tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64281547219772518942024-02-26T12:34:17.783-05:00Twisted Roads By Jack RiepeRaw Motorcycle Adventure • Romance Like Broken GlassJack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.comBlogger304125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-68927594298395235562015-10-13T13:02:00.002-04:002015-10-13T16:43:34.012-04:00Glacial Melt And Ball Drop...Standing here on a New Jersey beach, a placid Atlantic Ocean before me, the news is not good. Two of the most relentless forces of nature are robbing me of sleep, reason, and the bonhommery that is my trademark as a moto writer. Those forces are glacial melt and ball drop. The leading experts on glacial melt say the oceans are rising at the rate of 3.2 millimeters per year (approximately .13 inches annually). My testicles are dropping at the rate of .13 inches daily. Calculations conclusively prove that a rising Atlantic and dropping testicles will make contact at 2pm, next Thursday.<br />
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<i>Above: In one year, the rising Atlantic Ocean will claim another .13" of this doomed New Jersey Beach. Photo by the author. </i><br />
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A biker’s testicles are the second most important thing in his life. The first is the other thing, which makes all of the significant decisions, and the third is his motorcycle. Scientists have concluded there is a significant link between testicle size and motorcycle horsepower. While neither is critical for the perfect romance nor a great ride, nobody really believes it. A comprehensive study conducted by the Wilmington Institute (Wilmington, NY) indicates that BMW “K” bike riders have the hugest testicles on average, and this includes the women too. (A number of BMW “K” bike riders carry their testicles in a single-wheeled trailer behind their bikes.)<br />
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Huge testicles can give a motorcycle rider two competitive edges. The first is on the track. Racers are required to throw their weight from one side of the bike to the other when taking high speed curves. Many times you can see them leaning on a puck-like device attached to their knees. This is known as a “testicle receptacle” and serves as a pocket for the same. It allows the rider to get an extra three or four pounds into the lean, while taking the strain off the extended knee.<br />
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The second is at the bar, after the bikes are parked for the night. Many riders will thrill the ladies in the crowd by hammering a spike into a railroad tie — in four shots or less — with simple squat thrusts. (I didn’t believe this at first until I heard a beautiful woman say, “That BMW rider must have some balls to come into a joint like this. I bet he could hammer spikes with them.”)<br />
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While huge testicles serve a primal purpose, they are often targeted by divorce lawyers as trophies for ex-wives, who are seldom satisfied to get the lungs. The worst of huge testicle reversal occurs when a man in in his early sixties, and his nuts begin to hang like the bad guy in a 1950’s western. They don’t decrease in size or bulk, but start to swing like twin wrecking balls (which of course was really cool when you were 19, and the arc of swing was a lot less than three feet).<br />
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I ignored the early signs of tragic testicle trajectory. Then one summer night, I had 52 drinks while plotting my editorial career’s high-points and went into the garage to confer with a noble BMW K75. I fired up the bike until it spoke in fluent conspiracy. Some say a K75 whines like a mother-in-law caught in a leg-hold trap. (It doesn’t. I compared the two in an experiment and discovered you can listen to one all night.) I was wearing a pair of Kevlar-lined, loose-fitting biker comfort shorts, designed to go under armored mesh riding pants, which ended six inches above my knees. I climbed on the bike with gusto, and without realizing it, slung my lowered pinecones onto the hot cylinder heads (or what passes for the same on a flying brick).<br />
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My right cojone now bears the legend “BMW” as a sort of brand, which it is. Thank heavens there is no roundel on the cylinder heads or I’d get caught up in that whole licensed logo thing. Leaping from the bike, I made it to the kitchen and thrust my pineapples into an open carton of fudge swirl ice cream. It was at that moment the love of my life de jour walked in. She said, “Whatever the hell you think is going to happen next simply isn’t.”<br />
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It is possible for an aging rider to work around Thor’s hand grenade drop, but it takes a little planning. I noticed that there is a chest pocket in my old Joe Rocket Meteor jacket that doesn’t accommodate my smart phone. I can put my testicles in it, though, which will make dragging them behind the bike a thing of the past. I do not recommend flying into the garage on a hot day, and tossing your jacket into a distant corner, however. Testicle drop works like an old window shade... Things only go in one direction.<br />
