Friday, December 11, 2009

Harley Riders and My Christmas Briefcase..



Prologue:


The amount of stuff that one collects over the course of a lifetime is astounding. The stuff we decide to keep, but then bury in closets, attics, and garages, is equally impressive. I was rooting through the wreckage of my youth in the garage, under the watchful eye of Leslie (Stiffie) my paramour par excellance, when I pulled a soft, brown glove-leather portfolio out of a box. It had been given to me by my first truly serious girlfriend, the captain of the school’s equestrian team, a sultry brunette, with hair that fell halfway down her back.


She had given it to me twenty-years earlier, to mark the occasion when I had earned my first commission as professional writer. It was made of the finest glove leather, with compartments sealed by three brass zippers. It had a loop to carry it sewn in one end, and my initials in gold on a tab in the front. I was floored to say the least. And the portfolio was somewhat optimistic, as it would be 5 more years before I received a steady paycheck for writing.


In the dim light of the garage, I traced the marks of two scrapes that marred the weather finish of the leather and remembered how they’d gotten there.



And so the story starts:


There is a lot of good-natured, male-baboonish ribbing that goes on between the riders of different marques and the inadequacies of the other guy’s motorcycle. In many cases, this ribbing has its roots in the ancient and noble histories of some brands that used to vibrate the teeth out of the mouths of their riders, leak oil on the showroom floor, and break down every couple of hundred miles. BMW riders who have never suffered mechanical indignities of this nature have been targeted for the HAZMAT-style ballistic gear they prefer, and the odd cut of their armored riding pants, which must be specially tailored (in the front) to accommodate huge penises.


There may even be hard words exchanged between riders of the same marque, who favor different models. For example, BMW “R” bike riders would love to sass “K” bike riders, but there is no combination of words implying self-fornication that rhymes with “proper cooling system,” which is why so many of these guys stutter when it comes delivering a biting remark.


Only twice have I encountered biker banter that was mean-spirited and malicious. In both cases, the source was a couple of Harley riders. Dick Bregstein and I were attending a biker event outside a New Jersey diner a few years ago, with about 50 percent of the 200-plus bikes in attendance being Harleys. (The remainder were metric machines with a very strong representation of BMWs.) Two big, tough-looking assholes wearing leather pirate costumes were walking down the bike-line and stopped in front of Dick’s brand-new F800S.


“I wonder if this little girl’s bike comes in pink,” said the lead cretin.


“I bet the rider wears pink,” said the other Morlock.


I glanced over at Dick, who was busy making sure his tailored armored pant legs were covering his pink socks.


I, myself, struck a pose that suggested I was looking for the meaning of life in my top case, having once heard a rumor that it is dangerous to peer into the eyes of a rabid animal.


Just once in my life, I wanted to say to these guys, “Your wife was wearing pink when I poked her in the ass this morning.” It was only a strong sense of self-preservation and a desire not to have my pants pulled down and my ass painted blue that I kept my mouth shut.


On the other occasion, Dick and I and just knocked off a 400-mile run, on the hottest day of the year, and pulled into a Virginia rest area where four members of the “Rugged Individualist” Harley Davidson movement were identically dressed and riding bikes that were cookie-cutter copies of each other. The head rugged individualist in this group said to me, “Now why do you assholes wear all that gear on a day as hot as this?”


Two hours later I had a head-on collision with an old lady in a mini-van and found myself slammed onto her bumper and then thrown to the ground. I remember thinking my chest was crushed (it wasn’t), that I was about to die (I didn’t), and that it was too bad that asshole on the Harley wasn’t here instead of me (it was). All that gear made it possible for me to leave the hospital without a broken bone or a head injury the next day.


Now I am sharing these experiences with the gentle reader not to pinpoint the shortcomings of the Harley rider’s personality, but rather to illustrate the exception to the rule. In every other situation when I have found myself among Harley riders, there was nothing but polite conversation, generally followed by a friendly offer to buy me a drink. And this reminds me of the first time I crossed paths with a Harley rider (when I was riding a rice burner) in 1976.


The document was more than 250 typewritten pages, complete with diagrams and photographs, constituting the text of the first major project I had ever ghost-written for a client. I was up against an impossible deadline, culminating at a client meeting on the upper East Side of Manhattan. There were two ways that I could make this meeting: a) if I used my 1975 Kawasaki H2 to cut through traffic in the city; and b) if I just brought the original document with me, without wasting a day screwing around with copies.


