This fall I have several anniversaries to celebrate, the oldest is buying my first Harley in 1981. It was an FXB Sturgis model, basically a Super Glide or Low Rider but with twin belt drive, an 80 cubic inch Shovelhead engine and four-speed transmission. After an air cleaner change and some carburetor jetting, I installed straight pipes and had the very loud bike that I'd wanted since first seeing a Harley-Davidson as a little kid. The Motor Company has come a long way in 30 years. Back then, though, they hadn't even started trying to improve quality and the motorcycles were proof. They often didn't start or they broke down. Parts fell off, oil leaked out. I carried a lot of tools and plenty of spare parts.

My bike had both electric and kick starting, which was good since about half the time, the tiny battery and anemic starter only clunked when the start button was depressed. There were plenty of opportunities to attempt kicking the big engine to life, but doing so took a fair amount of spiritual intervention through prayers using rather forceful language directed at bikes in general and my bike in particular. If the engine didn't then fire, I'd get the bike into third gear and nod at my lady of the moment, who would then push me and the bike until there was enough ground speed to release the clutch and get the engine running.

Harleys of that era vibrated. Violently. Rear-view mirrors were useless. Numb hands were common. Every fastener regularly came loose. Loctite became a trusted friend. Bulbs failed often, an early lesson learned was that a high and low beam auto headlight could be substituted for the Harley's lamp. I will now take a moment to apologize to all of those people in eastern Pennsylvania in the 1980's who found their cars with non-working bulbs. The bike's ignition coil vibrated so hard that the mounting bracket broke. This happened so often that I carried a spare bracket. I could swap it for the broken one and then reweld the broken part and be ready for the following week.

Riding back then was all kind of an adventure, since the start of a ride was no guarantee of how the trip would end. Still, that bike took me to some great places with great people. That first Harley and the two that followed it are all gone now. What remain are memories of riding each of them, whether it was up into the northeast, down the Blue Ridge Parkway, or all the way out to Sturgis. Each machine ended up having a history, a time in my life with associated places and people. My current Harley (it's number 4 for me) doesn't feel like there's history yet, it's a 2010 and I haven't ridden it far enough or long enough to establish many memories with it. The only personal evidence of its ownership is a reproduction of the tattoo on my back that's painted on the motorcycle's oil tank. To its credit, this bike has already attended two Sturgis rallies and it's patiently waiting in my little shed for next year's rides. I think it is a year and a half old and 30 years old at the same time. Considering that, I realize I've been wrong. This bike already has history, 30 years of it.