Monday, July 5, 2010

The Cantwell Factor...

The unmistakable rumble of a BMW “R” bike drifted up the driveway a fraction of a second before my riding partner Dick Bregstein materialized on his motorcycle. For those who are not familiar with BMW’s “R” bike legacy, these are the classic two-cylinder machines that the Bayerische Motoren Werke (Motorrad) has been cranking out, in one configuration or another, since 1923. The cylinders, commonly referred to as “jugs,” stick straight out about 3 and half feet on each side. Bregstein has a had a “love/hate” relationship since he bought this machine from a Gypsy horse-trader early last year. It replaced his brand new F800S, that he augered into a boulder on a tight curve in the early summer of 2008, before flying off to strike a house. While this “R” bike offers the seamless power and understated dignity of a BMW motorcycle, Dick misses the “bad boy” characteristics of his F800S, which combined the flickability of a pole dancer with the overall characteristics of a Doberman.

He switched off the bike, raised the chin-bar on his helmet and said, “I was in your neighborhood when I realized one of my MotoLights was out. I figured you’d have a spare.”

“No problem,” I replied. “Step into the garage. Can I get you a cold drink?”

“Do you have any prune juice and vodka?”

“The prune juice is in the refrigerator and the vodka is in the freezer,” I replied. (Dick calls this cocktail a “Russian Two-Step.” I believe he has one a day, regularly.) Yet before he could even open the freezer door, I had two replacement lamps in my hand. “Do you want a 25-watt bulb or the 50-watt one?”

“The fifty,” said Dick, with pure amazement in his voice. “But I’ll just take it and go then, as I’ll need the special tool to install it, and I have it at home.”

“No bother,” I said with a smile. “I have that tool right here.” I opened the third drawer in my rolling tool cabinet, retrieved the little “Y” wrench, and put it in Dick’s hand.

“Wait a minute,” said Dick, looking around. “What the fuck happened to this garage?”

Above — "Leather" Dick Bregstein, my riding buddy, knows where to find a spare MotoLight bulb in a jiffy. He is seen here posing with his "R" bike, named "Michele," after the President's wife. Photo by Patti Jacobs.

The three-bay garage attached to this house has a reputation for looking like a bazaar in Baghdad, after the Taliban has exploded a car bomb or something. But Bregstein’s glance revealed that everything had been organized and put away. The floor was spotless. All of my motorcycle gear had been categorized and stored in transparent plastic bins. My tools were filed by category and neatly placed in the appropriate drawer of my red, rolling tool chest. I knew exactly what stuff I had and where everything was. It took me 38 seconds to find the MotoLight bulbs.

“Have you got a clean rag,” asked Bregstein?

“Red cloth garage rags or heavy blue absorbent paper,” I responded, popping open a bin that had both, plus an assortment of micro-fiber cloth towels.

“I can’t stand this,” said Bregstein. “Not from you. Did you get abducted by aliens? If so, I hope they gave you the anal probe without lubrication — repeatedly.”

What happened to the garage was Michael Cantwell.

A mild-mannered, environmentally sensitive individual, who is trained as a forester and nature specialist, Cantwell lives in a world of perfect order. Everything exists without conflict in his little universe... Stars never collide... Bees never sting... And women never bitch. That’s because he makes sure everything is where it should be, without confusion nor conflict.

Above — Michael Cantwell takes a hit of Adirondack spring water while assessing the seemingly endless piles of shit stacked in the garage. His BMW K75 motorcycle, named "The Nobility of Mankind," is parked in the background. Photo by Leslie Marsh.

I first met Mike Cantwell years ago when I was a writer living in the High Peaks region of New York State’s Adirondacks. We were on “day 15” of an ice storm whose after effects still had another 10 days to go. I had been trapped in a cabin for two weeks with a woman who (without radio, television, or the telephone) was gradually turning into a vampire, when I staggered into a bar looking for help.

“Do any of you skinny assholes know anything about phone wires,” I asked a crowd of barflys.

One guy, who was sitting by the wood-burning stove, sipping a warm Nestle’s Quik, said, “I think I know what they look like.”

“Can you climb a pole for $20,” I pressed, fully examining his qualifications?

He was willing to climb Everest for $20, and that’s how I met Mike Cantwell. (He had my phone hooked up an hour later, when most of the Adirondacks were wrapped with dead and fallen wires.) We have been good friends ever since.

