Wednesday, April 18, 2012

My Humiliation In Cape May... Strong Moto Content

Spring in Cape May is an absolute explosion of color as trees and gardens flower in profusion. Yet never far from the richness of this palette is the enduring nature of the ocean, either slate gray or blue, depending on its mood. From time to time I take a break from the details from writing this moto-book by driving to a spot where I can view the waves against the backdrop of the lighthouse, or from where I can watch the ferries sail over the horizon, following Delaware Bay into the Atlantic.

One of these places is Higbee Beach, once known as the “nude beach,” but which is now incorporated into a wildlife management area. I get a large cup of coffee from a local joint, light up a cigar, and listen to classical music on the truck’s stereo for 25 or 30 minutes. (Paul Pollio, Clyde Jacobs, and Dick Bregstein have seen to it that I have enough cigars to get through this summer. Thank you, gentlemen.)

The unseasonably warm weather has brought prides of migrating motorcycles passing through town, touring the scenic vistas en route to the many taverns and restaurants that are now open and serving the masses. The vast majority of these bikes are from the “Motor Company,” and are huge, squat, thundering examples of chrome and tasseled leather. These machines are moto-art in their own right. They are joined by the occasional sport bike or the wayward S.Q.U.I.D., though I have seen one or two BMW’s in the area of late.

The Harley riders generally fall into the category of the more seasoned, wizened age group, say between 62- and 94-years-old. (They would sit at the “kid’s table” during a BMW rally.) They wear their traditional "rugged individual" costumes, and the chrome helmet made popular by the Wehrmacht is not uncommon. Still, they are doing something that I cannot at the moment, and they have my envy and respect. I followed a Harley rider for about 15 miles yesterday, taking in the muted sound of the bike’s thunder (factory pipes) and appreciating the skill of the rider. She was about 28-years-old, with a spun-gold pony-tail sticking out from beneath her helmet, and had a tramp stamp over one of the most perfect asses I have ever seen. Had that stamp been legal postage, I would have carried her ass in my arms like a Pony Express rider.

At on e point, she turned left from Bayshore Road, onto a lesser traveled side street. I followed. Then she turned right onto the main drag that parallels the bay. Again, I followed. The way she managed that huge machine was pure moto-ballet. There is a “stop” sign at the first big intersection, and she waved me on, to pull up alongside her.

I did.

“Fuck off, Jack,” she said. (I have no idea how she knew my name.)

My intended destination was the parking area on the canal, close by the end of Higbee Beach. It is the preferred parking spot of fishermen headed to the surf, and usually deserted at mid-day. There was a bit of a swell running and the odd gust of wind blew the rich clouds of maduro cigar smoke back into the truck, which made the most appealing of aromas in conspiracy with the huge cup of coffee I’d gotten from the drive-up window at “The Donut Connection.” The music pouring from the dash was Wagner’s “Flight of the Valkyrie,” yet it was easily overpowered by the sound of two-cylinder thunder from Vance and Hines straight chrome tubes.

A couple of Harleys (a Silver Eagle Limited Edition, Version IV and a Road Monarch Limited Edition with Special Assembly Line Paint), adorned with 450 cubic yards of chrome, carefully negotiated the dirt road and dropped their three-foot-long side-stands. (What other stands could they have?) The riders removed their helmets and revealed themselves to be two women with the prerequisite tattoos and tiny laughing skull earrings.

The one on the Silver Eagle sniffed the air, got the range of my maduro, and asked, “You got another one of those fine cigars, Honey?”

I did.

It was right on the seat next to me. It was one of the last of the special ones that Clyde Jacobs had sent me, rolled with a double pigtail. In the effort of second, I covered it with my Mac-Pac* cap and produced another, one without pedigree nor ring, which had been riding around with me since last October. It was as dry as kindling.

“Right here,” I said. “What have you got for me?”

She glanced around the empty parking lot, then brazenly lifted her tee shirt, revealing a set of honkers that were in their prime the day Lincoln was shot. Her nipples were pierced with little studs that each had a tiny skull on one end.

“I go for skulls and studs,” she said. “You like ‘em?”