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I recently decided to make a play for a woman I know and went to plastic surgeon to investigate a testicle tuck. This complex procedure rehangs 7 feet of existing material to give a man in his sixties the testicles of a man in his late fifties. I was willing to give it a shot until the surgeon explained that the testicular rehang incorporated three mounting points. Two of these are on each side of the recipient’s groin. The third is on the underside of his chin. So while I’d have 38 inches of ground clearance (and guaranteed tidal resistance) I’d have a wrinkled turkey neck. Shaving would also become a 2-hour daily challenge.<br />
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There comes a time when a man must face facts. There is no easy way to beat the tides or gravity. A suggestion by a dedicated reader to inflate my love balloons with helium left me dangling 6 feet above the ground. Likewise, riding boots with 36-inch heels have limitations too. So I am doing the next best thing. I am declaring Saturday, October 24th as International Ball Drop Day. I will be at a local gin mill over in Seaside Park, NJ — Bum Rogers — for a bowl of lobster bisque and a platter of crab balls. I figure 12:30pm is good for an off season weekend.<br />
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<b>Author’s note: Have you ever noticed that once you fall in love with a piece of gear (i.e. boots, gloves, helmets, etc.), they are forever changed by the manufacturer into something so truly fucked up that you would never buy it again? This has happened to me with fishing gear, computers, and trucks. I own a great riding jacket that was so thoughtfully designed I bought it in three (descending) sizes. Then I made the mistake of publishing how much I liked the coat. The manufacturer promptly fired all the people who worked on this riding gear and blew up the factory. Their new model was designed by the same twelve blind men who once consulted on the nature of the elephant. </b><br />
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Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-79731062224585578932013-07-11T04:32:00.003-04:002013-07-12T08:44:49.846-04:00Measuring Up To A Hard Woman...<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1">The old lady looked awful. She was as pale as a sheet and barely animated. She wasn’t able to speak. Her skin was cool to the touch and her face bore the distress of inner torment. On her best day, she had a personality like a bag of snakes. Her hatred for me was part reflex and part instinct. Though there had never been any love lost between my mother-in-law and me, I certainly didn’t want to see her like this. I never wanted to see her at all, but circumstances intervened. And now she was here, hovering in the gray area of life on our little vacation to the mountains.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My plan had been to escape to the Adirondacks (the savage mountains of New York), to skinny dip in the creek; to sip wine in the moonlight; and to fool around with my wife in between... Then she asked, “Can we take my mom.” I would rather have taken poison. Her mother was getting on in years and becoming reclusive as well as abusive. The old bat never really came out of her room but her presence was like the shadow of plague. I could deny my wife nothing, and her mother had accompanied us on trips before. Yet this place was nowhere like anyplace we’d ever been before. It was personal solitude for two. I didn’t want her presence coloring the mist. The old lady in the narrow bed hadn’t moved in 24 hours. I didn’t like the looks of this. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">We were tucked away in a remote Adirondack cabin, where the primitive road dissolved forty feet before the driveway began. It was the last house on a power line that stretched 11 miles through woods where desolation was the fifth season. We’d be on our own if the lights flickered. They flickered now, and went out, as a deafening clap of thunder shook the house. A low moan escaped my mother-in-law’s lips as she clawed her way back to consciousness. Then the storm broke and the house was enveloped in the drumming of a maniacal rain.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">There was an hour left to sunset, but the cabin was high up, on the western end of the valley, in the shadow of the Sentinel Range. It got murky fast in the center of the clouds, and my wife of seven years lit candles. Only one of them was for light. She was the first to speak: “I’m going to call the doctor.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As savage as the Adirondacks can be, there are remote communities of artists, musicians, and craftsmen scattered throughout these mountains. Among them are the deep forest retreats of scholars, philosophers, and medical people. By chance, the leading expert in my mother-in-law’s condition summered in the hamlet of “Beaver Creek,” about 9 miles distant. He’d come, if he was home. He might reach us in 20 minutes. I knew we didn’t have an hour to wait for the inevitable.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The physical action of doing something would be better than just being in the gloom of the cabin, knowing what was transpiring in the loft bed, though I was pained to leave my wife alone with her mother in this state. The rain poured off the porch roof like a liquid curtain. I got thoroughly soaked stepping through it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">You get used to some things working the same way, day-in and day-out over the years, and there is a second of disbelief when they don’t. Turning the key in the Suburban’s ignition produced only silence, made more poignant by the drumming of the rain. I tried again. Nothing. Then I yanked the headlight switch. Nothing. I’d left the courtesy lights on. All twelve of them. The battery was dead. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">There might have been one or two ways to jump the truck, if I’d had time, or access to a phone. But I had to go — now. Parked under the eaves of the back shed was the 1986 K-75 (with the rare Sprint fairing) known as “Blue Balls.” I grabbed my jacket and helmet from a peg inside the shed door. The K75 growled into life as soon as I’d touched the starter, but it would take a minute the old lady couldn’t spare to warm up.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The driveway was 80 percent gravel and 20 percent water. The road was worse. A long, downhill, twisting slide into the valley, the steady torrent took the path of least resistance, sweeping the gravel into the curves. Branches and deadfalls hung up in the shallow current, collecting debris piles of their own. I snicked the K75 into first and scudded onto the road. The water was an inch deep against the treads, but the tires bit and I headed out. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The jacket was mesh and the rain was cold. It’s hard to understand how these mountains can be as humid as the Yucatan jungle on one day, and cold enough to leech the warmth from a body 24-hours later. It was early August and the temperature was barely 60 degrees, only 6 hours north of a sweltering New York City. I wore the jacket because it was at hand and I thought its armor would be better than nothing in a fall.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I stuck to the crown of the road with moderate success. Super cautious at first, I felt more confident and worked the K75 into third. The crown seemed like a good idea in the beginning, but the outside furrows of the road were getting edged deeper by the run-off, and I nearly bogged down in these. A bigger mistake would have been to stop on the crown and to have put my foot in one. It never occurred to me that I could have gotten pinned under the bike, and drowned in nine inches of water. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I came across the first sizable tree branch blocking the road about three miles into the run from hell. It was a dead birch branch, about three inches in diameter, but all snaky with little twigs on it. Detritus was washing along its tapered length to the narrow end, which was pointing downhill toward a curve with negative camber. My first thought was to just slosh over the narrow end, but the water roiled into the underbrush there and I didn’t like the looks of it. So I rolled over it’s center, with broke with a loud pop. The crown of the road was hard enough to support the bike, though the branch’s narrow end popped up and followed the current over the lip.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next two miles were slow but steady going and I knew I was running out of time. There were more dark patches than gray and coming back this way, even in the Doc’s Jeep, would be no picnic. The doctor would be with us for the night. That would be so much better for my wife. The road was covered by water at Wolfe’s Fork. In the gathering darkness, I couldn’t see how deep it was against the surrounding trees, and stopped, putting my feet down. The water ran over the tops of my boots. The headlight had been growing in influence as it got darker but the surging water just swallowed it. I had only a vague idea of where the road ended and where the swamp began. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Shit on this,” I thought. I gave the engine three or four good revs and let out the clutch. I steered through the junction, keeping to the center, knowing full well the road veered to the left somewhat, and that I’d be on the very edge of ground stable enough to hold the bike. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The crown of the road was higher in this stretch and the trees were cut farther back. It was easier to see more of the hard-packed cinder surface in what was left of the gray murk. I had three miles to go. I played the road over and over again in my mind. There was a turn coming up here and a bit of a dip there. I took every curve upright. There was no point in losing a second to dropping the bike. I kept the engine revving in third. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Life deals you an odd hand every now and again. My mother-in-law’s relief depended on the person she hated most. I couldn’t remember a day when she didn’t hate me. The night before I was to marry her daughter, she offered me $10,000 to get lost. (Naturally, it was a personal check.) The highlight of every wedding reception comes when the multitiered cake is wheeled out. At our wedding, my mother-in-law swaggered over to the cake and bit the head off the little groom doll at the top. Then she spit it into the punch. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I’ll make you wish you’d taken the money,” she sneered. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">You have to wonder what could make a person so nasty. My mother-in-law was the first of her family to be born here in the United States. Her mother came from Ireland, probably with funds stolen from the church poor box, and opened a waterfront bar called “Tar Box Molly’s.” My mother-in-law grew up spitting in the beer of semiconscious sailers and wharf rats. I could only imagine the scenes that passed for her childhood. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The scene before my eyes brought me to a sliding halt. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">For years, a pokey little rivulet dripped through a rusting culvert deep under the road. That trickle flexed its muscles today, ripping out the old corrugated pipe and pavement, leaving only a stretch three feet wide and ten feet long. The water roared and surged like a living thing trying to squeeze through a tight collar. It was within an inch of devouring the remaining pavement. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Fuck me,” I hissed. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I was beaten. The rain strained through my mesh jacket, carrying the stain of surrender. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The woman I was married to got a raw deal. When she needed a carpenter, she got me. When she needed a mechanic, she got me. And now, when she needed a hero, she got a pissant too terrified to risk all when it counted. The clammy misery of failure enveloped me like a mist. Looking down into the mad rush of the water, I saw her face as plain as day. I saw the depth in her eyes. I saw her mouth, drawn back in that familiar sneer. And I heard my mother-in-law say, “I knew you couldn’t do it. Now my daughter will know it too.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Some will say I acted foolishly. I pulled my Mini-Maglite out of my pocket, twisted it on, and dropped it just off center of this causeway. Then I retraced my steps for about three hundred feet, revved the engine to 5 grand, and let that K75 go. It fishtailed and slid. It caught. I shifted twice and got it up to 45. I couldn’t even see the ripped culvert in the rain and mist. But I could see the Mini-Maglite. I passed it just to the right. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">You cover 66 feet per second at 45 miles per hour. I was in and out of the cobra’s mouth in the blink of its eye. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I pulled up at the Doc’s place blowing the horn and yelling. He was just inside, smoking a cigar by lamplight. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Doc! It’s the old lady. You gotta come now.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We’ll take my jeep,” he yelled back.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We gotta take this. The road’s gone.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I suspect the doctor has had a hell of a life. He barely nodded. Then he was on the back with an oiled coat and his old medical bag between us. I’d seen the well-creased leather bag in his hall a dozen times. He’s made a few house calls in the desperation of these mountains before. We recrossed the culvert without slowing. He wouldn’t let me slow down going up through Wolfe’s Forks. There were times when both of us held the sliding bike with our feet. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The doctor was off the K75 and up the stairs almost before I’d brought it to a complete halt. He knew his business. The last vestige of daylight was fading and in that feeble light, my mother-in-law recognized his face — and knew I’d brought him. She knew I’d succeeded. Then the doctor pulled a wooden stake out of his bag and used a mallet to drive it through her heart. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We barely made it in time,” said the doctor. “Tell your wife to leave the damn stake where it is. You and I can drag this thing out into the daylight tomorrow and that will be an end to it. Why the hell would anyone want an old vampire hanging around anyway? Tell your wife I’m not doing this again.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">©Copyright Jack Riepe 2013</span></div>
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<span class="s1">All rights reserved.</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><b style="color: red; font-size: xx-large;">Who Reads Twisted Roads? </b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>Josh Campbell</b></span><b style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: x-large;"> </b></span></div>
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<b>Above: This is Josh Campbell hard at work, feeding baby humming birds, perched 9,000 feet above central Kansas. Each hummingbird chick gets a cheeseburger the size of button and black coffee from an eyedropper. Welcome to Kansas. Two great pictures, Josh. (above & below) </b><br />
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Above: These are Josh Campbell's bikes in a very cool picture. On the left is a 2002 Suzuki SV650 which Josh claims "rekindled my love affair with motorcycles." On the right is a 2007 Kawi ZX10R, which he says, "has no soul but satisfies my need to taunt fate."<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>Lee Shreve </b></span></div>
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<b>Above: Lee Shreve (North Carolina) has rolled out an impressive array of Teutonic motorcycle muscle. On the left appears to be a K75 in my favorite shade of red. Next appears to be an R100/7, with a K1200LT on the right. Way to go Lee! </b><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>Rodney Lyons</b></span></div>
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<b><span class="s1"></span>Above: Rodney Lyons wins the long-distance reader appreciation award for this episode, writing in from Western Australia. An eclectic rider, his stable features a prized Yamaha Classic and a beautiful Piaggio MP3 (300) in the back. Everybody knows that motorcycle tires are cheaper when you buy them in lots of 5! Rodney paid me the highest compliment. He said, "Riepe, you writing about Australia is a lot like me writing about Jersey City." Praise indeed. Thanks, Rodney. </b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Do you read Twisted Roads? Send me a picture of you and your bike, and you just might win a prize! Send pictures to jack.riepe@gmail.com. Write, "Reader's Photo," in the subject line. </span></b><br />
