Elementary

Elementary
Yeah, yeah, you have heard the stories. “I walked 5 miles to school through blinding blizzards, in the dark, uphill, both ways! Had to chop the wood and start the fire. Had to go chip ice to thaw on the stove for drinking and get the oil for the lamps. The one room schoolhouse was a no nonsense place. Some of that is true but not for me. For my parents it was. Well, not the uphill both ways part! I mean come on! There were some flats!

No, I entered the school system around 1954. The future had arrived. I went to school flying my own personal jet pack as promised by Popular Mechanix. Upon arriving at the crystalline structure a moving conveyor sorted the arriving little Einstein’s by IQ’s and moved them with precision into their various rooms of study of which there were hundreds. We would sit in our knowledge chairs donning the learning helmets and the real wealth of modern society was injected directly into our little sponge brains. In the words of a number of musical artists over time “Ah, what a wonderful world it would be!”.

Reality bites!

For real I rode the big yellow bus filled with strangers and a real mean woman (I think woman) driving it to my modern school. On day one the driver laid down the law to you. “You will not lollygaggle! Get on the bus, find a seat, sit down and shut up. You will not leave your seat for any reason whatsoever. When we arrive at the school you will wait until the bus stops and I tell you to proceed before you get up. The front rows will go first and then the second rows will follow until the bus is empty. No pushing, no shoving and no talking. Once you are off the bus you are on your own and someone else’s problem! Got it?!!” Boy Howdy!

She had a great big mirror overhead to watch us as she drove and I think she had independent sight in each eye because it sure seemed like she was ALWAYS watching us. It wasn’t long…maybe a day or two before a kid decided to test her. Suddenly the bus slowed AND CAME TO A STOP! She was out of her seat in a flash and was lifting the kid straight off the seat by his ear. I think spittle was flying off her lips as she screamed at the kid. Slowly her anger abated and she let the kid settle back down into the seat, obviously traumatized, scared for life by the bus driving ghoul. But the point was well made and silence was achieved and we were all little angels. That is until the day it happened.

I grew up on a farm with my grandfather who was no nonsense. His stance was you do something at school to get in trouble and you’ll be in double trouble at home. I tried to stay well away from trouble. So it was with horror that I watched as the bus I was going home on went right by the farm where I was to get off. Now I was a little late getting on the bus and as so I was towards the back of the bus and I guess the magic eye of the bus driver missed me. I was certainly not going to break the code of silence that kept the lunatic driver in her seat and her ear tearing claws off my useful and highly regarded ears, so I sat in silence. Slowly the miles piled up and the bus emptied but as it did darkness fell and by the time the last other kid got off, the bus was dark. It was then that she turned on the lights and spotted me sitting all alone in the back of the bus. I could see the eye open wide, much wider than I had ever seen it get ever before. I just got chills just remembering it.

She slammed the bus to a stop and was up out of her throne and down the isle in an instant. “Why! Why are you still here?” she yelled. “Why didn’t you peak up? You dumb or something?”. At this point I had decided that she was in as much trouble as me and Grandpa would throw her in the pig pen along with me so I thought “Who is the dumb one here?” but I said. “Get me home!”. Well, by the time she drove the cold rattletrap of a bus back to the farm my parents had got home and they and my grandparents had called the school and the bus driver’s home. My grandfather had a few confidential words with the bus driver and she and I were both lucky we didn’t end up in a slop pail. But in the end I think everyone was relieved. I was never really scared of the bus driver after that and I think I even remember her smiling once or twice. And I was NEVER EVER forgotten again.

I still had her as a bus driver once I got to the sixth grade and I had put on some height and weight. I was riding home one day and a group of kids were telling this red haired kid they were “gonna pound him” when they got off the bus. They all lived in this kind of lake platt where the bus couldn’t turn around so they all got dropped off at once and had to walk in. I told them to leave him alone because he was smaller and his father worked on my family’s cars and was a good man. They made the mistake of telling me to mind my own business. So as they got off I went with them but the bus driver stopped me. I told her what was going to happen and that she was not going to stop me. By this time they were shoving the red haired boy around outside. She stepped aside and I launched off the bus and mopped up the 5 or 6 kids who were by then pummeling him. I set those kids off running and I know more than one had a bloody nose. She held the bus there until it was over and I got back on. She never said a word. The red haired kid never had any more trouble with the punks and I got to know him pretty good. His father died of cancer a few years later. He sure had a lot of friends. Then about 20 years later I ran into the red haired kid and let me tell you, no one was going to pick a fight with him then. He had turned into a wall of muscle. It was good to see him again. He had become a top mechanic and was still a good guy just like his father.

The school itself was a marvel of technology; it was a brick structure with 8 class rooms complete with steam heat in both cold and hot weather. I remember the echo in the main hall. If you were walking it alone it sounded like your feet were a half mile away. Floors in the classrooms were hardwood with a thousand creaks per room. The teacher knew these creaks by heart. They could avoid them altogether to sneak up on someone not paying attention or use a creak for punctuation when trying to make a point. One teacher would rock back and fourth when she read out loud and used a creak for a metronome.

The boy’s bathroom had gang urinals along the walls and in the middle was a community hand wash station that was foot operated sending a hundred little jets of water into the big granite basin. Sort of a wash fountain if you will. I don’t know what the girls had in their retreat but a couple of boys did, by either daring them or just shoving them in to the piercing screams of the little darlings. School began at 9:00am sharp and no one walked in late. You brought lunch boxes but the school did have milk you could buy if you were rich. I had a Three Stooges lunch box at first but one of the teachers thought they were not role models and suddenly we were shopping for a more appropriate theme. I settled on a USN Nautilus submarine on one side and the USN George Washington on the other. Subs were cool!

Along that same note we were still in the cold war and at least once a week we had to crawl under the desk and shield our heads and eyes until the all clear. Just incase some red man somewhere far off tossed a nuke at Rhode Island. I figured if he did my grandfather would get him too. But it was still pretty cool to break up a math class by diving under your desk and giggling while checking out Wendy Applebee. I really don’t remember that happening, but if I knew then what I know now!

We got our Measels Vaccine and our sugar cube laced with Polio Vaccine. We were checked for lice and cooties often. Our hearing and sight was tested by diabolitical machinery with androids wordlessly twisting dials and flipping switches.

We had a snack around 10:30 to keep up our sugar levels, that was usually a piece of fruit but some brought Twinkies or such. Lucky stiffs! Quickly we were back at work until noon.

I think I was in the third grade when they put an addition on the school. Two new classrooms and a big cafeteria filled out the place nicely. Very big matronly looking ladies dished out wonderous meals out of large steaming pans filled with viddles. I remember the American Chop Suey, and the chocolate pudding with a peanut butter crumble on it was to die for. Most of the other stuff was to die from. So it was hot lunches after that. You got an hour to eat. If you finished half of your meal you could go out for recess for the rest of the hour. Jailbreak!!!

The schoolyard was another world. You could choose from Baseball, Red Rover (Dodgeball) or Army while the girls stood around giggling or playing jump rope. There were a few rules. No roughhousing, no fighting, no leaving the school grounds and never ever get wet. Maybe I better get a little specific on this one. Never get wet when Mrs. Hope the 5^th grade teacher was the recess monitor.

Now it was pretty bad in spring when the puddles were large and you were outside playing. But it was worse for the boys when the snow was piled high because that was time for snow forts and snowball fights. As we were lining up to go back in Mrs. Hope would come down the line grabbing trousers and feeling if they were wet. If they were you got pulled into another line and stood there while the others marched in to their classrooms. After they were all settled in we were led to a spare room where there were scissors and newspaper waiting. Mrs. Hope was a blur of motion AND before you knew it you were wearing a paper dress. Imagine that happening today? It was said that after wearing 4 paper dresses that you would have to wear the next one without your pants on. I wore one once and never did see anyone wear one pantsless. Let me tell you at that age and that time just the idea of having to walk back into your classroom with a dress on was enough to scar you for life! I still can’t read a newspaper front to back. Usually I read the comics and then run. Damn you Mrs. Hope! She was actually a very dedicated and very good teacher. She taught kids her whole life.