These were the good old days, long before there were copy centers on every street corner. Copies were made the old fashioned way, by inserting a dime and a page (one at a time) at the Xerox machine in the college library. “Fuck it,” I thought. I’ll copy the damn thing when I get back. (Actually, I meant my girlfriend would copy it when I got back. She liked to help.)


I was no stranger to riding a motorcycle in New York City traffic. I got over the George Washington Bridge in record time and headed to the Upper East Side. The meeting came off without a hitch, and I got the last set of revisions to the text, plus my last check in an installment of ten. I shoved both in the leather portfolio.



The George Washington Bridge, from the New Jersey side, in the '80s. Traffic hasn't been this light on this Hudson River Crossing in 20 years. I pulled over on the shaded spot on the shoulder, indcated on the left. The first exit ramp is for the Palisades Interstate Parkway. (Photo from Wikipedia.)


Down on the street, I found my bike where I had left it, and bungeed the briefcase to the crappy sissy bar I had on the seat. The rush hour was about to begin and I raced through traffic, riding like an asshole, to get back up to 179th Street and the Washington Bridge again. The going was a lot slower, and I got caught in gridlock a few times. But I managed to get to the base of the bridge and cut past a huge line of cars waiting to merge on the approach ramp.


Laughing out loud, I imagined the look on my honey’s face when I’d flash the largest of the ten checks I had earned on a typewriter to date. We’d have lobster that night.


Traffic slowed to another halt on the New Jersey side of the bridge, and I put both feet down for a break. I don’t know what possessed me to look over my shoulder, but I did.


The leather portfolio was gone.


I looked again, and choked off a scream coming out of my soul. The fucking thing was really gone.


The New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge is one hellish interchange after another. It is where the Palisades Interstate Parkway, Route 4, US-46, I-95, and I-80 all untangle like a paved hydra. At 4:30pm on a weekday afternoon, half the cars in the free world come this way. I pulled over on the last bit of shoulder before the exits for these routes started, and got off the bike. One bungee cord dangled from the sissy bar. The others were gone.


Looking back through the snarl of traffic on the GWB, which must have held 10,000 cars at that moment, I got my first taste of utter hopelessness. It would be nearly impossible to retrace my steps back to the upper East Side, and what would be the odds of finding that case, laying on the street someplace? And then I remembered there was no other copy of all that work... Nine months of work. Even with the fragmented rewrites that I had saved, it would take at least a month to piece it all back together again.


It was then that two Harley Davidsons of the period separated themselves from the traffic. The rider on the lead bike yelled, “Don’t fucking move.”


They managed to pull over 50 yards ahead of me, and duck-walked their bikes back. They were two of the roughest-looking riders I had ever met. If I had had to guess at their names, I would have said “Stitches” and “Pus.” Their actual names were “Larry” and “Toad.” The one guy called himself “Toad” because “he lived on the bugs that he ate as he rode.”


I watched as “Larry” dismounted and pulled my portfolio out of a leather pannier.


“You dropped this on the ramp to the bridge,” he shouted over the noise of the traffic. He then pointed to the bungee cord on the sissy bar and said, “These are shit. Get some straps.” He waved, got back on his bike, and the two of them roared off toward I-80.


I shoved the portfolio in my jacket, and rode home with it pressed against my shirt. I never forgot those guys on Harleys, who were headed to New Jersey, on a day in 1976. The two scrapes in the fine leather came from where the case had hit the ground when the bungees became undone. In one instant, my professional life was over... And in another, it was all good again.



Epilogue:


Back in the garage, I told the history of the leather portfolio to Leslie and remarked that It was still a very classy-looking bag. I concluded I could still carry it to client meetings.


“Hmmmph,” she replied in enthusiastic agreement.


On Christmas morning, 6 weeks later, she presented me with a beautiful LL Bean briefcase (that was worth more than I had earned in my first ten years as a writer), complete with a saddle bag arrangement that made it acceptable for carrying a laptop computer.


“This is what writers should be carrying their stuff in now,” she said. “And if they’re not, you’ll start a trend.”


©Copyright Jack Riepe

AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac Pac)

AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)

AKA The Chamberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)

41 comments:

bobskoot said...

Mr Jack "r":

You are some lucky DUDE to have someone as thoughtful as Stiffie.

bob
bobskoot: wet coast scootin

irondad said...

