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Love and Motorcycles in Amsterdam By Teddy Bear I guess the best part of being a biker is the people you meet on the road. Not only here in the good old U.S.of A. but world wide. On a recent trip to Amsterdam, Holland I met up with some interesting folks indeed. I was there covering the grand opening of the world's first Hells Angels owned and operated Harley-Davidson dealership, HarleyWorld. I had no idea what to expect upon getting off the plane at Schipol Airport. This was my first trip to the fair city and from what I had heard and read it was going to be a blast. |
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| I have to tell
you in advance that I have been known to be a bit of a party animal and
Amsterdam welcomes folks like me with open arms and open legs.
I was met by some of the "locals" at the airport and told them I had a hotel room reserved. "Bah" they said, "you're going to be our guest for the week. We have connections in this town and we like to treat our friends right." |
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| And treat me right they did. The Red Light district is where all the illicit action occurs in Amsterdam and the people taking care of me knew it like the back of their hands. From the Club Excalibur to The Other Place and every "Green Café" in between I was treated like visiting royalty. I was brought to strip joints where even a die hard old school biker would blush at the goings on and taken to mighty ancient cathedrals dripping with history as well. It was sort of unnerving to be sitting at an outside table at a local hash bar, toking away at a fat blunt and have a gorgeous blonde female cop stroll by and smile at me as only a lady in uniform can. | |
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| One
morning I was strolling through the many canals that make up the city
when I noticed a rescue truck and a scuba diver perched on the shore.
There was a 20ish Nordic kid in tears standing by. My first thought from
the tears in his eyes was that a loved one had an accident and they were
there for the gruesome recovery. Being a New Yorker I couldn't just walk
away. I had to see what was going on. To my amazement when the crane
started lifting its load out of the water it was indeed his loved one. A
1980 Moto Guzzi. After a night of drunken revelry, Pavel had neglected
to chain his ride up and some hooligans thought it would be fun to see
if it would float.
The bike was hauled out dripping dirty canal sewage from every orifice. |
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| I offered a few words of consolation and my hosts offered to help out in repairing the Guzzi at no charge. The soggy bike was loaded in the back of a van and hauled away to the motorcycle emergency room. After two days of intensive care, We phoned Pavel up to tell him that his Moto Guzzi had survived the operation. I was truly amazed that after being submerged in salt water for over 12 hours, the only repairs needed were a new battery, some electrical replacement and a good fluid flushing. Pavel showed up to reclaim his pride and joy. It started right up and he rode off into the sunset grinning from ear to ear. | |
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| Back
at the Club Excalibur that evening, we were all commenting on the
durability of the Moto Guzzi. Having witnessed first hand the damage and
the easy fix, I came away with a new respect for the bikes manufacturer
and the fine folks who did a good deed free of charge for another rider
in distress.
TB
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