Outside the Edmonton Harley Davidson dealership I sit, 1:30 pm, removing various articles of clothing, to go inside and spend some of my trip money on some upper torso wardrobe. Kai and I are a complete mess, a collective disgusting display of bugs, dirt, mud, grease and more bugs.
Did I mention the bugs?
I stroll in, and the look in the sales girl’s eyes only confirms my suspicions.
I’m so ugly, I could bend down to give her CPR, and she would just push me away. Her last words on Earth would be “Oh God, you are so hideous”
Kudo’s to her professionalism tho, as she put on a brave face, gave me directions to the bathroom and men’s t-shirt rack AND gave me the wireless code so I could bring in my lappy, sit in the lounge, and make my hotel reservations.
Wasn’t so long ago (well, maybe it was), that I was looking to buy my first Harley Davidson, 23 years old, walking into my local shop, a shop, no bigger than my first apartment, filled with big, ugly hairy guys that did or most likely did not shower that week, and they all looked at ME, as I was clean cut and dressed in intact jeans.
Now, as I peruse the long sleeves, I’m getting eyed up by the entire staff AND some customers. I wonder if it will ever return to being how it felt in 1993. Harley dealerships used to always feel like home, no matter where I went; now it just feels like I crashed the Governors Ball.
The sales gal (a new one), doesn’t even look at me as she rings up my 78 damn dollars worth of merchandise. I wonder if she even has been on a ride, like a real ride, one that might’ve taken her across 400 miles of Rte 16. Like I did today.
Left Saskatoon early this morning and immediately jumped back onto the Yellowhead, leaving Saskatchewan, AND the shitty weather system, in my rear view mirror.
This ride went fast! I was on the road at 7:30 am and IN Edmonton at 1:30 pm. Several long days of riding make this one feel like a trip to Kohl’s
After the dealership, I slide into the Super8 of Edmonton, just off the Yellowhead, and lug my gear inside, grab my room key, shower and head to the lounge.
I spent the next two hours sitting at the bar with two truckers. They immediately bring to mind Inspector Tarconi from The Transporter and Tommy Basilio from Trees Lounge.
I sit on 3 Jack and Cokes
I’m sorry, Jack and Pop
While they regal me with stories from the road, from real life Ice Road Trucking, to their disdain of Quebec, to the difference between miles and kilometers, to getting paid by the mile versus HUB miles. I think they have a real liking to dumping all of this onto a total stranger from the States, and I immensely enjoy hearing the gregarious Frenchy talk all over the quiet mumbling Steve Buscemi.
I see a hit ABC sitcom with these guys.
Leave the bar, go to my room, draw the curtains to block out the still glaring 10pm sun, and ignore my computer entirely, choosing to get a good night’s sleep instead.
For tomorrow is Dawson Creek, and the beginning of my actual adventure!
Pease Grease and Beats.
