My Name Is Harley

My owner came up to me today looking sad, irritated and stressed out. Well, it's no wonder; it has been days since we went for a ride. He came back to the house feeling good about himself, the world, and life, the last time we rode. Then he washed me with loving care and I could see pride in his eyes, but he still locked me in the dark, cold garage when the wash was finished. It gets lonely in here, butt head. They don't call me Road King for nothing. I'm ready to run with the big dogs and you park me by a washing machine. What an insult!

Oh, what the hell, he is here now and we are warming up for another ride. Life is good and maybe this time he will ride me into the sunset and not come back for weeks. Sturgis maybe, or the high country of Colorado? Who cares, as long as we are hell bent for leather and riding in the wind.

Write on,

Mittster