I sold the Victory. I’ve been wanting a Valkyrie and recently got the chance to get one at good price. That made three bikes in my garage, and that was just one too many. I’ll keep the Magna because it’s smaller, and a different type of ride. The Victory and the Valkyrie are both big touring bikes, and they were the redundant pair. Obviously I’m keeping the one I just bought, so that means Vic is the one headed for classifieds.
I listed it on a couple of internet sites and put a classified ad in the paper. I had quite a bit of interest in the first couple of weeks, but nobody actually closed the deal. Nobody had any money. A lot of people offered to trade for it, and some of the offers were interesting. But I wanted to sell Vic to pay off the Valkyrie. Eventually, the phone calls got further and further apart and I began to be afraid I might not be able to sell it quickly for what I thought was a reasonable price.
After about a month, I took out another classified ad in the paper. I also cleaned it up and set it in the driveway of a friend, who had a good location as far as traffic goes and had quickly moved a couple of vehicles for other people. Two days later I got a call from the classified ad. It turns out it had erroneously been listed under “boats for sell.”
I met the nice couple at my friends house one morning, and watched as the man took it on a test ride. My friend had shined the bike up in a way I never had. The chrome gleamed in the bright sunlight, and the paint looked better than I ever remember it. After showing me his mc license, the man mounted Vic and pulled out onto the road with a skill born of many miles in the saddle. He was a big man of about my size, and he looked good on the bike.
I watched Vic leap down the road under the potential buyer with a grace and eagerness I’d never witnessed. I wondered if I had ever fit him as well as this man did, and was surprised to find myself experiencing what I can only think of as jealousy.
When the guy came back, he pulled into the driveway with an ear to ear grin that told me he and Vic had gotten along famously. His wife asked him, “Well, what do yo think.” He just gave her a big thumbs up, and I knew the deal was done. I couldn’t quite figure how why I wasn’t happier about it. He and his wife talked for a minute, and the lady reminded her husband that they were obligated to go look at another motorcycle a friend of theirs was selling. They left to go look at the other bikes, but the man and I both knew he’d be back.
I came back home to finish some chores I’d started, but had every intention of heading back and taking Vic on one last ride before the deal was done. But shortly after getting home, my wife fell off a ladder and gashed her head. I was sitting in the emergency room with her when I got the call that the couple was on their way back to pick up Vic.
My friend had all of the paperwork and was able to complete the deal without me being there. By the time we got out of the ER, the deal was done, and Vic was gone. At that time, my mind was on my wife, and I didn’t think too much about the bike. But once we got home, it hit me that my Big Vic was really gone. We had a lot of good times on that bike. It was the one my wife and I took to San Antonio for a week. We made several overnight trips on it, and it never once let us down. I think it was worse because I didn’t get to see it that last time, and actually hand over the keys myself.
So, here I sit at 3:00 in the morning, unable to sleep with a lot of good memories and a good bike on my mind. He’s been gone less than 10 hours, and I know he’s got a good home. But I miss him.
— Guy Wheatley