The King

It’s amazing the amount of emotion a compilation of carbon fiber and billet aluminum can conjure when mixed with the thunder and smell of burnt fuel!

During my short time with Confederate, I’ve both felt it within myself, and seen it on the faces of those who have had the pleasure of witnessing a Confederate motorcycle. The lucky ones are those who chance upon one of us at a gas station or food stop. The luckier ones have seen us on the roadways, wondering what manner of machine could look and sound as the beast that just passed them by. The luckiest are those who have had their whole perception of the motorcycle changed forever by riding one.

But, there are also some gray areas in between. For instance the man that felt as though he and his long, low, chrome, shiny painted chopper were king. The King had chosen to ride down one of thousands of Alabama back-mountain roads. You know the type: various styles of corners, lots of elevation changes, green hard-woods all around, a real sport-biker’s afternoon. As The King tools along, an apparition-of-sorts (recognized by those who know it well as an F131) meets him in the middle of a long sweeper in the opposing lane. By the look on his face, The King, with his long black trench coat, chrome skid-lid and all his regalia, wondered who would dare bring any other piece of American thunder into his kingdom! Worse yet, why would they ride dressed like they thought they were on some Japanese sport bike; and at such a clip!

Surely The King had just begun to forget the moment and return to concentrating on piloting his ponderous steed, as he was passed from behind. Losing sight of the apparition again as it poured through a corner. It was obviously far more nimble and capable than its stature portrayed.

As I whipped the Hellcat around just short of the stop sign for another pass, I saw The King had finally rounded the last corner far down the straight. And then, when we crossed paths for the third time, I was shown, once more, how a truly remarkable machine can touch someone deep inside.

I saw the transformation; all arrogance had gone from the king. I like to think that he began regretting the purchase of that long, low, shiny chopper, and to wish for something that could truly inspire him. Inspire him to grow within himself emotionally, as well as to grow as a rider.

I should have stopped and given him a card.

Jason Reddick


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July 2007
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