Cantwell had ridden down from Wilmington, New York to participate in the Mac Pac’s Guinness World Book attempt to assemble the greatest number of BMWs in one spot, and was staying with Leslie and me for the weekend. He’d gone to bed early enough on the evening he arrived (after a 400-mile stretch), yet I found him in the kitchen at dawn, dark circles around his eyes, sobbing into a bowl of Fruit Loops. (We normally keep boxes of “silly cereal” around for the warped tastes of the children of our visiting friends.)

“What’s the matter, Mike,” I gently asked, suspecting some secret family trouble, or a midlife male identity crisis, or a simple case of overwhelming motorcycle penis envy that stemmed from parking his underspoken blue K75 next to my flamboyant red one.

“I can’t tell you,” Cantwell whispered. “You’ll be totally pissed.”

“Did you get drunk and make a pass at Leslie,” I guessed. (I already knew this wasn’t the case as we didn’t have that much Nestle’s Quik in the house.)

“Worse,” he sobbed. “I can’t stay here another minute.”

“Why?”

“Because your garage is such a total shit house that I can’t close my eyes without seeing it in my sleep,” Cantwell said. “It’s so fucking horrible, that it scares the living shit out of me.”

“How can I help,” I asked.

“Could you... Would you... Could you let me clean it and organize it for you,” he stammered.

This was the only time in my life I ever came close to knowing how people who win huge lotteries feel.

“Only if you let me supervise while drinking rum and coke.”

“Thank you... Thank you,” he sighed. “Can we get started now?”

“But it’s only 5am.”

“If we get started now, we’ll finish in time for the Guinness Record ride,” said Cantwell, looking at his watch.

“The ride isn’t until tomorrow,” I said.

“I know,” said Cantwell. “I know.”

“Very well,” I said. “Make me a rum and coke.”

“You want a rum and coke now” asked Cantwell. “It’s only 5am.”

“I know,” I replied. “I know.”

Cantwell stepped out into the anguish of the garage with the expectations of a young sailor visiting a New Orleans whorehouse for the first time. The change in his demeanor was utterly remarkable.

“Now there’s a science to this,” he said. “We should begin be identifying all of the things in this shit house of a garage that you use very rarely or not at all. These will then be tossed out or placed in out-of-the way corners, making space for other things.”

I signaled my agreement to this concept by tinkling the ice in my glass.

Cantwell found 1 canoe, three bicycles, three portable bicycle racks, one semi-permanent bicycle mounting pole, one roof-mount storage capsule (for a car Leslie no longer owns), paddles, 6 tents, fishing gear, 6 shitty/cheap folding lawn chairs, canoe paddles and life jackets, 42 full boxes of art supplies (equivalent to 12 tons) 4 pieces of strange Adirondack furniture, a wheel-barrow with a flat tire, 3 metric tons of gardening supplies, 3 dog beds, a ramp (for Atticus to use to get into the Subaru), an Apple Tower computer from 1995, and a 300-lb. box containing an electric version of a “Total Gym,” that a friend of Leslie’s had to have immediately (“How much is it,” the friend asked. When he heard it was $1100, he said,“I’ll get back to you tomorrow.” That was nine years ago.)

Above — The author takes a boyish delight in categorizing box after box of motorcycle gear. Photo by Leslie Marsh.

In the motorcycle bay, Mike discovered motorcycle accessories and parts (many unopened in the original packaging); partially filled bottles of oil; transmission lubricant; tubes of room-temperature, self-vulcanizing shit; two ratchet sets (each missing the one socket that was most likely to be needed); a Kendon trailer; a couple of stools; three coolers (empty); and two spackle buckets (filled with shit). The entire garage floor was covered with leaves and sticks that had blown in from the driveway. And a mouse darted from corner to corner; while the neighbor’s cat paced outside

“The mouse problem was the easiest to solve,” said Cantwell. “I just carried in the cat.”

“The orange tabby from the driveway,” I asked.

Cantwell replied with an evil smile that said, “Nature is best when left alone.”

“That’s the neighbor’s cat who likes to piss in the garage,” I said. "Look over there."

The cat was hunched over, about to aim a stream of urine into Mike’s helmet. Homing in on the felonious feline's little round asshole, Cantwell's boot launched it into a perfect parabola that abruptly ended with a splash in the neighbor’s pool.

“How often do you use any of this shit,” Mike asked, gesturing to the inventory described above.

Once again, I tinkled the ice in my glass.

“Why don’t you just throw it out?”

“Because it belongs to the Vatican,” I said. “And she is absolutely certain everything is essential,” I said.

“Shit,” he replied.

“Ditto,” said I.

