Better Late Than Never

Sep 29, 2012 View Comments by

My friend Norb and his wife Bobby have been married for about 40 years, and, even though Bobby was raised only 150 yards from the front door of Harley’s 35th street factory, she was by no means a “biker chick.” In fact her parents had always forbidden her from hanging around “those people,” which makes you wonder how Norb got past the front door. You see before there ever was a Happy Days, and a Fonz, Norb was The Fonz on his 45 H-D with suicide shifter and James Dean attitude.

As fate would have it they were married, and lived happily ever after; Bobby, Norb, and their ever present black Harley Ultra Glide. Norb rode every chance he got, joined the local HOG chapter, became a Road Capitan, and hyperactive participant. Bobby had a family to raise and a successful career in the health care industry–some would say she practiced on Norb. All was right with the world, Norb the high riding CPA and Bobby the “non-riding” wife.

But as we all know, things change. Straight out of the blue, Bobby wants to ride along!

And not just ride along; she wants to become a card-carrying member of the Women Of HOG! Before you can say “Willie G” she is shopping at the Harley dealership, helping plan weekend rides, filling up the Poker Run Book, and picking out her own helmet and complementary leathers! Mom and Dad must be spinning in their graves; she’s a …Biker Chick! And as for Norb? He couldn’t be happier, shoot, it’s like he’s on a second honeymoon for crying out loud.

But, what the heck? Things, and especially people, don’t change overnight, what happened to Bobby, alien abduction? Maybe, but there are no scars to prove it. There has to be a cause and effect, and there is, actually a number of causes and effects. First, Bobby retired, and anyone who has made that separation knows how time management changes. By no means second, she lost a life long friend to cancer, and she, and other friends, started their own health battles. Together, these speed bumps made her take stock of her life, the time she shared with Norb, and just how long the rest of that road might be. Moreover, how much better that road, no matter how short, would be if it were ridden together.

As you read this, Norb is trading in his two year old black Ultra Classic on a brand new Ultra in her favorite midnight blue color. Can his and hers tats be far behind? Ride on.

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About the author

A Wisconsin farm boy, I learned how to ride a cow, before a horse and way before a motorcycle. I first started riding on my 16th birthday and I took my first real ride at my party: I pulled a wheelie and dug a trench in the lawn, which sent the bike in one direction and me in another. I was irrevocably hooked!