Dispatches From The Front...

The "Dispatches From The Front" section of Twisted Roads provides a forum for our readers to ask questions about motorcycle-riding technique, mechanical issues, relationship-building, science, politics, heated gear, and chocolate chip cookies for sexual barter. No subject is too delicate. Twisted Roads' staff are not licensed professionals, but many have library cards.


Dear Dispatches From The Front:

Nobody outside of a strange and warped BMW riding community has seen Jack Riepe since he disappeared to the New Jersey shore last October. Riepe appeared once as a semi-serious public speaker and then disappeared again. Yet unsuspecting Twisted Roads readers are suddenly confronted with stories of a “Heated Gear” distributor, working bike rallies out of an RV (allegedly appointed like the palace of a mogul), who carries on with unabashed shenanigans that allegedly attract and ultimately despoil easily-duped women.

Does anyone else find this odd?

Has anyone ever seen Jack Riepe (code name: Magic Man) and Dan Allen (code name: Shango Rider) together, in the same room? The answer to the question is apparently “no.” Yet both have white hair. Both wear glasses. Both have adored dark blue motorcycles. Both ride BMWs. Both have filtered coffee through the left cup of a 34 “b” brassiere. Both are hated and despised by gentle women everywhere. And both stutter like machine guns when asked the question, “Has my wife been in here today?”

There is ample evidence that Jack Riepe (Magic Man) and Dan Allen (Shango Rider) are the same person. Consider “Exhibit A,” a well-documented picture of Jack Riepe on “Blue Balls,” taken by a woman who loved him but who wised up at the last moment. Compare it with “Exhibit B,” alleged to be a shot of “Dan Allen,” banking into a curve. Note the same sloppy handling of the motorcycle in both pictures. Note both are wearing full-face helmets. And note that both are riding the cursed bike of the “Boys In The Bund.”

Coincidence? I think not.

Above: Jack Riepe executes a vicious lean on "Blue Balls," a famous BMW K75 with a rare Sprint Fairing. Stop action photo by Leslie Marsh.


Above: Dan Allen "Shango Rider" executes a gentle twistie on the famous BMW "R" bike, known to millions as "Flounder."

I demand that the two of these "gentlemen" be produced in the same room at a major motorcycle rally, so we can judge for ourselves.


Sincerely,
Ebbit Banger
Sedalia, MO

Dear Mr. Banger:

It is no secret that Jack Riepe has gone into a forced seclusion, reportedly to the New Jersey shore, to regain his composure and to finish the great American “Motorcycle Book,” that he has been writing forever. But he has been seen. Local authorities claim he attempted to hold up a “food bank,” by pulling a plastic trash bag over his his head and demanding that the “teller” put all the Hostess Twinkies in a sack. This volunteer worker, a spry thing of 79, thought he said something else, and lifted up her shirt. She then threatened to call police unless he “followed through.”

Nine states away, Dan Allen was alleged to be having sex in his RV, as per the sound effects filtering through thin aluminum walls... This has not been confirmed as he was alone. Both have denied knowing each other, with Allen claiming to spit whenever Riepe’s name was mentioned. There are no plans for a Riepe/Allen Rally confrontation at this time. Your allegations are unfounded.

Fondest regards,
Pansy “Hammerhead” Begonia
Reader Relations/Twisted Roads



Dear Dispatches From The Front:

I was in attendance at the New Jersey Shore BMW Riders Monthly Dinner (March 14, 2012), specifically to hear the guest speaker — Jack Riepe. I was one of Riepe’s brunette conquests decades before, when he rode a Kawssaki H2 (1975). The man introduced as “Jack Riepe” was charming, engaging, and very entertaining. The man I remember as Jack Riepe was coarse, rough-cut, and basically evil. (He farted like a fog horn the first time I introduced him to my mother.) Also, the speaker welcomed as Jack Riepe was a lot better looking than the young, Kawasaki-riding, fencing team champion that I remember.

I started to get the most uncomfortable feeling... That this man was not the Jack Riepe that I knew, but some kind of an imposter, probably transported to earth by aliens for some nefarious purpose. And then I saw something that really troubled me. Jack loved wienerschnitzel. This guy didn’t touch his meal (as evident in the picture of him sitting at the table), but he surreptitiously scarfed up the wienerschnitzel — and shoved it in his pants — when nobody was looking. It is a well-known fact that Jack Riepe possesses no useful knowledge about anything. This Riepe seemed to be an authority on heated gear. I found that odd too.

Then a stunning young woman, on her way to the ladies room, wagged her ass at his eye-level as she passed, and he utterly ignored it. The Jack Riepe I know would have tackled that derriere and gone truffle-hunting in denim. Yet this guy simply turned the conversation to the value of quality heated gear. Something is wrong here.

