Once the meeting was over I went and printed off a list of Honda dealerships and started making calls. In about 30 minutes I'd found the one that I wanted and was ready to go. They told me to find out about insurance and come on in. I promptly called my insurance agent. He is on vacation, so I was helped by his office staff they were very nice and said they would get me a quote, "So long as it isn't one of those um, well um, those kind of bikes." "What kind of bikes are you talking about?" I reply. "Well, Ron (my insurance agent) calls them, well, um, I don't know if I can say it." "A crotch rocket?", I ask. "Yes" she giggles. (Let me stop here and laugh and feel sorry for anyone who can't say "crotch rocket" without felling dirty and embarrased.) Really wanting insurance and know that if I say yes that it was a crotch rocket, Ron would probably turn me down cold, so I correct her and say, "I don't know if its a crotch rocket, but technically it is a sport bike." She says, "Oh I see" and continues to get the information that she needed from me to get the quote together. Five minutes later I'm off the phone with a quote in hand and the understanding that I just needed to call the vin number in over the weekend and they'd issue a policy on Monday. I then procede to call back the bike shop and tell them to get the thing ready, because I'm coming to get it RIGHT NOW. The salesman said sure, just have your insurance company fax over an insurance binder and we will get it setup and ready to go. Like most other normal people in the world I have no idea what an insurance binder is, so I just call back the insurance company and ask them to fax the insurance binder over to the bike shop so I could get my bike. They started to do it, but then there was a long silence. Then I hear, "Aaron, we have a problem here." Which I already knew because the witty banter that I'd been enganged in up to that point with the person on the other end of the line stopped. It was at that moment I knew I wasn't going to be getting the bike that night. She (not the same person I spoke to on the first call) explained that American Family would not issue a policy on that bike. My heart sank. No binder no bike no love. Where's the love? I have to then call back the salesman at the bike shop and tell him I won't be able to get the insurance binder that night and that I might not get it until Monday when the insurance companie's motorcycle specialists. The salesman asks me to come on in and fill out all of the necessary paperwork, and we would just finish it up when I get the insurance taken care of. So I do, and I then spend the next 4 hours wiping drool off my chin in anticipation of the new bike.
Upon leaving the bike shop I head straight for Lawrence to my friend John's house warming party. Have you ever been at a party and get really drunk too quickly? I'm there about an hour and half and know that if I take one more drink that there will be dire consequences. I decide that it would be best to slow down at that time and pace myself. I paced myself too well and went from completely smashed to sober and developing a hang over. You know you've messed up when you leave the party alone and with a hang over. I only mention this, because I stayed at the party until about 2:30 in the morning when I decided to leave for home. I arrive home at about 3, and am so exhausted that I crawl into bed completely clothed. I woke up in that condition only 4 and 1/2 hours later. Why I woke up I have no idea, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the GAWDAMNEDFUGGIN birds chirping outside my window. The sleep had not helped the hangover, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I started to think about the bike and how that might my pounding head. I decided to do something about the lack of insurance situation. Geico is d'bomb.
What followed was about 5 hours of screaming boredom while I waited for the bike shop to do all of the things that needed to be done to sell me the bike. Eventually I got out of there and was ready to take on the 30 minute ride home. On that ride I lucked out big time. I zipped right past a speed trap doing 97 MPH. The cop didn't even give me a second glance. I don't know what he was waiting for? There are few people in that vicintiy who deserved a ticket more than I. In my own defence I had no idea I was going that fast when I looked down. When you are on the motorcycle in traffic, you are spending most of your time making sure that you are safe and will continue to be that way. Let me just say that I cannot remember a time that I felt safe after looking at my speedometer. Crashes aren't caused by me going faster than the speed limit. Crashes are caused by the someone not paying attention to the road and the conditions aroud them. My goal is to drive safely with regards to the traffic around which is made of many components. Speed is one of these, but in my eyes a minor one. Any way, I dodged a bullet with that speed trap and decided to slow things down to somewhere near the speed limit.
I'm sure that everybody is asking what the hell kind of bike did you get. It's an 800 CC Honda VFR800.
I also have color matched luggage that attaches to the bike on the way.
That's enough of this story for now. I will go into the rest of it later.
No comments:
Post a Comment