Cantwell went into high gear. Bicycle racks and the old car luggage pod were suspended from the ceiling. Various random items were dragged out into the driveway, to reveal the original floor plan of the structure. Meanwhile, I started going through all of my biking gear, organizing it into seven large plastic bins. The thermometer started to climb. By mid-day, it was dancing around 94º (F). I had a huge fan pointed at my head, yet the breeze stopped three times as Cantwell carried it out to the driveway.

Above — Mike Cantwell correctly identifies the state bird of New Jersey, while pondering the "Nobility of Mankind." Photo by Leslie Marsh.

“You touch that fucking fan one more time and I am going to fucking kill you,” I told him. He then made me feel badly with that ridiculously contrite look he gets on his face, especially as he then carried the fan around behind me for an hour.

Above — The author now understands why Native Americans did not have garages when Columbus discovered America. Photo by Leslie Marsh, the author's hot squeeze.

By late afternoon, I had the second-most thing I have ever wanted in my life: a spotlessly clean, well-organized garage, with a personal “Man Bay” solely for my motorcycle stuff. Cantwell had organized and hung garden implements on one wall, while reserving another just for odd sized bike-related stuff. These included my K75 "City Bags," which are hard, brief case-sized panniers, ideal for lane splitting in the city. (Cantwell was fascinated by these as he had never seen them before. "Cool," he said. "You'd look like a real Beemer douche riding around with these on.")

Parking my huge ass on my semi-hydraulic, 10-wheeled mechanic’s stool (a gift from Leslie’s dad and stepmom), I lit up a cigar the size of a hog’s leg and watered my throat with a deluge of beer as cold as an Alpine stream.

Above — Just washed, Cantwell's austere K75 exhibits a decent shine... His bike sports civilian crash bars and a manly, exposed set of throttle bodies. (They are covered on Fire Balls.) Photo by Leslie Marsh.

“Thank you, Michael,” I said. “Being gimpy like I am, this would have taken me a week, which is why it never gets done.”

“No problem,” said Cantwell. “I love doing stuff like this. And I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”

“Maybe not,” said Leslie. “Jack, tell him to park his bike in your train room.”

# # #



Addendum... Congratulations to Nikos!

On behalf of the global Twisted Roads readership and the riding elite of BMW motorcycles — K75 Owners — I would like to congratulate “Nikos” on his recent acquisition of a beautiful K75RT. This is a variation of the machine that sports a full fairing with the surface area of the State of Delaware. This distinctive fairing is designed to provide the rider with maximum protection from the more distressing elements that are likely to occur in locales with the kind of weather that would have Saint Francis kicking cats... Such as Great Britain.

It is my delight to embrace Nikos as the proud owner of a motorcycle subspecies — the K75 — in a design category that is regarded by many as the ugliest fucking motorcycle ever conceived. The truth is that all K75s are like that woman in the office; the one with the black-framed glasses, the square shoes, and the flat ass; the one who reads 1930’s novels for the complex sentence structure... The one who puts on a little black dress just for you; the one who makes you feel like a 21-year-old bullfighter; the one who has a classic art deco body when outlined in the moonlight, and the one who will keep you young forever.

Above -- The classic art deco nude form of a woman, from a 1930's painting by Walter Beach Humphrey. If a K75 could transform itself ito a woman, it would look like this. If a K75 could transform itself into a man, it would look like me. Photo from the internet. The painting is in a private collection.

There are those who will look at your bike, Nikos, and roll their eyes in amusement. Some may even ride other BMWs. These are the dopes destined to be the punchlines of the cognoscenti. Learn to give them that special little, warm smile... The one that says, “Shove it up your ass and keep walking.”

Above — The profile of a beautiful K75RT, now owned by Nikos. Photo by Nikos and stolen from his blog.

Nikos, I have seen the K75RT before, but never with the array of switches high up on the fairing. These give you a tremendous number of options for cool accessories without the clutter of aftermarket switches. What is the center switch for? (Is it a night light to read a map?) I also noted that your rig has heated handgrips, and the electrically adjustable windshield. Very neat. I also love the fuel gauge and the temperature gauge. You have me thinking that these might be a cool addition to Fire Balls, if I can figure out where to mount them.

Above — The flight deck of Nikos's K75RT. Photo by Nikos and stolen from his blog.

At 45,000 miles (kilometers), this machine is barely broken in. You can easily tell that it has been pampered as the color of the handlebar control switches has not faded. And Yours has a stereo sound system. (Tell me you’ve got this hooked up to an MP3 player?) Looking at the front brake rotors, I’m guessing that this unit has ABS brakes. (Mine does not and I occasionally wish it did.) Here’s a stupid question that I should know the answer to: are the red lines across the headlight for defrosting it?