You definitely need a GPS unit. There are much shorter ways to get from point A to point B. And I can't believe I read the whole damn post just to see how you took a dump and scratched your bag. Sheesh!

Cantwell said...

Dearest Jack,
It has been a while since I commented last. Your latest posts have been very entertaining and thought provoking. Now that the snow has hit the road (and everywhere else) here in the north country, I have lapsed into a very deep depression. Not having the freedom to take two wheels onto the road feels as though someone has ripped my heart out and stomped on it. Until the spring, all I will have are memories, MOA articles and your blog to keep me sane enough to allow me to function.
Thank you for the service you provide to those who are in need.
Happy Holidays,
Michael
PS. I'm thinking of buying a stud kit so I can extend my riding season. I'm sure my beloved K75 would appreciate not having to stay inside.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Bobskoot:

Stiffie (Leslie) is lucky to have me too. And judging by the line of motorcycle buddies standing outside the back door (holding candy, flowers, and jewels) I must be pretty special.

My friend Roy sent her a note yesterday saying, "In the event Fat Ass keels over anytime soon, call me before the body gets cold."

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear IronDad (Dan):

Not every lottery ticket is a winner. But I'm sure you read through to the end waiting to find out: a) if some Harley-riding lady lifted up her shirt; or b) to see if I got my ass painted blue.

Thank you for reading my tripe and for commenting.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Cantwell (Mike):

It's been colder than I like for the past ten days, and we got our first snow over a week ago. Fortunately, there was also a very heavy rain and any salt put down by the township was dissolved pronto.

I am hoping for a Gerbings heated jacket liner for Christmas, which could extend my riding season considerably. The new Gerbings models have heated microwires in the sleeves and collars as well as the chest and back. And since our K75s have 50 AMP ALTERNATORS, we can ride in hothouse like conditions.

Maybe with all this bullshit talk about global warming, the Adirondacks will a winter in the 50's, and you can ride three extra months, despite the fact that all the skiing will end and everyone will be out of work.

I'm going to call you over the weekend.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Nikos said...

Jack

I presume that your reference to self fornication was intended to be aimed at R airhead riders - we R oilhead riders have perfect thermostatic control of our oil feed.

Thank you so much for your tolerance

Nikos

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

As it has come up so often at Mac Pac monthly breakfasts, a proper German cooling system never allows the engine casing to get too hot to touch.

Thank you for reading Twisted Roads anf for taking my statements to heart.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Allen Madding said...

reep -

Wow, a story that flies in the face of the stereotypes that I incur. Thanks for posting this. You made my day. I lost an entire soft cooler with my lunch in it when I had the sportster. Same story sorry bungee cords. The spider net solved all that nicely.

-Peace

Charlie6 said...

A very descriptive and accurate description of the "friendly rivalry" between owners of different motorcycle marques Jack.

Though your first paragraphs prompted a question in me....why was Stiffie (who should still be nominated for sainthood for allowing you within her vicinity) having to monitor your activities in the garage?

You are so right in that every marque has a few assholes who taint the brand and reinforce the perceived stereotypes.

The "rugged individualists" you paint such a colorful picture of mostly amuse me in their efforts to "look tough". They cringe at spots on their chrome or leathers and seem unable to ride more than the distances between biker bars.

Larry and Toad on the other hand, were fellow motorcyclists in my opinion. They saw a rider lose his badly secured bag, retrieved it and chased him down to return it, all this in shit traffic. These are the types who are good ambassadors of their marque, though with a bit of roughness around the edges. : )

Like you, I've been down while motorcycling, though not as spectacularly as you. Wearing gear and a helmet works! I got up from a 40+ mph low-side and my only injury was a slightly separated ac joint on my right shoulder. I was cleared to ride three days later. So the comments from others about the wearing of gear I just tune out. I just respond with: "this stuff is crash-tested", usually shuts them up.

Oh and for Mr Nikos...I've owned both an oilhead and an airhead...great motorcycles in their own way....my poor oilhead though found herself parked more often once I acquired the airhead as a spare. Go figure.

Great story spun out of an old object with good memories attached....

dom

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Allen:

I have never used bungee cords, or even the net, from that point forward. While I carry tiny little bungee cords in the bottom of my topcase, for the purpose of securing my cane, I rely on looped straps from Helen Two Wheels to secure things to the bike.