I handed her the cigar in mute surprise, and replied, “You have no idea how I wish I could share this vision with my friend Bregstein.”

She dropped her shirt, took the cigar, and bit the end off it. My first thought was that she was going to swallow it in a show of talent. But she spit out the tip and it ricocheted off the tire of the Harley like a bullet from a spent .22.

“Got a light,” she asked.

I extended the tip of my lit cigar and she held it to hers, by firmly grasping my wrist and looking into my eyes with purpose. Around vigorous puffs on the stogie, she asked, “Didn’t we meet on a run to Sturgis?”

I shook my head slightly and said (with the intent of putting out the fire), “Not likely. I prefer BMW’s.”

“Deutschland Uber Alles,” she replied with a wink.

“My name is Jack,” I said withdrawing my wrist. “I publish a blog called ‘Twisted Roads.’”

“I know who you are,” she said. “I recognized you when when pulled in.”

“You did,” I said in genuine surprise.

“Yup,” she replied. “I thought you’d be fatter.”

“Touché,” I thought, with a hint of a smile.

“Does your friend want a cigar?” I said. “You know the going rate.”


* The Mac-Pac is the premier chartered BMW riding club serving Southeastern Pennsylviania, and the world.

38 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dear Reipe:

You should be grateful. They are probably the first "set of honkers" you've seen up close since Stiffy threw your ass out of the house last fall.

Too bad you weren't at a petting zoo.

By the way, how is it that no BMW riding women ever show you their "honkers?" I bet it's because their personalities match the way they ride — without mercy.

Sal Mercier
Harley Rider
(Who gets his honkers for free...)
Burnt Offering,KS

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Sal:

Considering the condition of the cigar I gave her, I'd say I saw those honkers for free.

I didn't say I wasn't grateful. But I wouldn't have minded if the first woman rider I'd seen that day had felt the same way.

I am pleased to know that discerning women riders everywhere (mostly) still think of me in warm, fuzzy terms. And I'm sure that I'll meet a women BMW rider who will eventually treat me the same way... If I can ever catch up to one of them.

Thank you for reading Twisted Roads and for firing the first shot of the day. It almost hit me in the balls.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Ah, the shore thing, Ihor said...

It shows that wonders abound in CM. Regrets around every corner and amongst the dunes. Sorry that you aren't invisible on demand? I would be. Were the skulls crying? Bet they were. And will again! Can you hear the laughing gull?

Charlie6 said...

Jack, I don't understand, what was the humiliation? What cigar biker lady said was more of a "backhanded compliment", wasn't it?

dom

Redleg's Rides

Colorado Motorcycle Travel Examiner

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Ihor:

There was a time when the pillion candy on my bike turned the head of every biker I passed. It would appear that time might be behind me, at least for the nonce. However, things sometimes change, and sometimes the things we do sometimes changes it.

The events of yesterday afternoon, which I have not yet revealed, have preyed on my mind all night. The revival of certain appetites have again awakened a beast.

It feels good.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Charlie6 (Dom):

I can't believe I have reached the point where getting hit on by grandmothers is the highlight of my week.

They say a picture adds 40 pounds to reality. In the future, all pictures of me in Twisted Roads will be taken by satellite.

I bet this story made you laugh though.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep
Twisted Roads

Anonymous said...

Riepe, you old douchebag, that was well done. If I hadn't just seen you yesterday, I'd hop on my bike and speed down to Cape May to have a cigar with you. That day is coming soon. We miss you sometimes, especially when boring stuff happens.


Dick

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Dick:

Speaking of old douchebags, Dick... It was great seeing you, Gerry Cavanaugh, and Peter Frechie yesterday. Thank you for the cigars. They will be in Friday's blog.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Anonymous said...

I think this might be the best entry you've ever written. It scores "10"s on so many of those subtle areas a great story needs - cogency to the moment and pace, humor (just right, not overdone), connecting with a reader's own sense of solitude (esp. the differing layers within that solitude), story content, just the right amount of sex appeal, man, you hit it out of the park.

Funny comment re. Dick.

Dave. C

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Dave C.

Thank you for the flattering letter. This story today has opened a kind of flood gate. look for another episode in which Bregstein plays a more active and sinister role.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Lady R (Di) said...