My only regret about you having this rig over in Britain is that we will not be riding together soon, Nikos. Congratulations again. I have taken the liberty of adding your blog to mt destinations column on the right. You will come to regret my comments.

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



36 comments:

BMW-Dick said...

Special Thanks, Mike, letting Shitbird con you into putting the 50 watt Motolite bulbs and wrench where he could find them. And Jack, Sister Mary Katherine Knucklebruiser would be appalled, as would Strunk: It's "Leslie and me." Even though grammatically flawed, it's a nice piece. Thanks for the early morning adventure.

gary5410 said...

Does one have to have a K75 to invite Mr. Cantwell to spend the night? ...or a week (how fast does he work?).
I guess I'll go buy some plastic bins and order a dumpster......and just hope he shows up for a few days.....
Gary Christman

BMW-Dick said...

Just another correction, Jack. My bike's name is Michael, named after the president's spouse.

Nikos said...

Jack

This piece is of course amusingly written and mostly enjoyable to read but it seems to be flawed in principle as since when has it been easy to find things in 38 seconds after they have been "tidied"? Or is this the real secret of Mr Cantwell's skills whose blue K75 interestingly seems to have the low seat option*.

Best wishes from England, N



*I'm now the owner of a K75 and I'm working on a bespoke high seat modification.

----->>click here to view MY K75

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Mr. Bregstein:

Wthin 72-hours, I will have yet another surprise for you — if you can stand it.

It is absolutely too fucking hot to ride.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Gary:

I hesitate to think what would Leslie would offer to do for Cantwell if he performed the same magic on my train room. I cannot tell you how cool it is to sit in the motorcycle bay now, pull a beer out of the antique cooler, light up a cigar and look a all the cool motorcycle stuff in there.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Woody said...

I met Mike at the Guinness ride and for the life of me, I could not figure out how such a nice, down to earth person could be remotely associated with you. You are a clever bastard Riepe. Invite a highly organized neat freak to spend the weekend at your house so you can exploit their vulnerabilities.

Scott said...

Jack - You should have just thrown away those city cases. they are nogood for you in splitting traffic, as you ass is wider than the city cases. Your Friend Scott.

Allen Madding said...

ripe,
It is warming to my soul to see you've regained enough strength to type on your computer. Kudos to Leslie for nursing you back to a resemblence of health.

Additional kudos to Leslie for her photography skills duly noted in this posting.

Kudos to Mr. Cantwell for braving the jungle formally known as your garage. I certainly hope he had the presence of mind to acquire a tetnus shot prior to embarking on such an endeavor.

I concur with your comments regarding round headlights on motorcycles as I puke a small bit in the back of my mouth everytime I see a square headlight on a bike, the weber grill looking case on the back of a bike, samsonite luggage side cases, or the bmw microscope chemistry experiment side cases.

I propose that we start a pool on how long it takes before the garage floor in the motorcycle bay dissappears again. I'll pick first. I'm saying 90 days max. What say you?

Continue the prescription of rum. I am a firm believer in its medicinal qualities.

-Peace
Allen

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Woody:

I choose my friends carefully... Each having a skill set that I admire and eventually find useful. Dick Bregstein is the exception to that rule. But as I said to Bregstein earlier, I have a surprise for him in the next week or so.

Thank you for readimg my blog, and for commenting in such a highly complimentary style.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Scott:

Fuck you... Strong letter to follow. Let's meet for lunch over the one of the next two weekends. I'll bring Bregstein so we won't have to pick up the check. Suggest a few places. I haven't seen you in over a year.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Mr. Madding:

I agree with you on the square headlight for motorcycles. But I did see two auxilliary riding lights that were square on a vntage BMW and they looked quite badass. Regarding the other design elements of the BMW, they are so far ahead of their time, that some riders, notably those of a marque that have not changed their electrical systems since Wareen Harding was in the White House, cannot grasp the purity of the Teutonic bike concept.

I'll take that bet. Cantwell is coming down here again in about 90 days. Just send me the money now. Did we say $500?

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep * Toad

Steve Williams said...

I'm interested in the Cantwell Factor. Is the effect limited to a certain region? Are their weather or seasonal related factors that would prohibit further application?

Please foward with haste his Web site and bank transfer information so that we may feel the factor too.