The most useful thing I have ever carried is my Kermit Chair, as finding a good seat at most biker rallies is almost impossible. I wouldn't trust that to bungees.

I'm glad you liked the piece.

Thank yu for reading and commenting on one of my life's experiences.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Charlie6 (Dom):

Stiffie was in the garage supervising my efforts as the point of the exercise was to throw stuff out, not to merely reorganize it into other sentimental piles.

Let the record show that I have met my share of BMW assholes who could throw a wet blanket over the hottest campfire just by opening their mouths and saying, "In our club, we do things by the book..."

While I have had many a hearty laugh over the Harley Davidson Halloween Costume, I do not hesitate to describe the typical BMW rider gear as the official SWAT Team/Hazmat uniform of ballet dancers everywhere.

But as I have stated, the protective nature of that gear has enabled me to walk away from what could have been a bad crash.

It should be noted that I have met a fair share of H-D long distance riders, whose battle-scarred bikes had mileage well into six figures. The same can be said of Moto Guzzi riders, but these guys are as rare as condors in Central Prak. (It is with some pride that I can say the mileage totals on the bikes at a typical BMW event are absolutely amazing, and commonplace. But it is not a competition. And as is the case with both marques, you will find that the machines with the greatest number of miles on them have been comfort modified by their riders.)

I'm glad you liked this piece. Thank you for reading my tripe, and for writing in. It is always a pleasure.

Fonbdest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Nikos said...

Dear Charlie6

As Mr Riepe approves of me posting at my fancy in his blog space, I would like to comment that Mrs Nikos' airhead has dumped oil all over the floor from her rear drum presumably as a protest at being neglected all summer.

I wish to make no further comment about air cooling.

Good evening and merry Christmas.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

Is this the current condition of the motorcycle? When you say "rear drum" are you referring to the final drive (very odd in an airhead) or are you talking about something engine related?

I have no concept of anything mechanical on this breed, but the brains behind the US National Airhead movement are Todd Byram and Conpany of the Mac Pac. I'd be delighted to put you in touch with him.

These airhead guys take unbelievable hubris in the millions of miles they rack up on these Luftwaffe specials.

Let me know...
Fondest regards,
Jack

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Woody said...

Dear Jack,

When some asshole asks me why I'm all geared up on a hot summer day, I quote Tom Cutter:

"I'd rather sweat than bleed"

You are one lucky sonofabitch, in so many ways. So this LL Bean briefcase fits inside BMW System bags? Do tell the details! I'm using a butt ugly ballistic nylon POS that I'd love to replace.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Wayne:

I reget to report the LL Bean briefcase does not fit in a BMW system case by a long shot. The LL Bean briefcase, which is now ten years old, is made of hard burgandy tanned leather, with a stiff green canvass saddle bag-type sleeve that goes over it to double the unit's capacity.

It predated my K75 years and was given to me when my predicted fame as a writer seemed to indicate travel by limousine. I was supposed to be thinner too.

Not everything goes according to plan even in my ideal life.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Sojourner rides said...

Lovely tale, Jack. I cringed when you attached the portfolio to the bike. I felt it coming and it brought back an awful memory from someone who lost five years of dissertation fieldnotes, a lost that definitely felt like "utter" hopelessness, matched only by the long recreation. I love your memoiristic (sic?) pieces...

Your pal,
Sharon

Conchscooter said...

I'd like to think the guy who was driving a pick up truck a couple of weeks ago who lost his tarp in the high winds and nearly killed a Bonneville rider, is telling happy christmas stories about the shock he got when the rider came alongside, opened his helmet (it was 70 degrees and cold enough for a full face)and pointed out politly that he might like to turn back and collect it from the mangrove bushes. He failed to raise his shirt and show me his chest but I am getting used to this un-riep-like behavior from strangers.

Nikos said...

Jack

***this is the machine***

The oil has appeared under the rear wheel - there is a drum brake. I have not had time to investigate this yet as the bike is stored in Germany at the moment. Mrs N is of course devastated that she has now invested €1,000 in this bike....

Thanks for your interest.

N

Nikos said...

Correction

***this is the machine***

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Sojourner (Sharon):

It is always a plus to find a note from you in my in-box. As another pofessional in the trade, I knew you would have a similar experience. Everybody does. And the stories always start out with, "I put the original in my briefcase..." Ernest Hemingway once lost three original pieces in a briefcase left on a train.

