It is surprising how very little I know. With every page written in my current
manuscript, more research is necessary.
And it is a contemporary romance,
so what is there not to know? I mean,
really, I didn’t get to be my age--with a daughter--without learning the
mechanics of romance, right? But every
moment of one’s life is not necessarily involved with romance, in real life or
within a novel. It is those pesky little
interludes of non-romance that are forcing me to research. Now that I’ve learned about the “I’m a
writer…” opening line, I’m getting better at snagging the little details I may,
or may not, include in the book.
 |
| Harley SuperLow Sportster |
For instance, I walked into the local Harley Davidson store
recently and cornered a salesman. “I’m a writer,” I said, and paused to let the enormity of
those three stunning words sink into the consciousness of the salesman, whom I’ll
call Chris, “and my character is 71 years old, rich, and he wants a Harley
Davidson. So, think of me as being that
man. I want to buy a Harley. What will be your response?”
Chris, a young man in his thirties, with short brown hair
and no noticeable tattoos, hesitated a moment before jumping into the land of “what
if.” “Do you have a motorcycle
endorsement?”
“No.”
“Do you ride motorcycles?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you take this motorcycle safety class.” He
pointed to an advertisement on the counter for SW Motorcycle Safety. “Once you pass that, you don’t have to take
the driver’s test for the endorsement.
You just hand your ‘pass’ slip from the class over to the DMV.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t want to do that. I just want to buy the motorcycle.”
Chris lowered his voice, and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you plan to get it home? Did you have someone here to drive it?”
I jutted my chin. “I
can’t ride it home?”
He ignored the question.
“Would you like me to put it in my trailer and drive it to your house?”
I smiled. “Yes, that
would be very nice. Thank you.” I walked over to a row of smaller
machines. “Which one of these would you
recommend, and money is no object.”
Now both eyebrows shot up.
“Money is no object?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes.
“It is fiction.”
“Oh, that’s right.
Okay, well, how tall are you?”
“Does it matter?” I
figured if I could touch the ground while astride the bike, everything would be
gravy.
“Yes. You have to
reach the pegs for your feet.”
“Oh,” I said. I ran
my gaze up and down the salesman. “How
tall are you?”
He shot me a grin. “I’m
5’11” but I’d tell you six feet.”
I nodded. I’d shave
off twenty-five pounds if asked my weight if I were female, but right now I was
a male. “Yeah, okay, I’m six feet. Really.”
“Okay, then.” He
patted the handle bar of one of the motorcycles. “This one here…” He squinted at me. “Are you planning to ride this on the road,
or off-road?”
How would I know what the character in my book planned? I hadn’t written it yet. But not wanting to limit the potential, I hauled
in a breath and gave the salesman a smirk.
“Maybe I’ll want to do both.”
“Then get a Kawasaki .”
My mouth dropped open.
“I want a Harley,” I demanded.
“You don’t know how to ride, you don’t want to take the
safety course, and you might ride off-road.
You need to get an entry level Kawasaki ,
or some small bike, about 250cc, and ride it for six months. If you still want a Harley after that, come
back.
I couldn’t believe how rude he was being to my
character. How would my character handle
this? “But I want a Harley, and I want
it now, and I’ll pay cash.”
He placed his hands on his hips. “Look, you lay a Kawasaki down and you can pick it up and keep
going. You lay one of these bikes down
and it’ll be fifteen hundred to three thousand bucks to repair it. These are not dirt bikes. They are Harleys,”
he said, as if this explained everything.
He pointed to a shiny chromed plate on the side. “This right here is going to cost bucks if
you lay it down.”
I thought about telling him I had the money to repair it,
but then I realized it wasn’t about the money.
It was about the horror of someone being callus enough to allow a
Hog to get injured. “Look,” my character
stood his ground, “I want to get a bike today.
I’ll worry about driving it later.
What one are you going to sell me?”
He sighed, and scrutinized me. “Are you pretty buff?”
Dear Lord. “Um…no.” I could feel the heat wash over my face. “I’m seventy-one, and have spent my life
running a very large company.”
He snorted.
“Fine. I’d recommend this little
bike here. It is about 500 pounds. Probably be okay for you.” He pointed to a Sportster.
 |
| Harley Road King |
A huge man, whose sleeveless t-shirt exposed multiple
tattoos down both arms, shook his head and sent his long hair flying. “Center of gravity is too high on that
bike. You want the Road King.”
Chris showed me the Road King, but it was 800 pounds and my
character worried he might not be able to pick it up if he put it down. I pointed to the sportster. “Okay, I’ll take it. What about helmets and jackets and stuff.”
He led me over to some helmets and expounded upon all the
safety features. I decided on a full,
wrap-around helmet. After all, my
character is obnoxious, but not stupid. Then
he lead me over to the women’s’ jackets.
He pulled out a pink leather one.
“Now, this jacket is cute, but it shouldn’t be worn for riding. There is no protection.” He pulled out another jacket with some
colorful leather trim. “This one is
still cute, but has protection--”
“Why are you showing me women’s jackets?”
He laughed. “Oh
yeah. Forgot.” We strolled over to the men’s section and I
picked out a top-of-the-line jacket before he turned to the boots
section. “If you do end up going to the
safety class, which I really recommend, then you can’t wear shoes like this.”
He held up his foot sporting a gray running shoe. “You have to have a boot that covers at least
the ankle.”
“Hmmm, I don’t know.
I don’t want those big ones that go to the knee. I wear expensive Italian leather loafers.”
“Follow me. I’ll show
you what I wear.” I had to jog to keep up with his "six foot" frame as we rushed through the
store, and down a hall past an “Employees only” sign. He unlocked a door and we stepped inside an
office. He showed me his gear, all very
nice, but my character wasn’t really interested in boots with a metal strip on
the side for scraping on the pavement when leaning into a curve. My character didn’t think he’d be going that
fast.
Chris also showed me a few antique Harleys in the back of
the store. In all, I was there over an
hour. How much of the info he gave me will end up in my book? I don’t know. Maybe only a line or two, but at least I know
something about the subject now. They
say you should write what you know, after all.
Editors note: Melanie Sherman would like to thank Chris for his time and patience.