Also, does a K bike really qualify as a BMW or merely a pretender to the flock? All R bike riders I have met seem to spit on the ground near my feet when I mention one.

On an unrelated note. I did finally take a BMW with a boxer style engine for a ride. Just posted my lame experience on such a noble machine...

Steve Williams
Scooter in the Sticks

bobskoot said...

Jack:

May I ask you to please stop posting photos of the Mighty BMW K75, they are starting to look good.

bob
Wet Coast Scootin

Nikos said...

Jack
I have just picked myself off the floor and Mrs Nikos is flattered at your superb art deco rendition of her body. She is asking for your phone number as I type.

Best wishes and thanks for the eulogy - the bit about the bike wasn't too bad either.
N

PS I will let you know the outcome of the right hand mirror very soon - tricky little soab - my friendly mechanic (owner of that dog and with 25+ years of experience) is dealing with it.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Steve Williams (Scooter In The Sticks):

The effects of Steve Cantwell on my garage cannot be underestimated. I just looked at the cost of portable air conditioners ($550) to see about cooling off the garage as a place of refuge in the summertime. (This is preposterous I have nothing to seek refuge from... And it is 68º in my office now.)

The joys of knowing where everything is in the motorcycle bay is very nice.

Now regarding the difference between the iconic "R" bike and the mechanical perfection of the "K" machine...You will never worry about cylinder head heat on a "K" bike. And speeds of 150+ are fully possible with a "K" bike, right out of the showroom.

So let them spit. It's how they cool those jugs off.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Bobskoot:

It appears you are going to be trailing a BMW tail light for a long distance this summer. Enjoy the BMW rally. As with Steve Williams, I predict a German addition to your garage next year. Don't argue. Just drink the Kool Aid.

All of us dream of the K75 at one point or another.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

Welcome to the "Sons of Heaven K75 Society." In that front view of your bike, there is another machine with a similar fairing in the background. I think that bike is a K100, however. Note the crash frame on that rig, and the one on Cantwell's. I have something similar. Though incongruous with the overall lines of the fairing, these asre very useful in preventing damage due to garage drops. I highly recommend them.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Cantwell said...

Jack,
I'm glad you have finally posted some nice pictures of 'Connie' (formerly known as 'The Nobility of Mankind'). I have named her 'Connie' because I now have a picture of what my bike would look like if it were a woman. I have also named it 'Connie' because I need to scrub the image of what my bike would look like if it were a man. The thought of riding my beloved 1993 BMW K75 named 'Jack' kinda made me puke in my mouth a bit.
A note to readers, MY garage looks like a shit hole.
Great write-up of a great weekend. Thanks Jack.

Michael

Conchscooter said...

May I stay with Cantwell after my 1500 miler (if Herself ever lets it happen)? He is my soulmate. Maybe we could reorganize our saddlebags prior to a good night's refreshing sleep.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Mike:

Hurry up and plan your next ride down here. Leslie says the train room beckons.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Conchscooter:

You'll have to ditch the stupid pink crocs first.

By the way, if you read the fine print. you'd see M. Cantwell rides a K75, a bike with a tach, a proper cooling system, a self-retracting kickstand, flashers, self-cancelling turn signals, and real balls.

Now that the Triumph dealer in your neighborhood has gone tits up, you should trade that Bonneville in on a nice K75, as there is no dealer to service that bit of perfection in your locale either.

Hah!

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

bobskoot said...

Mr Conch via Jack:

don't pay any attention to Reep. Here in the West, we appreciate and applaud loud footwear. Head west on your Triumph and you will be in good company.

bob
Wet Coast Scootin

Young Dai said...

While I obviously wouldn't want to acuse you of talking out of your not inconsiderable ........hat, not least because I wonder if we could come to a hands-across-the water / Lend-Lease arrangement on Mr Cantwel. But the once and forever Bike, the one to truely make a man's heart sing, must be the Honda ST1100, the curves, the grip, the banshee howl when you get her on the cam. That is something to make a man weep in rememberance for mis-spent weekends in the saddle.


But anyway, another UK blogger with a K75 is this one http://mikeprince.typepad.com/journey_to_/

He is posting rarely now but
if you scroll back about 12 entries to March last year, he covers how he refurbished his hack K75m in a very well set up home garage. The guy is a very confident spanner man, but there are lots of pictures of someone else doing the work which I thought would appeal to you.

He also covers personal tours through the battlefields and millitary cemeteries from 1WW and early 2WW.in Belgium and Northern France , and a rebuild of an R Bike as well.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Bobskoot:

Do you know how to separate the men from the boys among the Pink Croc crowd? With a crow bar. Conchscooter called me tonight. He was behind a barn in east Texas, and local gents were making him "wee" like pig.

Yawl have a great ride out to Oregon. Be safe... And come back with a great story. By the way, your piece on helmet communication was very well done. I loved it.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Young Dai:

It is with the greatest reluctance that I have added your name to the long list of renown riders that feel compelled to point out my shortcomings as a shade-tree mechanic. But you did it with great elan tonight.

Honda has carved its niche in two-wheeled history... Not unlike "Chevy" in the 'sixties. But the K75 transcends history... It is in a category of total uniqueness -- along with the discovery of oral sex.

It was great to hear from you tonight. How has your summer riding been so far?

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

cpa3485 said...

I like that concept of the "man bay". A few years ago my wife turned me loose with the Sears credit card and I bought cabinets and a thing called a "Tool Dock" which I can use as a worktable for varius tools such as a router, sabre saw, drill press and vices. Rather than buy stands for each, I can mount the various tools on one stand. My garage was originally painted in a rather ugly forest green color which I hated. It is now "Jayhawk" blue.
You indeed have very good friends. I have a friend that helped me immensely last weekend in helping get an old bathtub out of a bathroom we are starting to remodel. The thing weighed a friggin ton and he was damn near able to lift it by himself. Good friends are a blessing, but I stil have to wonder why people seem to like you, LOL.

Don Eilenberger said...

Dear Jack,

Who is the hairy short person in the photo of the K75RT (possibly the hottest bike in the world right after a K100RT..)? He appears to be on a leash.

He looks familiar.. I believe my parents had one of those named Fred. Nasty SOB. Bit a lot.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear CPA3485 (Jimbo):

A "Man Bay" is an important thing to have in a garage. I do not worry about the color of the walls as I am about to start taping old Playboy centerfolds to them. This "artwork," along with an antique beer cooler, is the essence of a Man Bay.

I just acquited the July 1976 issue of Playboy, which features the most beautiful centerfold model in the publication's history. This issue also features a pictorial with Sarah Miles and Kris Kristopherson. It's too perfect to mutiliate. Now I need another. Sarah miles was HOT!

My friends are the best, despite the fact they miss no opportunity to gut me like a bass. In truth, they find in me a little something to which they'd all like to aspire.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Don:

At first glance, I thought that was Brian Curry in the picture, but the bike is the wrong color. It might be that guy Nikos.

How's the summer treating you?

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

gainesville365 said...

Jack, you were looking fetchingly hot and sweaty in these photos. I know this look well. The glazed expression, the pale skin with the reddening above, the futility of war with the climate. There are only two possible expressions: grim determination and defeat. I say your hair gave up long before you did.

I will go on the record here to state there is no way to avoid women's bitching. Especially one who is dripping with sweat.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Gainesville:

I look like ten pounds of shit in a two-pound bag in these pictures. Women's bitching is only a problem for those who go out of their way to hear it.

I am the Über-man of romance and sensitivity. This is well-known in Beemer circles. But it is my "God-Help-Me-Look" tha keeps me from getting tossed out on my ass around here.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Radar said...

Jack,

OK, 32 posts and I think it's time to call bullshit.

Am I the only one who noticed that there are NO pictures of the end product - this alleged "man cave"? Is this one of those mostly-truth, fictional tales woven by the Great Riepe?

Does the King wear no clothes? Uh-oh, I just got a visual. I immediately regret that reference...

Any man who can dream of an organized garage is my hero. To actually do it makes you a god-like being (in the non-biblical sense, of course). You are THE MAN among men.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Radar:

Nice shot! I am posting a new blog tomorrow that will delve into my heaet attack situation. But next Monday's blog will include an addendum with the actual clean garage photographs.

And I have to tell you, having a clean, well-organized Man-Bay for my motorcycle is a pure delight. I was simply too lazy to go out and take the pictures, plus the fact it is now 9:16pm, and the temperature in the garage is 94 degrees.

Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad

Nikos said...

Adverse comments about my appearance are much exagerated - that hairy quadroped standing next to my object of uncommon quality is called Jasper and thankfully belongs to the repair shop owner.

Nikos said...

Jack
The red lines on the headlamp are no more than lines printed on a film (function not known)- now removed and I cannot find any protection bars suitable for the 75RT model - for some odd reason they are listed for the other K models at my favourite supplier .I need new tyres, what do you run?
Kind regards and good luck with the diet, Nikos