The maintenance kid and the Knuckle

There's this kid who works at the gym I go to- he's kind of a squirly one, but there's something about him. I don't know the kid well, but I go out of my way to talk to him when we cross paths because everyone else doesn't. He's just the guy who fixes everything that breaks, right? No need to talk to that guy.

Anyway, I ride the 53 up the other day and go in to do my thing. "You ride a bike?" Yeah man. "What is it?" It's an old Harley. "Can you show it to me?" I sort of tripped on that one for a minute and just looked at him. Then the profoundness of it hit me; he was really interested and didn't have the knowledge to figure out the details himself, so he just asked. You don't get much of that these days.

Yeah, I'd be real happy to show you the bike, let's go take a look.

After looking the 53 over and answering his questions we chatted for a while. The kid told me his Grandfather rode a Knuckle as a young man, but when he went off to war his (the grandfather's) father sold the bike to support his drinking problem, thinking the son was going to die at war anyway and wouldn't need the bike. I choked.

Maintenance kid then pulled out a picture of his grandfather, and in that picture there was a gangly, aloof looking young guy standing beside a bone-stock Knuckle with bobbed fenders, no muffler, and no pogo seat stick.

How old was your grandpa here? "Nineteen, I think, this is just before he went to the war." How long did he ride the bike before his dad sold it? "He bought it when he was 14 and made it run. His dad sold it after he was gone for a year." Five years.

I can't and won't ask that kid for a copy of that picture, it's just too much his to share. It was as beautiful as the story was poignant though and it's pretty crazy that the kid carries the picture on him.