Boys will be boys and kids will be kids. Nothing but truth there, boy howdy! One of the nastiest fads was the year of the spitball. Every boy had either a straw or a Bic pen and it was the equivalent of a combat rifle. We would rip off a little piece of paper and roll it into a little ball in our mouths. Then place it into the end of one of these weapons and with a good aim and a sharp blow send this spittle encrusted wad flying into our opponents head. In every classroom was a big picture of George Washington on the wall I remember in one classroom he was subjected to a white pox. In all, about 10-15 spitballs had stuck and dried on the father of this country’s noble face.

Then we had a new kid transfer in. A kid I’ll call the engineer. I don’t know where or what he’s doing today but I can imagine him as a lead engineer in some military weapons firm. He had the nerve to take school warfare up a notch and a half. He came in one day with a spitball shooter that had a mouthpiece AND a scope. The mouthpiece enabled him to fire spitballs at unheard of velocities. They would actually snap when the hit you and while the scope was only another tube that he could look down as he fired the contraption it did seem to work. His accuracy neared 100%. He had to go on to bigger and better things. He was only there for that year but he made a big impression. I’m betting the Pentagon heard about his Super Spitball Sniper Rifle and grabbed him out of the 3rd grade and sent him straight to E-Ring or maybe hunting pojama people in some far off jungle.. Then again maybe he’s one of those crazy yahoo’s who build giant pumkin chucking guns or trebuchets that throw cars at monster truck shows.

One day sitting in class another teacher came in and whispered to our teacher who assigned the little brown nosed girl to be in charge and then both teachers left the room in a hurry. We then heard sirens, which was no big deal cause the fire station was right across the street but the sirens were in the schoolyard. Of course we all ran to the windows but could see nothing really. After a while our teacher came back and a few students came with her and class resumed. But at recess we learned of a horror story. Seems a new teacher had dropped to the floor during class and swallowed his tongue! Now most of us had never heard of such a thing and I got to tell you when you tell a kid someone swallowed their tongue two things happen. Girls shriek and go eeuuuuuu and boys start trying to do it. None of us had ever heard of Epilepsy. I guess we were just dumb country kids but we had no real clue as what had really happened. But that day I learned. Not at school although that should have been addressed there but at home I told my grandmother about it and got a lesson. Years later a family moved across the street from my parents. They had a son Jeff who was an epileptic. A good kid. One day the state police comes up fast and two really large troopers got out and went into the house. I had a few friends over and we got interested. Turned out Jeff had taken off running down into the woods and the family was scared for him. So the troopers called us to help them find him. We were off and running. We spotted him just sitting on a big rock about 500 yards into the woods. The biggest of the troopers was out of breath but walked up to the kid put his hand on his shoulder and said “Come on son, your parents are worried.”. Jeff in one fluid motion came up over the trooper’s arm and connected with the troopers “lights out” chin button. The trooper crumbled like a straw man. I think we all stood there for a good thirty seconds with our mouths open, even the other trooper was motionless. Then Jeff calmly walked back to his house. The family soon moved away.

When I got to the 6^th grade there were a few new students to get used to. Well, they were not really new because they were in the 6^th grade last year and decided to stay they liked it so much. I think one or two were there for even more than two years. One I distinctly remember was a girl who wore makeup and styled her hair and (gulp) had breasts! Again she was a one year wonder. The 6^th grade teacher’s name was Miss. Burton. She was a old skinny hawk like lady prone to shaking fits of anger. Because of this we called her Birdie. She would blow up and start screaming and shaking. One time during desk inspection (you were required to keep a neat and tidy desk) she found a kid with a messy desk. She grabbed the desk and threw it across the room spilling the mess all over the classroom. The kid let fly with some words he had obviously heard his father use. His father must have flattened a finger with a hammer or had a cow step on his toes because it was a curse that left a blue streak in the air. Birdies face puckered up and she grabbed the kid by the hair and dragged him towards the bathroom. He jerked free and next we saw him out in the schoolyard flipping the bird at Miss Burton’s window and yelling KAW…KAW…KAW, like a demented crow….like …a Birdie. I never saw him in school again after that. I did run into him around town years later. He went to Vietnam and made it through that only to shear off a telephone pole drunk on a Harley one night years later. My father’s grave is next to his and there are always new motorcycle trinkets adorning his marker here 20+ years later.

There was also the baseball incident. We played baseball out in the corner of a gravel field. The backstop was a 4 foot high chain link fence. It was just a pickup game but it was a lot of fun. I had sort of a running feud with one of the kids. A square headed, pock marked kid whose family was noted for stirring it up. He was desperately trying to fit in so he would mouth off to me quite a lot. I kind of got a kick out of it once I realized he was just talk and he didn’t really want it to escalate. So one day I’m sitting against the fence waiting for my turn at bat and he comes over and starts hitting the top of the fence right over me with the bat. I looked up at him (a new perspective cause I usually looked down) and told him to knock it off. It was then that someone called to him to come up and bat. He was in his downswing when he turned at his name being called and he clobbered me. Sent me off to dreamland he did. Everyone headed for the hills while I gently slumbered. Recess ended and everyone went inside. I awoke to an empty schoolyard and had an egg sized lump on my larger lump. By the time I was to the door of the school the teachers were coming out to find me. I told them I had tripped and fell on one of the many rocks that were out in the yard. They put ice on it and made me follow their fingers with my eyes and gave me some juice to drink and then it was back to class, lump and all. Today it would be a trip to the hospital, multiple written reports, psychological exams, lawyers and lynch mobs of parents. Of course I didn’t tell my grandfather because I didn’t need another lump to even me off.

Old Squarehead disappeared from the educational system also. But I would run into him around town and slowly he started opening his mouth again. Mostly in the company of others who knew him to be a loud mouth. His family were in tough times and I would just let him talk and say “Come on if your coming!”. I did kind of feel extra bad for him once as I was in a local dance club with a girlfriend one night . She was the daughter of a big time city cop and a hell of a lot of fun to be with. Well, Squarehead walked in with a few local boys and sat a couple tables down from us. He spotted me and started mouthing. I told the girl to ignore him but she just couldn’t. She got up walked down to his table and lit into him. She called him everything in the book all with a tough beat cop flair. I enjoyed the show for a while and then went to retrieve her when it looked like he could take no more. When he saw me coming he about knocked over another table getting out of the way. The others in his party just sat there all quiet and sweet like. I brought my now smiling girlfriend back to our table and the Squarehead gang left the building with him in tow. He finally moved to Ohio, I think where he died a few years ago. I don’t understand people like that. I did find out where all these “kids” were disappearing to. Turns out there was a school that opened for lets say “problem kids” in an old Government Nike Missile Site that was decommissioned. Something tells me there were no Proms, Graduations or Reunions from that school. Later it turned into a State Police training academy.

My old school still stands today but it is not a school anymore. The town built better more modern structures and still no personal jet packs. They sold the old school to a group of nurses who ran it for quite a few years and today I think it is a daycare.

Kids still ride the big yellow thingies. My teachers are long gone and so is my bus driver and some friends. Things change. But you know now that I think about it ….it’s still uphill both ways. Yes it is.

What I have learned in 40+ years of Riding Motorcycles

The Boneyard holds many treasures...

When you do something for 40 years you take for granted that you learn some important things. The problem is…. when you do something for 40 years it also means you have probably forgot some of those things you learned or some of the OTHER things you did over those 40 years nuked those brain cells that stored the important things you learned. So at the risk of sounding like a blithering idiot here are the things I remember that are important when……..oh yeah …when riding motorcycles. See?

