Blue Flame
There has never been, and likely will never be, a gift this memorable. I’ve heard people say that money can’t buy happiness, and in some respects, that’s spot on. On the other hand, green dollars can buy a thing that makes someone’s socks go up and down.
In my youth, I got it stuck in my brain that certain birthday years should have more emphasis than others… 13, 16, 21, 25, and any year ending in “0” - 30, 40… I’d been married to Brad for a few years, and his 30th birthday was a few months away. I wanted it to be a big deal, but had yet to put my finger on what his gift would be.
We used to stow away to a local ice cream shop and indulge, about a mile walk from our place. One day, Brad said he had something to show me. We hopped in the car and headed toward the ice cream shop. Like one of Pavlov’s Dogs, my saliva production increased as we got closer. But, he turned onto a different street.
I slurped my saliva. No ice cream.
He pulled into a custom motorcycle shop, his face glowing. Author Roald Dahl once wrote, “If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”
His face was lit.
I slurped more saliva, trying to look enthusiastic as we walked in the front doors. And there, Brad introduced me to Blue Flame, a custom Harley soft-tail. Now he was drooling. He pointed out intricate details of how the bike had been modified from its original frame, was uniquely painted, had special blue lights, chop fenders, a FAT back tire, and some off-the-charts S&S engine. He sat on it and commented how it fit him perfectly, which is pretty awesome for a 6’ 7” guy.
Then he looked at me, smiling like a Cheshire Cat. I guess I was supposed to say something, because he didn’t say anything. He just beamed.
Hands on my hips, I smiled back and said, “Are you crazy? You’re a physical therapist. You help people who have survived bike accidents. You know what that looks like. Keep dreaming, babe.”
He was undaunted. His smile didn’t diminish. In his bliss, I wondered if maybe he didn’t hear me?
I knew at that moment that I would get the motorcycle for his 30th birthday. In the meantime I would play hardball, super-glued to my you’re-never-having-that point of view. I vowed to myself when I married that I would never be the type of wife who told him how to live, or what thrills he could experience and when. I was a commercial pilot with instrument rating, and if he’d told me I couldn’t fly airplanes because he was afraid of an accident, I would have turned a blind eye toward him.
Over the next few months, I worked with the Harley owner to secretly arrange for payment and delivery of Blue Flame to our home. Brad and I would go to the shop, he’d drool and sit on Blue Flame, the owner would remark that I wore the pants in the family because Brad couldn’t have the bike. I reminded Brad of the time he tried to outrun the police on a moped when he was 12 years old. He was caught, of course, because mopeds are about as fast as a weed eater. He had already demonstrated poor judgement, and I was sure that would continue through adulthood.
To really surprise him, I decided to give the bike early, two months before his birthday. I sent Brad on a hours-long scavenger hunt around a major city to find various surprises. I’d set up “stops” at several of our friends’ houses, where Brad would find a note with instructions about where to go next, when to stop at 7-Eleven for a Big Gulp, and finally when to return home. While he was on his quest, the bike was delivered, and I was assured by the owner that he would cry about this gift.
I laughed, “He’s not going to cry. It’s a motorcycle.”
“Just watch. It’s more than a motorcycle - it’s glorious!”
His final stop took him to our neighbor’s house where he found a gift to open. Inside he found our garage door opener. We walked around to the garage and as the door rose, sunbeams shot out of his face. Breathless, he asked, “Did you rent this for the weekend?”
I guess the balloons and Happy Birthday sign taped to the bike weren’t enough of a giveaway. “Blue Flame is yours, babe.”
And he cried - crocodile tears. Then he bawled, and blubbered some words, “You’re the best wife ever.”
And, it was well with my soul.
Everything changed at his 31st birthday the next year, when he received a wet/dry vac and a ladder. Even after attaching a gift coupon to each rung of the ladder… foot rubs, dinner out, and so forth, he still raves about the 30th birthday and complains about his 31st to this day.
Nothing can outdo a Harley.
