Calling My Name

 Rattle rattle rattle. Thats what I hear when I'm riding the sportster and hit a bump. Rattle rattle. The front brake pads rattle in the caliper. I know there is supposed to be a part in there that prevents this from happening so after work yesterday I decided to ride to the dealer and get what I need to fix it.
 Going to a bike shop is exciting. All the shiny new iron just begging for my attention. It's almost like the animal shelter where all the lonely pets are crying out, "come pet me". The problem is those fuckers at the dealer got it figured out. You have to walk through this maze of temptation just to get to the parts counter for a three dollar part.
 I tell the parts jockey what I'm after and he's having to spend a little time figuring it out. While I'm waiting I hear someone call my name. "Scott, over here". I turn and look but don't see anyone. Whatever. Then I hear it again. Scotty, I'm over here". I turn faster but still don't see anyone. Am I losing it? I reach up and check to see if I removed my earplugs. Yep, we're good. "Scotty come sit on me". Wait, what? It was a Street Glide calling my name! Not a used SG, or even a new SG, but a new Street Glide Special. Crap.

 I pay $10 for what should have been a $3 part and wander over by the shiny new bike. In my last post I mentioned the street glide as a bike I have always liked. I like the batwing fairing and saddlebags with no trunk. Seems functional with just the right blend of touring and daily rider. Other than that I never really checked one over to see if it meets Greasy Shop Rag standards. As I'm spreading my dna all over this fine machine a salesman comes over to answer some questions. I quizzed him for half an hour comparing pre-2014 Rushmore Project bikes and then comparing the standard model to the "Special". I gotta tell ya, I'm hooked.
 That little brake part is gonna cost me a bundle. Now I need to sell everything and get my ass on a new hog.