Helmet use is the sign of an intelligent life form and by using one you will probably stay that way. Of course you had to be one to stay one in the first place. Do you know that commercial on TV that smashes an egg then fries it saying "This is your brain on drugs!"? Multiply that message 10,000 X and now it says "This is your brain with a little bad luck and no helmet!". But… I fully support your right to be VERY stupid. Helmet Laws Suck... so do brain injuries!...you do the math!!

You should not start on a 120 horse power Eddie Lawson Replica, a 1800Gold Wing, a Road King or a V-Max. The power and size of these bikes are too much for any beginner. The real fact is you may never be ready for a 120 HP Kenny Lawson Replica unless your name is Eddie Lawson. The odds are good that this bike is going to lay down. Hopefully not at speed but just dropped. Your bill will be much greater with one of these bikes. Not to mention that you will probably need help just to pick it up again. Get a middle range bike with real useable power. I guarantee you will love the experience of useable power. 120hp on a 500lb machine is not useable power. Been there done that! I am a very big man and 50-80 hp makes for a nice gas mileage and enough power to blow most 4 wheel skates away!

Leather is great. Just ask a cow. Maybe not in 90+ degree heat but you would be surprised how cool it can be. But the best thing about leather is it stands up to the road. It is funny how fast the road can grind through our largest organ (skin). Skin seems to have no chance when sliding down the road at anything over 0 miles an hour. Skin also has a ridiculous amount of nerve endings just under the surface. Tick those nerve endings off by sanding them down with road and my friend you will beg for morphine. Synthetic material has come a long way and can be cheaper but against road rash there is no better than leather. The next level is armored riding apparel. If that is your choice, then never mind, I guess you are Eddie Lawson.

Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! There are many articles about this in publication in books, magazines and on the web. THIS COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE!!!! FIND out about it and practice it!

Good eye protection will make it less necessary to be a pirate every Halloween from here on. Of course I cannot help you if you have a peg leg and an affinity for Rum. There you are. Chugging down the road about 45 mph when WHAM! A Kamikaze June Bug replaces that squishy thing in that hole in your face. Just take a Ladybug off the cheek at this speed and your looking for that damn kid with the BB gun. My friend took a Blackbird off the helmet and almost passed out before he could get the bike stopped. Imagine if he took it in the face? Also, think about those big SUV's on the road today with those stone throwing deep tread tires. For my first 30 years of driving I never had a broken windshield. In the past 6 years I have had 6 windshields replaced. Eyes cannot be replaced. At least functional ones cannot.

Use both brakes but never use your front brake on a slippery surface. (Grass, Ice, Painted surface, Whipped Cream, KY, ). Be especially careful of those painted lines and the direction arrows they paint on the road surface. They are slipper critters indeed and especially when a little wet with dew or mist.

They are called junkyards or boneyards and they hold riches beyond a motorcyclists dreams. They are also becoming far and few between but if you are luck enough to have one near you be prepared for the ultimate Easter Egg Hunt. Around here they are owned and operated by mighty curious people. People who curse and carry sidearms like they were born swearing and shooting. But give them the evil eye right back and they usually get the clue you are alright and let you browse. Be careful!!! There are a lot of things that can cut and tear at a careless you sending you for stitches or a tetanus shot at the least. Most shops will show you a sign stating you are on your own and at risk. Once you do it once you will most likely become a regular. It will give you ideas for projects and save you some money on your project. Rule of thumb around here is you are expected to hassle over price but if the owner thinks you are looking to take him for a ride he will kick you out and never let you back. So know your prices before you go or if you see something go home and research it before making the initial offer. It’s kinda like a dance that you both take turns leading but I you step on his toes he will bite. It can be a lot of fun either way! So get thee to the boneyard and find some booty, yer pirate!!!!!

E-Bay is a great thing. Many classic motorcycles are available there and great deals on parts can be had. When first opened E-Bay was a world of deals. Now with power sellers you have to know the product. I have seen may items on there that cost more than OEM right from a dealer and caution should be exercised, make sure to check the feedback of the seller, but I have saved hundreds of dollars using e-bay.

This tip is one you may question but always ride a little faster than the other traffic. Of course there are always those Richard Pettys who will challenge you, but ignore the ignorants (Is that a word? Well it should be!). Anyway, by going a little faster than the traffic your main problems will be in front of you and easier to deal with. It is almost impossible to deal with a problem on the side of you or overtaking you from behind.

If you run a yellow light it is time to sell the bike and get evaluated for mental impairment. Get a Playstation III and a motorcycle game. You are da man! And you’re alive to boot! It’s like taking the center square for the win…and getting it!!

A bike with bald, old or weathered tires, non-working brakes or lights will quickly put a hurt on you. Find a big cement mixer toss in some asphalt chunks, rocks and branches crawl in and hit the mix button. If you like what happens next disregard what I said in the first sentence.

Never kick a object from a moving motorcycle. A friend of mine kicked a dog that came after him at about 30mph. He broke his leg and never rode again. While we are at it if a Kamikaze Squirrel decides to play dodge-em let the squirrel get out of harms way. Do not swerve and do not hit the brakes. The guy behind you might make you into a unique hood ornament. Believe me 99% of the time the squirrel will live and 100% of the time you will too. Great odds! Think about it! But, deer, moose, cow, dog or Brontosaurus and your odds drop dramatically. Try a little harder not to hit these critters. Be alert and learn to countersteer!

If you are going to wear tinted glasses get a pair of clear or amber for twilight and night driving. Make sure you get Polycarbonate Lenses so they are shatterproof.

Oil changes cannot be done frequently enough. Your clutch is most likely a wet clutch and constantly fouling the oil. Fouled oil messes up all kinds of important things like transmissions. Your bike will love you for oil changes.

Mothers Aluminum Polish/Carnuba Wax/a Good detailers wax and Never Dull are the 4 gods of bright. Be very careful not to get anything on the brake rotor or on the tires themselves.

Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Just making sure your still paying attention. But if you haven't found out by now what it is, STOP! bookmark this site...go look up "motorcycle countersteering" using Google or whatever search engine you want to use. Then when you are a countersteering fountain of knowledge come back here and read my other gems. GO!

Tinfoil and wire are the missing things in toolboxes. Tinfoil to make TEMPORARY fuses and wire to hold things together. Unfortunately tinfoil is still pretty easy to get on the side of roads in the form of cigarette packs. Better to have a nice clean wad of real tinfoil. If you do have to use the tinfoil trick keep an eye on things when riding home. A wire harness re-install is not a fun project. Any smoke or smell shut it down and get a trailer. Once you get home FIND & FIX the problem! Do NOT keep the foil for a fuse or the next bike on the road with a real flame paint job rolling down the road could be you!

Try not to ride in the middle of a lane and never try and stop in the middle. This is the area where most vehicles drop oil and antifreeze. It is the slickest especially when wet. Tunnels never get washed off so they are the Slip n' Slide kings. Ride where their wheels go.

Splitting lanes will get you tickets AND punch your ticket. Never assume someone is going to turn even if they just turned on their blinker. Little old ladies have x-ray vision, actually much better than Superman's. They can look right through you and usually do. Assume no one sees you. You are on stealth mode and you don't want to be! Be especially wary of the cell phoners. You're just another bug for the windshield to them. Learn to countersteer!

I don't know about too many other states but this is Rhode Island and we have pot holes that will swallow motorcycles whole. They will make your lungs and kidneys change places. Learn to countersteer! And if you like a little brisk riding watch out for black ice or where they threw some sand on some ice and the ice melted. Lately around here anal homeowners have been sweeping the sand and blowing leaves in front of their houses into the road. If you encounter one of these idiots keep in mind that it is illegal and if you have the misfortune to go down because of it contact a lawyer and take possession of their house. I'm not fond of frivolous lawsuits but this is understandable. Above all just remember sand is not your friend. BAD SAND! BAD!
Aliens kidnap more motorcycle riders than ordinary people by more than 16%. Most are taken from lonely dark roads.

It is good to ride with someone else or someone should know your expected travel route. Motorcyclists can go off the road and be pretty hard to find in the country. If you are going to ride in a pack space yourselves. I have seen far too many bike pile-ups and they are not pretty.

The aliens thing I mentioned before was intentionally made up and should in no way scare anyone away from motorcycle riding. Besides the real figure is more like 7%. And most are returned intact with the right amount of internal organs.

Always do a pre-flight inspection. Only takes a second and can save a lot. Sticky throttle, bad clutch cable or gas leak will ruin your day! Taking a spare plug doesn't hurt either. And make sure you have a toolkit.

When you get your bike get a Clymer or Hayes Repair Manual too. Read it, at least go through it and get a feeling of what your motorcycle is. And the bonus is that you can do what a $60 an hr mechanic does a lot cheaper. it's really not that hard. Read the book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". It will not tell you how to fix a motorcycle but you need to read it! Trust me.........

Motorcycles are very hot after being ridden. Do not let kids or pets near them till they cool. Never drape anything over a hot motorcycle. I know a guy who hit a plastic grocery bag blowing across the street. It blew up onto his exhaust pipes and melted. Turned some nice looking pipes into trash in 1 second. Also, I used to have a moon scar on my ankle that I burned at least twice a year on my exhaust. PAIN! SEARING PAIN!

On a hot day a kick stand on tar will wait until you are at least 20 feet away before suddenly sinking into the tar and dropping $100 right out of your wallet!!

Do not park under trees (sap, bird turd and lightning). Caught in rain or HAIL? Find a bridge, tunnel or barn. Caught in tornado? Get a faster bike next time... if there is a next time. Caught in hurricane?...What the hell were you thinking?

If you tie something to the back of your seat or on a luggage rack make sure it is secure with no dangly parts and no possibility of one happening. A friend tied his jacket to his seat on a hot day and experienced an sudden unrequired panic stop when the sleeve caught up in the rear tire. He had to put Preparation H on his eyes to get them to shut so he could sleep that night. A new jacket was in order too!

Put a little Silicone Sealant /Adhesive on your license plate fasteners threads. This will stop them from vibrating off. It's easy to get it off when you want to.

Use antiseize on bolts in aluminum. Use special formulated antifreeze in water cooled aluminum motorcycle motors. Get a torque wrench and start using it. Check fluid level in you master brake reservoir make sure it is clean and full but be sure to be careful, any dropped fluid can ruin a paint job in a heartbeat. Check the fluid in your battery at least once a month. Adjust your chain or check the final drive fluid if you have a shaft.

Be careful in the summer with loose necked shirts or muscle shirts. Bugs that hit you sometimes survive and are not happy with the situation. I once rode down a park road beating my chest like King Kong cause a hornet got down my shirt. At first I thought I was having a heart attack. And if you are allergic to bee stings be advised it does happen and and fast. Between the helmet and your face is also a good place for a hornet to wedge. If you are allergic make sure to wear a full shield or windshield.
If you ride in the cool or cold, make a neck/face warmer out of an old sweatshirt sleeve. Or Mr. Warbucks you can always buy one from J.C. Whitney or Dennis Kirk the catalog kings! I got a killer clown one from Kirk. Lots of fun pulling up beside some kiddie in a car!

Most motorcycle engines are high performance engines. They love to rev. Do NOT short shift them. They want to pony up. That does not mean redline them and only in the lower gears. Just don't drive them like an old truck or like a 1/4 miler. You know what I'm saying. Neither one does these engines good. And I know at least one person who will argue with me and you know who you are, but I will not put economy fuel in a motorcycle. You'll get better gas mileage and a better running bike. I don't use top shelf either. Maybe I'm thinking back in the days of leaded gas but it gives me piece of mind. The running better could be my imagination too, but I get along good with my imagination as well.

Put your bike in neutral before starting it. Your clutch will thank you. It most likely is a wet clutch. Clutch spinoff is a major contaminator of the oil in your bike and that can lead to shifting or tranny problems.

Never hang a heavy set of keys in an ignition. You will loose your keys and your ignition. Your temper and your mind will soon follow! It could be too late for your mind. Also never hang anything over a motorcycle. This week my brother heard a bang from his shed and went to investigate, Turns out a luggage rack from a old Suzuki decided it had hung around long enough and let go of the nail that had been holding it securely for three years. Unfortunately my bro’s 82 KZ750 LTD was there to break it’s fall. It put a hole and a good sized crease in my brothers custom painted gas tank. My brother’s reaction to this event are un-publishable.

Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Learn to countersteer! Just this one last time!! Learn to countersteer Some of these tips are common sense and some are personal lessons. I cannot say I do them all every time I ride but they do get covered sooner or later. Enjoy your ride but remember. You didn't get here by yourself. In the years you have been on this earth you have made friends that would love to see you stay healthy and breathing. Don't disappoint them. If you ever take your bike or ability to ride for granted drop the kickstand and walk away. The alternative is unimaginable. Things have a tendency to happen very fast on a motorcycle....be ready! If you are going to respect the bike and know your ability, a motorcycle is a soul stirrer.

Be Well
(Learn to countersteer! I lied, so sue me!)

It's mom's fault!

Roping the Saucer!!

So at the risk of sounding like a bitter old codger (and it’s a risk I’m willing to take since I are one) “Kids these days have it made.”. I recently saw a 3 year old on a pocket bike. Yep it’s true. I watched him go full tilt into the family sedan. Mom was horrified, but dad stood there grinning like he just figured out he may not be using the college fund for college after all. Hello 60 inch TV and a Viper!! Now this may shock and appall you but I know the father and he is pretty low on the “good thinking list” himself. The kid was picking himself and the bike off the driveway and between tears he was trying to figure out how he was gonna top this stunt for a sequel. Hey MOM see if Caesar’s Palace is booked….Evil Knevil who? Oh yeah and cancel the paternity test we have confirmation!!

Way back when and I’m talking mid 60’s here I was a strapping lad of about 13 when my older brother went and bought himself a Lambretta motor scooter. He then proceeded to ride it for about 500 miles and went and joined the Air Force. The motor scooter just sat in the garage languishing the time away. BUT…while this object looked to be a cold inanimate machine it was really a evil metal soulless warlock busy plotting it’s escape from the dungeons of inactivity. Low and inaudibly to grownups it called to my adolescent brain with a larcenous urgency. Whispered lessons of lock picking and basic scooter maintenance floated in the ether until it found me and directly invaded my brain. The call was answered, the lock picked and in no time I was flying through the fields and ripping down wooded paths ready to run down “Little Red” or the “Big Bad Wolf” if either one was unlucky enough to be traveling my racetrack. For that matter little old granny better keep her ears and eyes open too or she’ll be wearin tire tracks up and down her back!

I was careful. I would only ride when my parents were away, which was a lot. Snagging my father’s lawn mower gas and believing I was getting away with it. My lil’bitty mind could not comprehend that I was surrounded by tattletale relatives and large mouthed 20/20 sighted neighbors. As time went on my delusions of invisibility grew and I got more ballsey by riding home on the road. But I was safe because I was going faster than the human brain can comprehend what the eye is showing it. If by the low chance anyone did see me they would not know it was me cause there were so many large people riding powder blue motor scooters in the country. BUZZER SOUNDING…. “THANKS FOR PLAYING…….JOHNNY TELL HIM WHAT HE DIDN’T WIN!!”. (REALITY CHECK: In my 13 years on this planet I had never seen another scooter.)

Sorry I get a little verbose…...especially when my meds finally kick in. Where was I? Oh yeah! So I get sold out and my mother says I should buy the scoot off my brother since I been riding it so much! Wah?!!!! You know about me riding it?!!!! Over a summer I get a bunch of odd jobs and in the fall I send my brother $100. Now the scoot is mine…all mine!!!! I rode it until I got my license which was nice cause at that time for a motorcycle license all you had to do was prove you had a motorcycle. Now you got to take college courses, perform a miracle and jump moving locomotives to prove you can ride. So I registered it and BAM I had a license!! Now I was riding it to High School when the weather allowed and sometimes if it didn’t. I remember riding it the 8 miles to school in a blizzard because I got up late only to find they cancelled school. She was pretty good in the snow too. Not fast, but steady.

When I finally sold her she was real tired. I ran into the guy I sold her to years later and he said eventually she was running backwards. I thought “That’s odd!”. But later found another person who had a machine (scooter) that also ran backwards. 5 speeds in reverse are we having fun yet?

So I won’t bore you with the woods bikes but just be content with saying I barely survived the murderous apple trees, dead leave covered bottomless pits and suicidal rocks. Add to that the high voltage electric fences of farm country. But my riding techniques were honed to a razor edge by that insanity. Not to mention a slight limp and an eye twitch I can’t seem to shake but the ladies say is a turn on.

Now I’m 17 and I have saved a grand over the summer working 3rd shift in a textile factory and I am going to get a car. I have lined up a job in a lumber yard for after school and need the car for transportation. My father is working overtime and my mother enlists me to drive to pick him up. We are early and while cruising up the super slab we approach the local big time Honda dealer (the only other motorcycle dealer is a small garage that deals in Bridgestone’s). My mother tells me we are early and have some time to kill and directs me to pull into the Honda dealer. I figure what the hell at the least I get to see some nice bikes but soon reality sets in and it feels more like the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders having a tease fest WITH A REALLY HORNEY BOY AND I’M THE REALLY HORNEY BOY!!

My mother ends up looking at this beautiful dark green CB450. Ticket says $1,150 and she says she bets they will take $1000 cash. I tell her that is all I have and I need a car with winter coming. She pushes it by calling over a salesman and my temper quickly adjusts it’s needle into the red zone. The steam coming out of my ears rivals that of those old western movies where the train blows its whistle. Then it’s gone as I watch my mother and the salesman size each other up. My rage is replaced with pity. Pity for the po pitiful unsuspecting salesman. He thinks he is on his own turf and NOBODY bests him on his own turf. What he has critically overlooked that it may be his turf but it is only rental property. My mother has the deed to this part of the universe and owns it lock, stock and barrel! I know from dealing with her for 16 years that if there were any super being looking over us it would be dialing 911 right now and telling the operator that the fabric of space and time was about to rip open and swallow a salesman whole after doing nasty, vile, abominable damage to his id.

Before long the quivering lump of lime Jello is stammering and I see the look of conquest in my mothers eyes. Then he plays his hole card “Of course I’ll have to talk to the manager….” And my mother slips the safety switch back on. Off he goes to put antibiotics on the oozing wounds and tag his tag team partner, the Manager. I take this time to restate my intentions of getting a car and start ticking off the reasons why a bike is a bad idea and a car makes sense.

Dear reader have you ever had to shoot down a idea that you loved? No fun! Beside me was a beautiful 450 Honda that was within reach and my MOTHER was teasing me with owning it but now I have to be the adult here and tell her “NO!”. If I had any luck the manager would have us thrown out for destroying his #1 salesman in such an inhuman way. It was then my mother made the statement that fried my frontal lobe to the golden brown that it is yet today. She said “ We are going to get a new car and you can drive ours this winter.”. GET ME A CHAIR! I gotta sit down! NO MAKE IT A BED! I gotta lay down! NOOO MAKE IT A COFFIN!!! I MUST BE DEAD!!!! The car she was talking about was a 1963 Chevrolet Impala Super Sport! AND I COULD DRIVE IT? I told her I would have to drive it to school and to work and would need it any time I wanted it. I stood there waiting for the frying pan to the ear or the broom handle to the 5^th vertebra but all I heard was “Yeah sure.”.

By the time the salesman and the manager came to us my mother had racked a new banana clip and set the selector to full auto. As backup a blackout KBAR was strapped to her shoulder upside down and frags hung like fruit from her belt harness. She spit a couple of galvanized nails at them for effect as they approached and then took them both down with extreme prejudice.

So to make a long story …er ….well…longer. For $1000 I had a beautiful 450 Honda with 2 brand new tires, a matching helmet and a very nice 1963 Impala SS. The helmet and tires were afterthoughts. Mom decided the deal was not sweet enough and by then they would have agreed to gold plate it if she asked! Not a bad day, not a bad day indeed! I do think my mother could settle this mideast problem pretty quick. Just two little problems, where will all the people go when she kicks them out and are their doctors and hospitals able to cope with Mass Cast Iron Concussion Syndrome (MCICS)?

Quite possibly the best thing about those goings on was the fact that for the rest of my life I got to blame my motorcycle madness on my mother. Thanks mom! And to the salesman and manager we encountered that day I now issue a sincere apology for the hideous scarring to their psyche’s. Hopefully they enjoyed their new careers as night watchmen after they overcame their irrational fear of the dark and of small willful militant women.

Widows and children

Snapped Clutch Cables wreck your day!

Springtime Fun Long Ago and why you must be ready for anything...................

No lifeforms were hurt or killed in the making of this memory...........One may have been shortened tho!!!

Widows and children…… Ahem….

If I remember right (which is a 50/50 bet) it was a rogue mild spring day after a particularly harsh New England winter. A winter where the term “snow plow” was interchangeable with “snow tunneling device”. This day you could hear a collective sigh of relief from the wildlife as the temps reached the high fifties. The wildlife’s pitiful sigh was quickly followed by the sound of motorcycles being started by cabin fevered motonutz. Being included in that close nut…er… knit group were myself and a good friend named Jeff. On the phone it sounded like a good idea. After a hot cup of New England Mud (jo) we would quickly install the batteries in our scoots and ride the wild tarmac.

Now mind you in New England during the winters the roads are frequently seeded with sand and salt to keep the 4 wheelers from sliding off the continental shelf and down into the abysmal plain of the Atlantic Ocean. It usually takes until sometime in May when the streets sweepers (Summer Zambonies) arrive from winterizing in Barbados to get this slick stuff off the streets for some good 2 wheel riding. Until then keep the speeds down or the outriggers on.

Jeff would be riding his 77 KZ650 and I would be riding my ape hangered Yammie XS650B King Kong Cruiser. Jeff was a lucky boy. So all went well and we met up near my house since I was more in the country where the best riding is to be had. Soon we were rolling over the country roads watching out for sand puddles and any treacherous looking open maws called pot holes. I have encountered some with expedition parties repelling down the sides to below mantle depths. A friend of mine totaled his Carmen Ghia when his nose dove into one on a back road where a stream had eroded a culvert. Then the next year he totaled another one on a St. Bernard who survived the encounter. The Ghia did not. Today he drives a Suburban. Experience can make you a safer person even if it takes 2 times.

Sorry I got a little side tracked there. Jeff and I were getting a little chilly and decided to stop at this burger joint where the bikers meet in the summer evenings. The place was still closed for the season but the sun would warm us up so we could ride again. When we got there another group of four riders who had the same idea were there and we quickly struck up a conversation. For the life of me I can’t remember what three of them were riding but number four sticks out in my mind like a full mOoOn on a Bass Lake. It was a Crayola Blue Widow Maker (Kawasaki 750, 2 stroke, 3 cylinder rocket sled). I think he was running Bassani Expansion Chambers on it cause I can still hear it wail. Jeff AND I were in awe of this beautiful looking and sounding bezerker machine.

After warming up we all took off all at once and almost immediately this group started showing off with quick passes, seat stands and wheelies. Jeff was no showboat and my 650 was a no showoff bike, in fact if I looked at my bike sideways it would reward me with a head shaking underoo’s fouling tankslapper. So we just sort of rode along like we were riding shotgun for the Circus of Soiled Underwear. After a little while they decided to blast it and dusted us like we were standing still. We lost sight of them and in a little while we took a right onto a nice straight road with some scenic views. When we were coming up to a crossroads we saw them sitting at the stop sign and warming up a little. We pulled up and came the usual “Where ya been? We been waiting for ya!”. Then 3 of them took off across the intersection leaving Crayola Blue with us. Not to be outdone Blue started singing his bike! It sounded like you had grabbed the Tasmanian Devil by the tail and you were swinging him around your head. A car was coming so he had to wait but while he was waiting he was smoking the joint up with the exhaust and I swear I could see the smile through the full face shield. About that time the wailing took on another tone as the clutch cable decided to play the ultimate trick of becoming 2 halves.

The Blue Meanie went ballistic sitting on redline and Mr. Joe Cool launched across the intersection with his legs dangling down and front end reaching for the telephone wires. I don’t think anyone could have seen his smile at that moment cause I bet his eyes covered his mouth as he narrowly missed the car and he tried to get her down and stopped on the other side of the intersection. Even if his mouth was covered I thought I could detect an insane scream other than the Bassani that today haunts my more colorful dreams where I fall off things like mountains or Huge Ferris Wheels! Jeff and I sat there transfixed as this played out going from “cool!….to OMG!..... to I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING!”.

He did get her almost stopped and sort of just laid her down in the sand far on the other side of the intersection. Jeff and I proceeded across to give him a hand. He was a blithering idiot when we got off our bikes to help get the Widow up righted. He couldn’t stop talking with “Did you see that!!!! Thought I’d bought it!!! SHIT! And SHIT! AGAIN!”. We let him spill it all out hoping that would calm him down and before long his buddies were back having sadly missed the BVD soiling festivities. They were pretty bummed about that!

They were busting his chops and advising him how to ride his scoot to the barn without a clutch cable as Jeff and I rode back to our own barns. Jeff and I often remembered the sight of the flying “W” and the back of the smoking Widow Maker crossing the intersection at what looked to be a hop and we talked about it more than a few times. We finally figured out what it must have been like for Blue Jedi and it must have been akin to the Millennium Falcon of Hans Solo as he went to lightspeed. I still get to that intersection a few times a year and think of Jeff and those days. AND I still want a Crayola Blue Bassani’ed Widow Maker but I promise I would check my clutch cable often….maybe even daily!!

Years later I was touring up in New Hampshire and I was parked at a senic overlook up in the mountains when a bunch of Harleys pulled up. One of them noticed our Jap bikes parked nearby and decided he’d show is what real bikes sounded like and sat pointed at the overlook revving the bejesus out of that poor bike and telling his buddies he was going to jump. I could not help wondering what would happen if HIS clutch cable snapped.

Jeff was taken early in life by a massive heart attack. I got his KZ650 almost 20 years later after his brother laid it down and parked it for an eternity. I wrote the story up of restoring it and it’s here titled “My Best Friend”. I miss Jeff as he was my riding/fishing/hanging out buddy for years. Hope you all have had or has a friend like him. Hope you all liked the story too!

Park n' Shop World Class Snag

I created the 1000cc shopping cart to make food shopping a little more exciting. AND it doubles as a neat leaf blower! While this post is not bike related I think you might like it anyway. Hope you do. At least it’s shorter than most!
Park n’ Shop World Class Snag

Been sick for a few days and today girlfriend decided I was going food shopping. Now I hate shopping but food shopping is OK. I’m also a pretty good cook. By no means a pretty cook. But today food shopping was worth it. I saw a world class SNAG.

I noticed this beastie woman with a snarling little tyke riding in the carts perch. Now I ran into her in about 3 isles and every time the little darling was into wa wa wailing and dragon lady was either reading him the riot act or giving him the cold shoulder. So then I spot this other woman/kid duo and he is just goofing. This kids is just looking at people and smiling. He looked at me and smiled which is unusual. Kids usually flee in terror along with their mothers or point and ask “what’s that!”!

So I’m watching this kid and he is watching me when Mrs. Bates and little Norman lurches into the isle. Norman is putting up a storm of shrieks and wails but I notice he has also procured a big chocolate chip cookie which momma Bates has undoubtedly snagged from the cookie isle to keep Little Normans woofer busy. But the plan failed and he is holding the cookie with one hand and breaking tympanic membranes with his face hole. His mother has the Mask of Nefertiti on her face and is just scanning the shelves as they approach the other mother and replicant. Then as they draw side by side the good little tyke reaches out and snags the cookie right out of Opera Boy’s hand. Unseen by either mother they pass like ships in the night. Opera Boy’s pitch changed a little but Momma Bates just kept on pushing.

The normal duo went a little way and then she noticed him happily munching on a strange cookie. She turned and looked at me which startled me, thinking OH NO! SHE”S GONNA THINK THIS FREAK GAVE HER BOY A COOKIE AND I’M GONNA GET ARRESTED! Visions of trembling fingers dialing 911 and Amber alerted vigilantes coming to my castle with torches and sharp farm implements fill the screen in my frontal lobe. ….. But she just smiles and nods…..WHEW! …..SO… I decide to go see where the Bates Family went and I find them none the wiser. I guess she thought young Norman must have inhaled the whole cookie. It’s back to rolling Godzilla Lite down the isles and ignoring the banshee wails. Other customers were still fleeing the audible terrorist and his servant!

SO…. when my girlfriend comes back from hunting down, killing and eating a roasting chicken I tell her the whole story. She gives me that “here we go again” look and decides to go track a wild rogue package of English Muffins. She crouches then stalks down an isle with her pen in her mouth looking very Ramboette. Turns me on! Long story short….. I LIKE FOOD SHOPPING! Keep your eyes open out there. There are things going on out there on the street that are better than the stuff on TeeVee……. ya just gotta watch for them!

Be Well
AmberGRISmOoOn

The Race

The Race goes to the Person in Last

Bluebird day and I decide to take a ride up to see an old friend who owns this amazing pet store. Not that I’m looking for any pet other than my Black Lab “Buster”. Damn fine dog. He gets his can of food himself when he wants it. Just look down and he has it or tell him to go get it. Either way as if by magic he appears at your side with a can of dog food in his mouth. Damn fine dog!!

I’m wandering.

So I head out to the animal farm. I’m riding a 1985 Honda 1100 Sabre in top shape. A comfortable and powerful motorcycle indeed. I could never get over how narrow it was. I also liked her cause she was tall. You could soften the suspension by air and have a pretty cushy ride or put a couple pounds in, dial up the anti-dive front suspension and get yourself twisty on those snakey roads. I had a Stiletto smoked fairing, a small set of case savers, a small backrest and platform. My usual uniform of jeans, jean jacket, fingerless leather gloves, work boots and XXXL helmet with full smoke face shield just enhanced my stunning good looks. HEY….at least the helmet and shield made me less prone to scare women and children into looking for policemen or dark places to hide and whimper in.

So today I have to travel some back roads and then it’s a squirt up a 4 lane to my friends. I decide to stick a little PSI into the air ride system. Now, I grew up on these roads. I have ridden them on motor scooters, woods bikes, Classic British scoots and wallowing vacation bikes to “I’m already back... but, you ain’t left yet!” go fast alien technology hyper bikes. This Sabre is not in the latter category but it’s in sight of them UFO’s.

So I head out and start whupping on the snakey roads. The Sabre is stiff and rolls into the corners as if on rails. On one corner there is some wash and I get to chirp and elevate out of it. We are having fun? Yup! This is when I remember a flight helmet I got for Christmas as a child. It had a drop visor and an oxygen mask that had a piece of wax paper in the oxygen mask. This made it so when you talked you sounded like you were on early radio. Kind of like that cheap kazoo everyone made out of a comb and wax paper. I start making flight chatter in the full face helmet. I even add the “static” of a mic cutting out. What? Don’t tell me you have never done this! If your saying nope never did it and you don’t have anything crossed (fingers. toes, legs or eyes) you better get a time machine, go find yourself as a kid and smack yourself in the head for growing up too fast ‘n too much!

So I dump out onto the 4 lane cruising road and I am happy to see I got it to myself. I pull out and ring her up into the triple digits, then let her drop and settle in at 75. Just letting her purr and enjoying the sights and the mechanical song of the bike. I’d gone about 5 miles and was coming up on a crossroad that has a signal light. I see the light is green and I speed up a little but the damn thing sees me and changes up into yellow for a infinitesimal amount of time and then red bursts into play. I bring her down and as I do I notice no one is waiting to cross out of the other street.

Having a road to yourself and a nicely tuned comfortable machine is as close to nirvana as one gets so when I hear this obnoxious blapping sound increasing on my left I feel a little mad that my Zenatude has been hijacked. I had forgot about checking my mirrors and while grateful the vehicle now approaching has no flashing lights or siren I am also not completely ready for what approaches.

He looks to be about early twenties sporting a vain attempt at a gotee and has a medium to small build. He has on leathers that proclaim him to be a real street racer. Woo! Patches and weird color combinations that don’t ring a bell as to what team they represent cover his attire. He has red converse hi-top sneakers on his feet and while they are one of my favorite foot coverings the seem very out of place on this speed racer. Then I see the sicle and it’s a Frankensteiner. It’s got so many stickers on it it’s hard to see the color of the bike. All kinds of stickers adorn the old scoot, from Ari to Pennzoil all the way to The Little Mermaid and Chiquita Banana. He has covered the flyscreen and the whole fairing. Some of them seem to be peeling off in an attempt to remove themselves from the hideous mess. His seat is regurgitating dried up green hued foam from a 10 inch slice and his right side front blinker is looking at the ground next to his front tire. I can only guess he has no blinker fluid left.(sic) His front brake lever is suspiciously short and the angle looks like it’s from a Lovecraft safe house. The front fender is gone but something that looks like a home made fork brace perches over the almost slick smooth front tire.

Young Sky Pilot is saying how “we had to really scratch” to catch me and how fast was I going? We? Then I hear a muffled whump-whump coming from my right side. Damn I was caught with my pants down! So after noticing his instruments were MIA I look to see who has my 3 oclock. Damn! It’s a girl! By the looks of her she’s a long leggy blonde. Hard to see whats under the black tinted full face shield but that is some purty yeller hair falling out of it. She is on a Honda Shadow. Looks like a 750! It’s black and silver and fits her pretty good and it’s not in too bad condition.

Sky Pilots mouth is still running and his bike is doing all it can to keep up. I think the bike is a Katana but don’t quote me. All identifiable labels ans emblems are missing or hidden by stickers. He certainly has either taken or rusted the baffles out of that exhaust and she’s popping enough to put a smile on Orville Reddenbacher’s ugly mug. He’s got pods on her but they look about 10 years old and dry to the point of crumbling into dust. Now I hear that he’s wanting to race and he begins yanking on the throttle cable. He’s looking at the light and I can see by the one across the intersection we are about to get the green. So I grab a handful and get the V65’s pony’s awake. I take a sneak look at SuperGirl and I can tell she is smiling. Back to the light that turns green and ace holeshots out. Not real gracefully mind you. First there is this big ole POP and it looks like he is nosediving... then a couple of chugs where he is sort of pogoing. Then the thing catches and runs like a cat with burning turpentine on his ass. He is almost pulled off the bars as he takes a 30 degree angle across the intersection. He one damn lucky boy cause as I sat there watching he almost runs her right into the guardrail on the other side of the street on the other side of the intersection. But he saves it and in a blue cloud is off running hell bent down the road with me and Blondie sitting at the light. I am in hysterical laughter and she is in frozen horror! I look over and tell her to “go get em” and she slips off to rejoin her DNA donor.

I sit there watching her chase down her clown and marvel at the resumption of solitude. Still no one in sight and the light is red again. I look over and again the yellow is for the cross traffic so I know the tree will go green soon. I lean forward and grab a handful of throttle. Green light springs up and I slowly release the clutch and slowly bring her up thru the gears til 70 reads on the digital speedometer. “Saber1 to command! (static) Encountered 2 unfriendlies! Splashed both…..no chutes sighted! (static) Continuing mission. ETA …er….someday! But hopefully not too soon!!” (static).

Few miles up the road there is a greasy spoon where you can play mini-golf or ride a little train in a circle and in their parking lot were the two wheeled chariots themselves. His was leaning over at an angle that looked to be yelling obscenities at gravity and not merely defying it. Hers was leaning like a cowpoke holding a wall up in an old western. As I slid by I sounded the horn and gave a one fingered salute but I’m sure they didn’t hear or see me. Most likely they were gobbling down a celebration wiener feast and hoistin’ coffee milk toasts to their utter dismantling and humiliation of the giant on the gofast bike.

“Command…..signal the heavies to drop load on Kenny’s Putt and Poot (static) coordinates being sent now…..(static) believed to be unfriendlies stronghold…Sabre1 continuing mission….OUT! …..(static) .

Be Well

AmbergrismOoOn

The Legend of Crunchy

They shoot horses don't they?

The Legend of Crunchy

I didn’t know Crunchy real good. But he was a regular at the local Biker Bar the “Gang Plank Bar”. The place got its name because the bar was 4 wrecked Hardley Davidsons with 3 two foot wide planks running about twenty foot apiece forming a horseshoe with the bartender/owner Jake running the middle ground. I didn’t go there often, but enough that they all seemed to know me and tolerate my non Harley bikes. I also had pitched a guy called Tate across the floor and called everyone in the joint out if they had a problem with that my first night. Tate decided he was gonna use my change to play some pool. Some punk stood up loudly, I glared at him and he left after realizing nobody was gonna back him up. I found out later that Tate had that done to him on a monthly basis anyway. But this is Crunchy’s story……..

Crunchy got his name from having bad teeth and he was a jaw grinder something fierce. He was also one big bad doood. Having all those rotten teeth in his mouth and dutiful grinding the pearlies meant he was in constant pain and if he was not popping handfuls of Vicodan he was a dangerous entity. As soon as you walked into the bar you saw how Crunchy was. A good night was when he just sat in the corner and motioned for drinks. A bad night was when he was standing at the bar.

I walked into the bar and there was Crunchy staring at me from the bar and his hand fisted around a bottle of beer. From the look of the bar in front of him he was also full of Tequila. Dead shots filled the bar and Crunchy was emitting a green gaseous cloud of pissatude. Now normally I would walk back out and go night flying on my bike but today had been a little long and my irritation quotient was in double digits. I was replacing a water pump on my 4 wheeler and think I busted my ring finger on the radiator mount. It was swollen twisted and a funny color. So it finally looked normal for me but I was not happy with the throbbing uselessness of it. A few Cuervo shots would calm it and me down but there was Crunchy. He never took his eyes from me as I walked to the bar and ordered Jake to “Make it Jake”. Jake seemed like he came with the bar and quickly drew a beer and placed 2 shots of Cuervo next to it all the time keeping his good eye on Crunchy.

I had intentionally walked up next to Crunchy to show him I had him by at least 4 inches and about 20 pounds if my figuring was any good and to show no fear. In the back of my mind I hear my alter ego say “Yeah you got him by those small insignificant numbers but he has at least 20 more miles of crazy in him than all of the people in this bar including you put together!”. I heard him snort once and then I guess he relaxed because I heard the famous Crunchy squeak of his jaws rubbing together.

We both stood there looking straight ahead and putting out our fires with gasoline. I had three shots and two beers when Crunchy finally looked at me and said, ” You know these pukes want us to fight. I think we should clear the bar.”. There was no slur in his words and as I looked around I realized he was right. The bar was quiet and everyone was watching us from the corners of their eyes. Even Schlem and the town drunk was watching us from the far leg of the bar. Dinner Man, the fat leech had stopped his game of disk bowling mid game and sat down to watch us and the ugly waitress who was usually useless was even more so.

So I looked over at Crunchy and held up my purple bent finger and said “Can’t…. I got a boo boo!”. Crunchy’s lips unsheathed his worn to the nubs teeth and he bellowed out a little schoolgirl high pitched laugh that caught me so totally off guard that I burst out laughing. The big ape had a laugh like Shirley Temple. Even to this day I can’t help but smile to think of the one and only time anyone ever heard Crunchy laugh.

Anyway we closed the place and by that time we were stinkin drunk. He wasn’t a bad guy but I could tell by the way he let his beer get warm before drinking and the way he would pour his beer past his choppers his only real problem was those teeth. Well he did have a certain smell to him too. The only way I can describe it as if you have ever been near a salt marsh at low tide and had the wind change. There are many smells worse and some think that smell is the true smell of the ocean. It does have one good feature. After about five minutes you can’t smell it anymore. It’s like your sensors shut down to it.

Fact is we crashed on the beach that night when Crunchy drove his bike off the road and in to a mud flat. Next morning we was hung over something terrible. I was gonna help him pull his bike out of the mud when he did something so Crunchy and unexpected I just about fell in the mud. He muttered something about it was not his favorite bike anyway, first he pulled on a pair of surgical gloves he had in his pocket and then he pulled out a 45 auto and emptied the clip into his bike. Now it was not a great bike by any means, in fact it needed a ladder to reach the lowest class of Ratbike. But it did seem to run OK even if it did look beat. Once he slid the empty clip out and his backup back in he turned and looked at me. “I need a ride.” was all he said and right there I thought he was going to off me and take my bike, but he put the cannon away and I relaxed.

Crunchy waded into the mud and got his plate off the dead bike. Then I rode him to his tiny trailer over by the Desmona’s Docks. I made up some lame excuse of how I had to be somewhere and rode away hearing Crunchy say we should have torched the place last night. He had two other bikes next to his trailer and next to his shot up refrigerator/fish smoker. Neither one of them looked to be any better than the one he executed back on the mud.

I’d see Crunchy here and there in the small town and didn’t think of him too much until the Highway Patrol came to my place asking about Crunchy and Charlie Cooks.

Charlie Cooks who was a regular at the Gang Plank disappeared a few weeks later. His wife Cindy said he just didn’t come home one night. But I knew Charlie and knew he had a big mouth and knew he was there in the bar that night. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think of Charlie telling the bar about Crunchy’s little schoolgirl laugh to get a few laughs or a free drink for hamming it up. Not a real bright idea if he did. Actually it could have been any one of a dozen things that Cookie did or people he done bad that resulted in his getting gone. But the Crunchy thing rings clear in my mind as well as any thing.

Wasn’t long and Cindy was having a ball and painting the town. Rumor was she was seen a few times talking to Crunchy but I never saw it. Bent Peterson said he saw her riding with Crunchy one night but Bent sees little green pojama people and purple giant elephants at least once a month. Besides, Charlie had just about wore out his welcome by the time he disappeared and no one looked too hard for him. Highway Patrol just went through the motions. Truth be told people was always breezin’ into town and breezin’ right back out. Not always the nicest of people either. It was a good place to disappear by either need, luck or accident.

Crunchy remained Crunchy and rumors and legend hounded him whether deserved or not. I saw him a few times at the Gang Plank but made sure I’d have just one and hit the road for more sane establishments.

I heard that he lost his job later (net mending) and cleared a bar in Anderson down the coast.. He took off for places unknown and someone said he bought it down in a Gulf Coast town. I’ll bet you whoever took him down didn’t come from the front like a man. If he did I sure wouldn’t want to meet him.

I headed back north a couple of years later as I’d had enough fun and sun. Turns out the winter is a good thing in that it makes you slow down and not live so fast. I remember a Jimmy Buffett song about living in the land of the sun. Its title was “Living and Dying in ¾ Time” and I always thought it should be 1 ¾ time or even double time.

Oh yeah… my finger was broke. It’s still twisted and big ugly today. There are people who could identify that finger and one was Crunchy.

Thunderhoofs

NASA would consider this a "NEAR MISS"!!

This summer morning was like every other morning. Opened up the eyes. Quick pulse check! Yep! There’s one! Er …Two! No ….one! Cool! Still there? Cool! By the time I get my legs over the side of the bed my Great Dane Gypsy is there for her morning head rub. This has become a daily thing but I can’t find fault because she is a great dog and it is a great way to start the day. For both of us I guess.

I let my Great Dane Gypsy out to smell some stinky stuff , piddle and drop a tactical nuke somewhere near the woods out back. I started telling kids her old poops were bear scat. The woods have been a lot quieter since. This was as cool as the day was gonna get so I stood on the steps breathing the slowly toasting air when she comes running around the garage looking like Secretariat nosing for the Kentucky Derby finish line.

She hits the stairs in a leap and spins in circles wanting the door open. DOIT! DOIT! NOW! NOW! NOW!.... OK OK! I open the door and she is off into the house banging on the door frame in her bezerker haste. I’m figuring maybe she got her butt stung or backed into some briars since she was turning to look at her butt while doing an accelerated Tango through the house. Did she get into my stash? Did the crazy lady shoot her with the “almost” lethal BB squirrel gun! I swear her cat will enter the Twilight Zone if she did! ! (que the weird music “Submitted for your approval….a common cat…etc.)

Then I see it!……….(que the weird music… again!)….Wha?.....She has a second tail! It’s not like her nicely groomed beautifully proportioned lady-like tail! This is a wild mustang tail! Something like Thunderhoof’s tail, a direct descendant of the Spanish Conquistador’s horses brought to this country 2000 years ago has. And Gypsy is not happy it’s there! Noooo! It must be goooone! After all she is a smallish Great Dane and it looks like anytime now the Budweiser Wagon will be pulling up to await the birth of another Monster Clydesdale!

So I get a paper towel then corner and grab her, put her on her back and using the paper towel pull on this abominable second tail. First it gets a little longer, then a little more and then detaches itself from my beloved dog. She looked at me with eyes of forever gratefulness. It must have been the same look in the eyes the lion had for Androcles who removed his thorn. It is immediate relief from Gypsy! I, am also relieved that nothing resembling a foal was attached to the offending scatish (not Scottish!) protuberance. Upon an awkward examination of the stanky item it was revealed to me that it was one of her favorite things in this puppy’s world.

A ROPE TOY!

She had unknotted both ends and removed some of the stitching that I guess is used as a backup keep it together system. (sorry for all the scientific jargon). But failing to remove all of the backup she said "O Well! Down the hatch!” ….not realizing it’s the next hatch would pose a big big problem!

I’ve had many dogs and always hear stories of sox and stuff making the KaKa Kaverns Vacation Trek but never before has I seen it and I somewhat doubted their authenticity. I guess the days of the rope toys are drawing to a close and I must concentrate on her second favorite toy ….der uber KONG BALL!!! I’m just a little worried if she does the same thing with that she could kill somebody!

BTW : I’m throwing away all my rope toys too….its only fair! (evil laugh)


Be Well
AmbergrismOoOn