The behavior of this odd Riepe clone was so disturbing, that I opted to remain anonymous, instead of showing him the pictures of the child he has never seen, and who now hunts the shadows for him with murderous intent.

Very truly yours,
Charlotte Aldente
Cowflop, NJ


Dear Charlotte Aldente:

Thank you for your note of concern. Other attendees at that same event have also reported that the speaker — Jack Riepe — seemed a little strange that night. Mr. Riepe’s behavior is easily explained, however. There is no bar at Schneider’s German-American Restaurant and this was the first time in 40 years that he has ever addressed a group while stone cold sober. The fact that he hadn’t had a snort of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey in 24 hours probably had him so cross-eyed that he didn’t recognize a fabulous keester only inches away.

There is no need for you to continue wondering if Jack Riepe is actually someone else, who is an authority on heated motorcycle gear.

Very Truly Yours:
Pansy “Hammerhead” Begonia
Reader Relations/Twisted Roads


Dear Dispatches From The Front:

I recently purchased a 1995, red K75, tricked out like a rare and magnificent “signature bike,” with the intent of using it to knock off a nice piece of sugar and spice every other weekend. The motorcycle is smoking hot, with an engine that runs flawlessly, pushing a frame that has been meticulously maintained, and festooned with incredibly powerful riding lights. Yet the first time I pulled up to a “Chiquita on the vine,” and revved the engine, she laughed, saying, “Keep moving, Pops.” Then she jiggled her rack at me and added, “These would give you a heart attack.” This has since happened several times.

What am I doing wrong?

Sincerely,
Addison Filmore
Door-To-Door Veterinary Gynecologist To The Stars
Acid Rain, Co


Dear Addison Filmore:

Thank you for writing in to Twisted Roads, the moto-blog for raw adventure and romance like broken glass. While the K75 has a long and established reputation for a chick magnet (especially in red), the bike’s character must be enhanced by the rider for maximum effect. Have you tried acting like a game show host? Perhaps the previous owner combined something in his personality with the dynamics of the bike (i.e a dazzling smile, or a line like “Allow me to reproduce myself?”) to break the ice?

More likely, you have just discovered that unlike the title, the “signature” part is not transferable. Can you spell“screw-ola?”

Fondest regards,
Sue Ellen Shaveclam
Twisted Roads Technical Adviser


Dear Dispatches From The Front:

Nancy Lee and I have been sweethearts since she first took her top off on my Sportster, for her high school graduation picture. I had always heard that the one thing a woman could eat that would make her stop giving trombone solos (you know, bobbing for the bedroom banana) was wedding cake. So I was real careful when Nancy Lee (not her real name) and me, Stanley Kowalski (my real name) got married to make sure she didn’t get none of that four-story confection with the little bride and groom on it. But she must have snuck some in the ladies room at the Howard Johnsons because she’d just laugh when I brought the subject up after we got married.

The price of “banana bobbing” must have risen faster than gas because “Nancy Lee” (not her real name) said if I insisted, it would cost me my share of the trailer, the gas grill, and the pay TV satellite.

I was so desperate for a home-grown, lip-lock on my love-muscle that I tried enticing her with everything, including a box of Big Jim’s “Insanely Delicious” Chocolate Chip cookies.

“Save your petty bribes,” she sneered.

I got so upset that I climbed into bed one night with a whole box of Big Jim’s cookies, and started eating them one after another. The aroma of the perfect cookie, magnified by a dozen, drifted through the bedroom, and Nancy Lee said, “Can I have one?”

My heart softened, momentarily, and I replied, “You can have a piece of one, Honey.” So I gave her a chuck with about 50 chocolate chips and 35 nut pieces on it. I heard her nipples click into “love spasm” mode two seconds later.

“Can I have another bite,” she asked?

“Sure, I whispered. “Once crumb at a time.” And I crumbled a whole cookie under the sheets.

Nancy Lee howled like a banshee. Then she dived under the sheets and did the best “Hoover” impersonation I ever witnessed. She left no spot untouched. I am writing to thank Big Jim personally, and to ask him a question that I am sure is on every man’s mind. “Do you plan to make beer as good as these cookies anytime soon.”

I had planned to give Nancy Lee (her real name is Brenda) chocolate bunnies in a basket for the upcoming holiday. Instead I’m going to order several dozen of Big Jim’s “Insanely Delicious” Chocolate Chip cookies. I know a good thing when I find it.

Sincerely,
Stanley Kowalski
15 Swallow Lane
Bog Holler, Tennessee

Big Jim's "Insanely Delicious" Chocolate Chip Cookies... "They get a better reaction than Easter Eggs." Order a few dozen... Like this blog? My sponsors make it possible for you to read it.


Dear Stanley:

Just imagine the bedroom possibilities if Big Jim made donuts instead of cookies? He is taking holiday orders now.

Fondest regards,
Chungelina Fongulle
Twisted Roads Human Interest editor

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