Dear Mr. Riepe,

I did that once...

All I got was some beads.

Hmmmm...

Lady R (Di)

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Lady R:

But as I recall, the beads looked great on you.

Fondest regaeds,
Jack/reep
Twisted Roads

Shango Rider said...

I'm wondering if I should stock beads (if not cigars) for sale at the rallies I vend at. Might be fun at the Harley rallies. The Goldwing rallies... not so much. The BMW rallies... Hummm

On one hand, it'd be hard to make any money if I was always giving away the merchandise.
On the other hand, as my accountant reminds me every year about now, I must not be doing this for the money.

Shango

Canajun said...

palate - n - the roof of the mouth.

palette - n - a board or tablet on which a painter mixes colours.

Sorry Jack; couldn't resist.

Good story thought. :)

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Canajun:

No good deed goes unpunished. You said, "Good story thought."

I think you meant "though," which would be used as an "adverb," (indicating that a factor qualifies or imposes restrictions on what was said previously).

Sorry Canajun... I couldn't resist either. LOL... Good to hear from you.

Fondest regards,
Jack/Reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Shango Rider:

Beads might be a bit much at the Hondabago rally. But slings that hang from the neck might not be bad.

Thanks for reading Twisted Roads, and for writing in.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Canajun said...

S**t - and I double-checked to make sure that didn't happen. LOL.

David Denesowicz said...

Congratulations on a very palatable story,Jack. I am currently located in central Vermont surrounded by polite people who eat natural foods. I thank you for helping me stay connected to the urban northeast mentality. In my minds eye I see the perpetually young Jack Riepe pulling a wheelie the length of The Pulaski Skyway, from The Holland Motel to Newark Airport without losing your passenger, although that was your goal.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Canajun:

This is Twisted Roads... You can say "shit" with reckless abandon.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear David:

What the hell are you doing in Vermont? Zap me back at jack.riepe@gmail.com with the details.

Fondest regards,
Jack

Classic Velocity said...

Dear Jack,

Fame, fortune and "honkers" seem to follow you everywhere. I have not seen that many female Harley riders in a year !! Great imagery as usual. Cheers

BeemerGirl said...

"Fuck off, Jack". Took me a minute, but made me laugh.

Wish I had that calm beach front to enjoy down here. How soon till you can take a long walk on the beach and soak the toes in th sand? You might just be missing the elusive female riding the GS through the dunes, Lady Godiva style. You know...side saddle. ;)

Anonymous said...

Mr. Riepe,
I found your blog quite by accident. My name is Wilma Hardgroove and I hate my boss Richard Bregstein who the girls at the office nicknamed "douchebag" (small d ). So as a goof I googled Dick Bregstein douchebag and got 34 hits to various Twisted Roads columns. Well, it's awful to read about some guy on a nude beach jacking off thinking he sees the Cape May Lighthouse in his fist. Then stalks ladies on motorcycles and lights cigars off their nipples. Well perhaps I'm a little confused. But tomorrow I'm googling
"Paris Hilton Cardiologist Blow Job" and hope I get a few hits on your blog again. XO XO XO ---Wilma

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Wilma:

The number of people who regard Dick Bregstein with unabashed suspicion and distrust are legion. I will shortly produce another story in which his true colors emerge, leaving him exposed to the world.

Your confusion with the details of this story are understandable. Judging from the clues, I suspect your brain was cooked riding an MV Agusta, which is currently in the shop for preventive maintenance one more time. Either that, or the scrapple you enjoy, despite warning the rest of us against its toxic effects. Either that, or you really are who you claim to be, a Dutch sympathizer.

Either way, I know I have sat across from you at breakfast, and my crosshairs are striving to focus.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Beemergirl (Steel Cupcake):

Glad you got a rise from my piece.

The beach here will not be calm much longer. The temperatures have prematurely hit 85 degrees (F) and the crowds have started to arrive. While this means there will be a fine selection of hot pattooties walking around in skimpy outfits, the beaches will soon be mobbed with people.

The doctor does not want me even thinking about riding for a bit. Maybe not until the end of the summer. And then, the most logical choice for me might be an "R" bike.