I was never so delighted to meet to Harley Davidson riders. Did I mention that I looked like a real shit head, wearing a metallic helmet to match the mardi-gras color of my bike?

Thank you for reading my tripe, and for writibg in about it.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep• Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Conch:

Also in a highly uncharactoristic Riepe-like manner was the polite demeanor of the Bonneville rider. I would have opened the conversation with the pick-up truck driver with, "Hey shit-for-brains..." It would probably have gone downhill from that point on.

On the other hand, if the driver had been a sizzler of a blond, with tanned hooters barely containewd in a halter top, I would have helped her retreive the cover. But I am helpful by nature.

Did the tarp come close to whacking you or wrapping around you? I have often seen loosely tied tarps flapping in the wind, but I have never seen one come off. I guess you see one of everything if you ride around long enough.

Glad you escaped.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

I will pass this data onto the airhead group and see what they say. I am not an authority on this, but my guess a seal has gone in the final drive, or on the drive shaft. Considering the age of the bike, I doubt this is unusual. With any degree of luck, it won't be terribly expensive either. (This looks like bullshit even as I write it.) It will be as expensive as all hell.

But as the machine is in Germany, finding someone to work on it should be all of two minutes.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Nikos said...

Dear Jack

I have witheld the full sorry story...and this is going off topic and I shall destroy your A+ readership ratings. I won't post this on my own blog because nobody reads that.

Mrs N's Brother 1 gave Brother 2 this bike some years ago. Evidently Brother 2 did not care for it well but Mrs N decided to pay €500 for it (Brother 2 has bought a K100 something). It was sold with the comment that there is a problem with an oil leak on the rear drum although I could not see anything. Ex Luftwaffe German Mechanic A charged some euros for "fixing " it and also for "cleaning water out of the engine": When I went to ride the bike (see my blogpost), we eventually managed to get the bike going - it was then parked for some months during which time a quart of oil emerged out of the rear drum....

I suspect that I shall be looking out for a nice F650 with lowered seat/suspension for Mrs N and this machine will go the knackers yard.

Or maybe I shall ship it to England and take it to pieces.

I will certainly look out for the Mac pac pack.

Best wishes, N

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

I have long-since consumed the BMW Kool Aid and am a devote follower of the cult. I bought a K-Bike by accident, and through a series of stupid cooincidences that all worked out to my advantage.

The secret to the BMW's nrear mythical longevity is all the tender love and care they get, before they ever break down. (I'm sure you are well aware of this.)

A) I started to feel faint when I read the mechanic found water in the engine. (How the hell did this happen?)
B) Coming back from the shop, the machine should have started in two seconds flat. (Sorry, that id a K-Bike spec. The bike should have started in 4 seconds flat.)
c) The final drive of my K-75 was rountinely inspected for lubricant and for metal in the same. After 40,000 plus miles no metal flakes of any consequence ever turned up in the soup. I had the lubricant changed every year. This guaranteed that the mechanic got a look at whatever seals were involved back there.
D) I did get miniscule oil spotting in the garage, with splooge on the underside of the drive arm, that was attributed to a deteriorating rear engine oil seal. (It was 20 years old.) After a full summer's riding, the leakage was determined to be about a full ounce. Not nearly enough to warrant replacing the seal (which would have been expensive).

I have sent the details as you have presented them to me to the guys in the know. Naturally, they are hamstung by not having the bike to look at. But if this motorcycle were mine, I'd poll a local BMW group to find a gifted mechanic, and I'd get a complete mechanical assessment of the neglect this machine has endured.

Water in the engine? (Is this bike left outside?)

I think it's swell that you are looking at a nice F800 for Mrs. Nikos. By the way, I will start readimg your blog. In fact, you may become sorry you said anything.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Charlie6 said...

Mr Nikos,

continuing the hijack of Mr Riepe's threat somewhat....my airhead has a similar final drive/rear drum brakes arrangement as your dear wife's bike.

may I suggest:

checking to ensure your ex-luftwaffe mechanic did not overfill the final drive (it really does not take that much), overfilling will cause the excess to be expelled via the top vent hole (which is same place you use to put more FD oil in. If the mess originates from there, no big deal. I'd drain the whole thing, put the right amount in. Clean the whole thing up and monitor.

The only other leak point is the section of the final drive connected to the rear hub. It's got its own drain plug and fill plug. If the mess is coming from there, perhaps new crush washers at the drain plug. Don't overtighten things. There are published torque values but really snug will do most of the time.

If I was in Germany, I'd not only be very happy to be able to ride there but would give you a hand.

The Mac-Pac's Tom Cutter is an airhead guru with few peers....but I'd start first with a good cleaning to determine the source of the leak. That much fluid out, the bike is NOT rideable till you determine source of leak and ensure enough 80w90 oil in the final drive.

I wish you luck, they're really good motorcycles if taken care of....

Of course, if the money's there for an F650, that's an outstanding motorcycle as well!

Lance said...

Nice post. I too have met some very cool HD riders - usually they are the older guys who you can tell are the real deal - I was somewhat stranded one time with my Honda CT90, and he came by to ask if I needed help, and told me about when he had one of these Hondas.

Nikos said...

Dear Charlie6
Many thanks for the advice - I'm going to be spending the New Year holiday checking over the items that you mentioned.
I like the motto of the Mac Pac! I wish we had such clubs here in UK - the official BMW club has regional sections that all seem to specialise in camping trips during inclement weather....

N

Conchscooter said...

My final drive chain is 34,000 miles old and looking like new. Any advice? What you say replace it and sprockets? For $200. Ooh the pain. Happy Christmas shaft drive people.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Chatlie6 and Nikos:

Tom Cutter is my mechanic of record, who does the big annual service on my bike. He lives about 45 miles from here and it is worth it to have him work on my K75.

The guy I have asked for help, however, is Todd Byrum, who heads up the highly respected airheads clinic both nationally and in occasional articles for the BMW MOA.

I absolutely agree with Domingo. Don't start or ride that bike until the source of the leak can be determined. And that should be easy.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Lance:

As I stated previously, it is my intention to spend a weekend riding with a Harley club. I will either come back with some of the best stories in my career, or with my ass painted blue. What's the eworst that can happen?

The weather may hit 50 here again the week, and I may get out on the bike again.

Thank you for writing in, and thank you for reasding my blog.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep ยช Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Conch:

The first advice I have for you is to tell you where you can shove that Triunph to keep it, and it's cute Schwinn chain drive, new looking. I have to laugh as the machine Nikos is talking about is 27-years-old... That's about two decades older than the dissolving point for Triumphs in a four-season environment.

As for my K75, I sat on it in the garage yesterday, and noticed my reflection on the glass screen of the tach... The tach is a useful device on a motorcycle accustomed to getting well-revved over 5 grand. I will send you a picture of one.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Sojourner rides said...

Jack,

You are kind to put me in your "trade." I so am not! But I totally appreciate you for thinking that I could pass...

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Sojourner (Sharon):

All this time I thought you wrote for a living.


Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

sgsidekick said...

Well, it was good to know your ass remained it's customary red (chapped)..

A very lovely memory piece you have here, Jack. Could you do me a favor, tho? Ask Leslie if she'd consider renting herself out. If she kept you from repiling the garage, she might be able to aid me in my back room. I clean and toss, and for some reason it looks like there is twice the amount after I'm done!

cpa3485 said...

You definately were one lucky guy that day. But to me it is just another indication of how riders stick together at least to some point regardless of what we ride or wear, have air cooled or water cooled engines, even whether we might have tachometers.
I particularly like Leslie's response:
Humph!!!

The comments to your blog are almost as much fun as the blog itself.

Andy said...

Stiffe's a keeper.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear SgSidekick (Tena):

Stiffie has a very simple philosophy where my stuff is concerned. "If it hasn't been used in a year, its garbage and will be thrown out." It makes life very uncomplicated.

Still want her to come over?

Fondest rgards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear CPA3485 (Jimbo):

I have been lucky like that throughout my life. In truth, I've had stuff come off the back of that Kawasaki a few times -- only one manuscriopt, however, and never a girlfriend.

And Stiffy has a unique way of expressing herself -- be it with words or a shotgun.

Thank you for reading my tripe, and for writing in.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Andy:

Who decides on who keeps who is never an issue in this house. Thanks for stopping by.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

LumpyCam said...

I lost a pair of shoes out of my over-stuffed courier bag yesterday. Retracing my steps, I found them sad and muddy on a highway curb. It would seem we all need a Toad to follow us around.