Culture Shock

On the way home from kayaking the Clackamas River this morning we stopped off at the local Harley-Davidson dealership where Scott had to return a part he bought but didn't need. As we pulled into the parking lot in the 20-year-old Nissan loaded with kayaks and dog I already felt out of place. A band was playing bad music really loud, a cook was serving up grilled burgers to leather-clad, tattooed, beer-bellied biker types and the parking lot was full of shiny chromed Harleys. We casually made our way into the store dressed from head to toe in Patagonia outdoor clothes and Chaco sandals, dog in tow. When we started looking around for a summer riding jacket for me (I already own winter gear, but don't have any warm weather protective clothing), Lacey, the "motorclothes specialist" jumped on the opportunity to outfit me in something more appropriate. This Harley thing is still pretty new for me and I struggle with the vast abyss between my usual friends and the people we ride Harleys with. Culture shock, for sure!