Good Vibrations Read Online Free Page A

bikes. That, she reassured me, would be no problem, so I groped for my papers and credit card.
    First I gave her details of the machines themselves.
    Fine.
    Next, she asked me where they would be garaged.
    I chewed my pencil. They wouldn’t be garaged at all, of course, they would be on the road. But I doubted that this was what she wanted to hear.
    Doing the right thing as it turned out, I was mean with the truth. She needed to believe the bikes would be kept locked away, so I gave her Clark’s address and advised her that we would be doing some touring. That satisfied the form she was filling in, and we swam along merrily until the final question.
    â€˜What are the numbers of your Maryland driving licences?’
    â€˜We don’t have any, but we have international driving permits that are recognised by the Federal Highways Authorities.’
    A pause.
    Then, ‘Just one moment, sir.’
    I stood by to dish out a plastic number that would bill me for the promised $600.
    â€˜Sir, we cannot issue insurance to anyone domiciled in Maryland who does not hold a Maryland driving licence.’ Tracy was back on the line and she was not carrying glad tidings.
    â€˜Yes you can,’ I contradicted politely, imagining her a simple country girl who needed coaching in international matters. ‘Your firm already quoted me. They knew I was from the UK and nobody said anything about Maryland licences.’ Then I reminded her about the international driving permits.
    â€˜What is your quote number, sir?’
    With a sick feeling in my stomach, I had to admit I didn’t have one. I had been optimistically content with the glib reassurance that H-D would deliver the goods. It had all seemed so simple at the time.
    â€˜I’m sorry, then, you must be mistaken.’ Tracy was getting going.
    â€˜No, I’m damn well not. I’ve shipped my bike here on the strength of your company’s promise.’
    Tracy didn’t want to hear about that. She held her stand and her composure without flinching.
    â€˜I’m sorry, sir, I cannot issue insurance unless you have…’
    â€˜Yes. OK. You’ve made yourself clear. I’ll try buying insurance locally.’
    The receiver fell like a guillotine.
    What now?
    Clark was on the way out to meet a group of well-wishers with no funds. I told him my troubles.
    â€˜Jeez,’ he shook his head. ‘Nothing’s ever easy, is it? We have our own problems getting insured for out-of-state vehicles. If we’re living away, we just register the bike in the state where we have the licence. You aren’t supposed to, but it generally does the trick.’
    â€˜But with my licence, it shouldn’t make any difference what state the bikes are registered in.’
    â€˜Don’t you believe it. Bureaucrats and stupid regulations breed in this country. Getting anything done that doesn’t fit the boxes on their forms is so difficult that you sometimes feel like giving up. Try my agents here in town, and the best of luck.’
    He handed me their business card, hopped into his huge pick-up and buzzed off through the trees.
    Clark’s agent gave me the same answer as Harley but was less polite about it. I began to feel a dark foreboding.
    Roz tried next, with a company plucked from the Yellow Pages. She gave her man the cultivated, low voice on the phone line, all sweet reason. Not at all like me, now flat on the sofa with smoke coming out of my ears. It made no difference. Several calls later the message was crystal clear.
    We had a serious problem: two motorcycles ready to go, a major investment in time and money, and no apparent way of making them legal. I have been in one uninsured accident in the US; it involved a boat, a man in New York City rich enough to take responsibility for his misjudgements but too proud to acknowledge them, and a lawsuit. It was not an experience to repeat.
    â€˜What happens with aliens who live and