I find it all very disturbing.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Wayne (Classic Velocity Blog):

The reason you do not find this many Harley ladies in a whole season is that you are thoroughly submerged in the metric vintage thing. But it may have a payoff in another way.

Vintage metric ladies have their own charm and appeal, except they are mostly men. LOL! For the exception of Laura Hirth, who I have not seen in two years, and who has a smile like a laser. (You can tell Todd I said do.)

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Nikos said...

Jack

Remember the old Albanian proverb

"Traveller who covers up nice cigar with kippa deserves arm pit flea infestation of Biblical scale."

Then again the Albanians are regarded in teh Balkans as a bunch of disreputable shirt lifters.

Take it easy on your new "R" machine...

best wishes from Sturgis-on-sea-not

N

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

The day when I give away a premium cigar that was gifted to me by a fan or a friend has yet to dawn. On the other hand, had the first Harley-riding lady I saw offered me the same deal, I'd have called Clyde and asked him to ship me a whole box, which I'd have gladly handed over in exchange for a cheap feel. So I think my life is governed by circumstances.

I spoke with an authority on the "R" bike yesterday, and the guy had me convinced that I have to give this model a try. But then I spoke with another "R" bike devotee who says it is a matter of religion.

Those who follow the gospel of the BMW twin face a whole different dogma than the "K" crowd... And that there is even dissention between those who ride different models of the "R."

But one gent put it very well... He said lighter, more maneuverable, and lower would make a difference to my hip. Then again, I have it from the medico thast I will not be riding before July at any rate, and maybe not then either.

How's that for a kick in the balls?

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Nikos said...

Jack

The scooter, try the BMW scooter!

N

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

I haven't seen the scooter yet. But since it is a BMW, I;'m told it has no problem cruising at 90 mph.

Regards,
Jack

jay said...

Jacka$$, I haven't ridden the Moonbeam since last year. Work has been very light so, the YamatoSpecial is also chomping at the bit. Am contemplating on riding to see you at the Cape. PM me at jjhernan49@gmail.com to set up the event with a bottle of single malt Irish whiskey.
Regards,
Tony..PS with the shrug.

Anonymous said...

Dear Jack,
As a long time, though silent reader, I can't help but sense your resignation to (and appreiation of) the chronic and eventual reality of Cooper's
Droop that goes with our advancing age ond generation. I do see one positive in your future: women who are still good sports and kind enough to show you their tatas will eventuaaly have to open their pants to reveal their cigar winners!
Here's to us old guys,
Positive Thinker

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Jay (Tony):

Look for an email from me tonight. I'd love to get together with you... It has been too long. My schedule is subject to change, sometimes quickly. Look for an email from me tonight.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Positive Thinker:

LOL! The opera isn't over until the fat guy gets up to sing. I can't believe I am in the category of Cooper's Droop yet, but I am limping harder.

I hope to have all this under control sooner or later... And maybe I'll have my choice of the ladies, once again.

Never bet against the house.

Thanks for reading Twisted Rosds, and for dropping me a line.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Steve Williams said...

Mr. Riepe: Stay away from scooters. BMW or otherwise. Stick with cigars, writing and Teutonic machinery of the shiftable sort. That way you'll continue to have interesting stories to tell.

I always thought you meet the nicest people on a Honda...

Steve Williams
Scooter in the Sticks

Ronman said...

Lord a mercy I enjoy reading your posts. What the hell has kept me occupied and away for so long? I'm still laughing as I try and type this. Thanks Jack!

Respectfully,

Ronman

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Scooter In The Sticks (Steve);

Thank you for your kind note. I would consider the BMW scooter for a number of reasons. The first is the price of gasoline. The second is my state of arthritis. My third is that I really miss riding at the moment, and anything is better than nothing.

However, I do like to go fast... And I think the BMW scooter is designed to fill that need. Yet, I my dream is to own a lowered K1200 (Orient Blue, 2004). Let's see if I can get my legs into shape for that one.

Thanks for reading Twisted Roads, and for writing in.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Ronman:

Nice to hear from you again. You were probably out eating up the miles on that Harley, in about 6 states — which would account for your absence.

Thanks for the kind note.

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep