Dispatches From The Front... Stuff Left Out

The “Dispatches From The Front” episodes of “Twisted Roads” deal with open correspondence to the author, bits and pieces of stories not yet published, real endings to stories of mine that were published in sanitized hardcopy venues, interesting pictures that haven’t yet made it into print, and ride announcements.

Previously Unanswered Correspondence From Readers

Dear Twisted Roads:

The island nation of Fuugola has been looking to compete in the winter Olympics for the past 50 years. As you must be aware, the tropical nature of Fuugola is not conducive to luge training, nor do our meager resources allow for the construction of large scale, artificially cooled luge facilities. The most recent blog episodes of Twisted Roads indicate that East Goshen, Pennsylvania is a land wracked by ice and snow, where people wear hides and drink potent liquids from helmets, worn to prevent death from impact during the odd warm month, when motorcycles play a significant role in the mating ritual.

Our research indicates that your current physique (which most closely approximates the dimensions of the Fuugolanese alpha male), your nurturing attitude toward women, and your ability to consume rum and coconut milk from a helmet — coupled with the frozen vastness of your driveway (an ideal luge training facility) — compel me to ask, would you consider going into training and competing on behalf of Fuugola in the next winter Olympics, to be held in Newark, NJ (a city with the same annual snowfall of Vancouver, BC).

(Above) Total Life Trainer from Fuugola — Photo by Bob Skoot


We haven’t got much to offer you in the way of compensation. In fact, all we can do is provide you with a “Total Life” trainer, who will do your cooking, your cleaning, and basic luge and motorcycle maintenance, while attending to your more animalistic needs. Her name is Siama Seeza. (Picture enclosed.) We would also be willing to name you “Hardonius Erectus,” which would make you a tribal chief. Would these arrangements be acceptable to you?

Sincerely,
Motubu Afumastu
Minister Of Olympic Competition
Island Nation of Fuugola


Dear Motubu Afumastu:

Looking at my calendar, I can start tomorrow.

Fondest regards
Twisted Roads



Dear Twisted Roads:

My boyfriend, “Street Crud,” rides a Harley Davidson. He got it to ride from Seven-Eleven to Seven-Eleven with his friends every weekend. Sometimes they cover as much as 25 miles in a day. They pull up in a huge line in the Seven-Eleven parking lot, drink coffee, and admire their bikes. Then they ride on to the next one and do it all over again. At that point, things started to get “odd.”

Crud got one of those stupid German soldier helmets, in chrome, that looks like a huge dickhead. After that, he got a Harley tattoo on his dick. Okay, it's not actually on his dick. It's a tattoo done in an arch that reads, "H-D... Born to ride" over his dick. But he likes to read it whenever he takes a piss, so he had it put on upside down. Crud has to shave his pubes to read the damn thing and has made a You-Tube video of shaving himself with a straight-edge razor. But it’s all bullshit. He really uses “Nair” and a pink Lady Gillette razor with little flowers on it. The straight-edge razor is made of plastic and came from a Halloween costume shop.

Now Crud is complaining about my tits.

(Above) Crud says these aren't Harley enough. Photo by Babs

He says they just aren’t “Harley” enough. I am a 34 “C,” with pink rosé nipples that point up. He wants me to get a boob job pushing these puppies up to 44 “Double D’s,” so I can get “Harley” tattooed on one, and “Davidson” on the other. Except he wants the words put on backwards so he can read them in the mirrors on his Sportster. A fucking Sportster. Is it just my imagination, or does it sound strange that a guy would willing go riding around on a little fucking Sportster? Do you think he secretly wants to be a bitch.

Sincerely,
Babs
Questioning Sportster Crud
Shithole, New Jersey


Dear Babs:

Could be. I’ll admit that the fascination with a little motorcycle and big hooters does sound strange. But we here at Twisted Roads are more concerned with potential safety hazards that Crud may be creating — and to which he may be inadvertently exposing you. Our safety team engaged an exotic dancer, with 44 “Double D’s,” to ride pillion on a Sportster we found parked behind a local ballet studio. A we suspected, her bodacious tah-tahs completely filled the field of vision on both mirrors, preventing the operator from seeing anything else.

This is a very dangerous situation. You were smart to write to us.

But there is some good news too. Your current vital statistics exactly match those found on page 16 of the K75 Eugenics Guide For The Perfect Ride. In other words, you are exactly proportioned to be a flawless addition to the pillion of any BMW K75, particularly those manufactured in 1995. (This is a legendary motorcycle that is anything but small.) There is a notation on the same page that as a further test for rider compatibility, you can lay back on the gas tank, resting your ankles on the K75 operator’s shoulders. If he emits a low whistle, you’re a perfect fit.

I just happen to have a 1995 K75, with a custom tank bag made of Corinthian glove leather. Let me know if I can assist you in any way.

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads


Dear Twisted Roads:

Me, Nancy and Harry actually did save 1.8 million jobs. Yours just wasn’t one of them. So fuck you.

Sincerely,
Bowing Barry
Washington, DC


Dear Bowing Barry:

Thank you for writing to Twisted Roads. No one is here right now, as we are out begging on the street, but your opinion is important to us. Your letter will be answered next November. Fuck me? Fuck you!

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads



Dear Twisted Roads:

You Son Of A Bitch: Oh you were sooooo cool... Coming up to me in that dumpy biker bar with that stupid line, “Allow me to reproduce myself.” I could kill you for wearing that stupid banged-up beagle look on your face, and myself for falling for it. I can’t believe I swallowed that story about you being on your way “to donate an organ.” Well we know who the organ recipient was, don’t we. Then you told me those pills in the bottle next to your bed were male birth control tablets. They were nothing more than red m&ms. (I found the rest of the bag on the floor in the bathroom. Not a red one in the whole bunch.) You are such a prick. You and that whole BMW- riding crowd from Pennsylvania. They ate and drank everything in the damn beach house.

When am I going to see you again?

Sincerely,
Paris H.
Hollywood, Cannes, New York, You-Tube

ps: The video is so cool... Especially when you peel that little Twisted Roads tee shirt off me.


Dear Paris H.:

I never lied to you... Well maybe just a little... Actually, the part about me being a professional pole vaulter was a stretch... Unless you want to consider vaulting the poles the strippers use in topless joints as a vocation. And you knew what those guys were when you answered the door. You still owe me $2,000 for the shirt.

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads


Dear Twisted Roads:

I want to be just like you, and have women lift their shirts every time I pull up on my bike too. So I got a red K75, covered all the chrome parts with black Jet-Hot coating, mastered the patented “battered baby seal look,” and even shoved a large potato in my tight Aerostitch riding gear. I get a lot of smiles, but not one woman has lifted her shirt. Should I change the muffler on the bike? Should I switch to a Sprint fairing? What am I doing wrong?

Sincerely,
B. Curry
Hanging Cat, Pa


Dear B. Curry:

Try putting the potato in the front of your Aerostitch.

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads

Other, Unrelated Issues

BMW aficionado Lee Kazanas sent me this picture from Jay, New York... Where I used to live. It is a pictorial comparison between the weather in Jay and East Goshen, Pa., my current residence. Lee Kazanas was one of my very first friends when I moved up to the Adirondacks. Our daughters trick or treated together when they were five years old.

(Above) Lee Kazanas on his newest acquisition, a BMW R1150RT, sending me an encouraging message about the weather. Photo by Lee Kazanas

Kazanas and his wife Cheri are the talent behind the world-renowned Jay Craft Center, the source of exquisite pottery, woodwork, and jewelry. (This studio is highly regarded as the epicenter of cultural development in the North Country. It is part of an extensive community of artists, musicians, and writers, plus a sweat shop where Kazanas keeps Cheri and the kids handcuffed to the machinery.) I have spent thousands of hours with Lee and his wife over dinner, at a bar, by a fireside, or even in their studio, where clay is tortured into beautiful shapes. Some of the most elegant Adirondack homesteads are decorated with artwork from this studio, adorned by the distinctive pinecone signature. Years ago, when I was a young writer, I saved six months wages to buy a hand-painted switch-plate for the kitchen wall from the Jay Craft Center. One of my former wives took it on her way out.

This picture is Lee’s genteel way of giving me the finger. He's out riding, and I'm not.

Clicking on this link will take you to the front forks of Michael Cantwell’s 1994 BMW K75. A neighbor of Lee Kazanas, Cantwell lives in Wilmington, NY (another town where I used to live). This video clip depicts Cantwell roaring out onto Bonnieview Drive, and turning left onto Route 86, for the first ride of 2010. His run will go past the road on which Twisted Roads reader Ihor Sypko has a cabin, and past the vegetable stand where the Mulvey’s sell produce in the summer. (Cantwell will blow his distinctive horn as he passes the Mulvey Farm.) Coming into Jay, Michael will go right onto Route 9 in Jay, passing the Jay Craft Center, only to get stuck behind a minivan doing 25 mph for the last 15 miles of a beautiful ride along the barren AuSable River. (The only thing that keeps Cantwell from passing the other vehicle is unsabashed fear. The word the gentle reader is looking for is “pussy.”) Nevertheless, the sound of the K75 is like having a hot luge trainer from Fuugola whisper in your ear. The video pixelates as Michael hits his top speed of 36 mph, but the sound of that engine is the symphony of life. I recommend watching the video at least once, then closing your eyes and just listening to it a second time.

Gifts I received...

Readers occasionally send me the nicest things. Most recently, Bob Skoot of “Wet Coast Scootin’” sent me a collapsible stool to assist me in mounting and dismounting from my K75. The arthritis in my hips and knees is so bad, that swinging my leg over the 31” (inch - ‘Merican unit of measurement) sends a jolt of pain through my spine. This thoughtful gift is cleverly designed to fold flat, and Bob quickly deduced that it would fit into my topcase, providing me with additional options to minimize my riding challenges. My topcase is the OEM unit from BMW. It opens forward, enabling me to reel in a step, secured to the handelbars by a chain, and drop it into the case behind me, also accepting a folding cane that I use for walking. Bob undoubtedly felt this stool would be a rather fashionable answer to my mounting problems.

Regretably, the stool that Bob sent me does not fit into the topcase, which has some peculiar dimensions.

(Above) The interior contours of the BMW OEM topcase limit the usable space inside, and the nice folding stool that Bob Scoot sent me is a trifle too large. Photo taken by the author.

The step I currently use was built for me by Jim Sterling, a Mac Pac rider and friend, who happens to be an engineer for Boeing. Sterling recognized the odd parameters of the BMW topcase, took careful measurements, and built the step to fit. He rode up to my garage from Delaware, where he then experimented with a prototype, that added nearly four inches in height to my leg, helping me get it over the “fat man wings” of my Russell Day-Long Saddle.

(Above) This is the step arrangement I cureently use, designed and built by Jim Sterling, of the Mac Pac Engineering Institute. These guys can do anything. Photo by the author.

Bob Skoot was the 6th person to contribute a step to my garage. Prototypes were contributed by Ricky Matz (a friend of mine for 40 years), Ken Bruce (Mac Pac), Dick Bregstein (Mac Pac), David Hardgrove (Mac Pac) and Jim Sterling (Mac Pac). David Hardgrove provided me with the exact same model as Bob Skoot, so now I have two. Two of the wooden steps (Ricky’s and Ken’s) are now permanent fixtures in the garage, which I can just pull up to. Bob Skoot’s step (which was mailed to me at considerable expense) is now in the Suburban, to assist me in getting snow off the roof and as a means to soften the jolt when the Celebrex isn’t up to the job.

I have no idea what it was that deserved this kind of consideration attention from my riding friends, but I am eternally grateful.

Tena Abbey sent me a pouch she knitted, filled with little baby harp seals. According to the note, she has been studying the marketability of the “Battered Baby Seal look,” a technique I have relied on to get laid for years. (I have not previously considered marketing this secret, nor holding webcasts in its execution, as I am not interested in raising the competition.) Abbey claims that the baby harp seal has other therapeutic benefits, however. In a secret study, Canadian school teachers, politicians, healthcare officials, and clergy all showed dramatic drops in anxiety after spending a few days on the ice, clubbing the shit out of baby harp seals. (It’s hard to believe that Canada has a dark side like this, but it fits in nicely with the whole bilingual scam.)

(Above) Tena Abbey's desktop Harp seals are ideal for battering with a pencil, to work out those inner office tensions. Photo by the author, taken on his desk.

Abbey felt that she could replicate the relaxing sensation of clubbing baby harp seals, and make it available to executives and others with high anxiety-generating jobs in the US, through this pouch of seals. You simply empty it onto a desk top, and whack the seals with a pencil. I recently did this while listening to a keynote speaker in the travel industry. Her presentation was on the significance of professional advancement within a firm by using social networking, like Facebook, to kiss ass publicly. By the time her presentation was over, I had whacked two of the fake seals to threads, and ate three others. Abbey is working on a CD that will create accompanying sound effects as well.


Two Tee Shirt Honeys...

Janice McKenzie bought three of my shirts around Christmas time, realizing the power of a Twisted Roads Tee shirt in a world gone amok. She then tempted fate by wearing one herself. Apparently, it has raised the value of the house she and Rolly Brown live in. I got the picture from Rolly, who said, “Doesn’t Janice look great in this shirt? And it really accents the natural beauty of the front porch too!”

(Above) Janice McKenzie demonstrates the proper fit of a Twisted Roads Tee Shirt. Photo by Rolly Brown, I thnk.

The second shot is off Tena Abbey, who decided to wear her shirt into a local library. I thought I had explained that the nature of the Twisted Roads tee shirt is best experienced in a risque setting. Now Tena lives over on the west coast, and apparently, the library is where women go to get something started. I heard that guys in the periodicals section went berserk, throwing cards from the catalogue high in the air. Some guys even spoke out loud.

(Above) Tena Abbey let's her Twisted Roads tee shirt magic loose in a west coast library. Photo is from the National Civilian Secret Data File.

Twisted Roads is in the process of changing its Tee shirt vendor. I wasn't happy with the quality of the larger size shirts, and am in the process of switching suppliers. Several folks have inquired, and I apologize for the wait. Five people have been waiting for books, and these were shipped today.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2010
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chamberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)