Going all CMG: Our 2019 fails and recoveries

DUSTIN: The key fob

Last summer, my friend Tara and I decided to explore the winding roads along Ontario’s Escarpment through Hamilton and Burlington aboard a couple of Harley-Davidsons. At the last moment, after checking the weather forecast, I decided to swap my gear for a more comfortable mesh riding jacket and summer gloves. If you know anything about new Harleys and you have an IQ over 12, which apparently I don’t, you’ve likely already predicted where this is going.

After several hours, we stopped to refuel. The moment I shut off the bike, my heart sank, for it was then I realized the key fob for the Sport Glide was in my other jacket. Most new Harley-Davidsons have proximity fobs, like cars, and the key doesn’t need to be in the ignition – just in your jacket pocket. The jacket sitting in my garage some 70 kilometres away. After topping off the tank, I pushed the bike away from the pumps into a free parking space.

With only myself to blame, I hung my head in shame as I approached Tara who was following my behavior with curiosity. Signaling a key motion with my hand while shaking my head, she immediately knew what had transpired. She then laughed and tapped the passenger seat of her Street Rod. “Hop on, bitch!” she said, no doubt smiling from ear to ear under her helmet. And hop on I did.

On the bright side, the ride home and back gave me the opportunity to become a better passenger and enjoy the scenery. It also provided endless entertainment and future ribbing opportunities for my riding partner. With any luck, I learned my lesson and it won’t happen again. But it probably will.

Click Page 5 to read Jeff’s whinging about the California motel