turn there, congratulations, you pass. Take a multiple choice written test. Congratulations, you pass. Here’s your motorcycle license.
Fast forward to the next year in Vegas…Reservations made at the local dealer. The bike was a Fat Boy. 103 cubic inch motor (1690 cc), six speed transmission, curb weight of 
725 pounds, without bags, shield, or gear. Foot boards, forward controls, heel-toe shifter. It was massive, unwieldy, and lumbering. I put my hands awkwardly on the bars and swung my leg over the seat. I fired up the v-twin beast and made a couple parking lot loops. I was ready. My much more experienced companion was astride his Road King, and we headed off, out of the parking lot, down the street, and onto I-15 north.
And that was it. A couple parking lot maneuvers on a scooter, a written test, and I was piloting one of the most powerful heavy-weight cruisers on the planet, roaring down the interstate at 75 mph. Looking back, I realize how insanely stupid that was, and how lucky I am for two things. One, that I didn’t hurt myself, because I’m not all that bright sometimes. Two, that I had an experienced rider with me to show me the ropes and keep me out of trouble. Folks, let me tell you: take the training courses. They’re cheap, they’re valuable, and they are the single biggest factor in whether or not you will be in an accident, and the seriousness of the accident. Properly trained, licensed riders are safer. Period.
We rode in that early November Nevada sun, cruising up to Hoover dam, then riding to the north shore of Lake Mead. The roads were perfect. Very little traffic, gre
at weather, outstanding scenery. The Lake Mead Recreation Area is a great place to get some seat time on a bike. Smooth, gentle curves, relatively slow speeds (35-ish), and no crazy traffic merging or cutting you off. Just the lake and the hills and the warm desert sun.
I actually remember the exact moment that I realized that riding Harleys was for me. We had checked in to the North Shore Inn in Overton. After grabbing a bite for dinner, we stopped to fuel up and pick up some frosty beverages to enjoy back at the room. The sun was just setting on the horizon, and it was still warm, but the heat was starting to fade. I swung my leg over the seat and grabbed the bars, more confident now. I settled into the seat, down “in” the bike, a feeling unique to Softails. My scoot roared to life, and I gave the throttle a quick crack. The transmission gave that now so-familiar “clunk” when I dropped it into first gear. We turned out of the station, kicked it into 2nd and I rolled on the throttle. The torque of the big twin pushed me back into the seat, and instantly forced my face into a smile. The warm evening air in my face, the sun at 10 o’clock, its softening golden light blanketing the ground for a few more minutes of a perfect day.
Ride free!
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