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Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-32216900583579610762013-06-19T17:46:00.003-04:002013-06-19T20:18:37.101-04:00Debunking The Pre-Ride Meditation Myth<span style="color: blue;"><i>I have received numerous requests for a blog episode dealing with the spiritualism of pre-ride preparation — and why it should be avoided. Many of these requests came from women, who asked that I include a lesson in relationship building, illustrating how a man should always take direction from the woman in his life. Specifically, I was to avoid any reference to getting laid (or expecting a trombone solo) as an incentive in the direction-taking process. <br /><br />I believe in accommodating my readers whenever possible (except for the BMW “R” bike group in Minnesota who insisted I drink poison). This is the requested blog episode. <br /><br />I apologize to my readers who were expecting humor. This is sophisticated science. </i></span><br />
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The face on the clock condemned me with a sneer, and read 2:45 A.M. It was set to detonate in two hours and fifteen minutes, when the first light of day would soil the sky. My eyes felt like I rolled them in cat litter and there was a dull throbbing in the pit of my stomach. These were the symptoms of holistic motorcycle pre-ride planning.<br />
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I was supposed to lead a breakfast ride of close friends and associates through a hostile Amish settlement. (The Amish were pissed over a steel vent fan that mysteriously fell from the heavens, stampeding a herd of chickens.) Arrangements called for me to meet the usual suspects (Bregstein, Frechi, Clyde, Gerry, Ron Yee, and David Hardgrove) in the parking lot of a local Starbucks. These hooligans are punctual to the point of pain. If I was ever more than an hour late, they’ll ride to house and rev their BMWs in the driveway. (They’d make more noise rustling a newspaper, but to these guys the symbolic gesture is everything.)<br />
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I should have been ready to spring into the saddle. My preparations were straight out of the holistic rider’s manual. The day before — Friday afternoon — I stopped work four hours early to meditate in a sweat lodge. An authentic sweat lodge is a yurt-like structure made of animal hides stretched over a frame of willow rods and bone pinions. I got plans for one on the internet but Home Depot was out of bone fragments, so I just sat in my old Suburban and smoked a cigar as big as my ass. <br />
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The cigar was potent and filled the vehicle with a dense cloud of rich, robusto haze. A wasp had followed me in from the driveway and had just begun to realize its peril. It tried stinging its way through the windshield, but to no avail. The nicotine fog enveloped it like an evil spirit and the insidious little fucker’s head exploded with a micro-pop. <br />
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The appreciation of nature is a critical part of the cigar/sweat lodge experience. <br />
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It takes 40 minutes to enjoy a smoke as dense and as perfectly rolled as an Arturo Fuentes Anejo Shark, in Maduro. (Maduro is a country in which the days are long and hot; the rum drinks are fruity and cool; and the women are dusky and seductive. I go there every time I light one and close my eyes.) The dense smoke of a great cigar presents a joint-like Nirvana (or so I’ve read) in the close confines of the rolling sweat lodge. I smoked so many cigars in that old truck that the windscreen was tinted yellow. <br />
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When that cigar was smoked to the point where I needed a roach clip to hold it, I tossed the smoldering clincher into the neighbor’s flowers. (Her cat had been pissing in our garage for years.) Then I looked to the parked K75 for spot maintenance. This ritual began by sitting in a Kermit chair and looking over the bike while sipping something restorative. I recommend a “Planter’s Punch,” made with Myers Dark Rum. These are the squeezings of a whole lemon, a whole lime, a tablespoon of sugar or simple syrup, and an ounce and a half of Myers dark rum, in a tall glass, topped with orange juice and ice, plus a squirt of grenadine. If you are riding the next day, limit yourself to seven or eight of these. <br />
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I discovered a loose mirror and set about tightening it. These mirrors were an aftermarket afterthought that turned this 1995 K75 from a bowling shoe into a glass slipper. The mounting screws were .34512 of an inch. One little wrench was specially cast for this size, before all of the dies were broken and all of the toolmakers who designed it were executed. I couldn’t remember if I left the wrench in my coat pocket, in the tool box, or on a rail fence alongside a dirt road in West Virginia. So I fudged it. The mirror would come loose in mid-ride, after I tried adjusting it at 60 miles per hour. Bregsten would run it over. <br />
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The seal on the top case was also loose. This was due to a gasket that BMW sells separately. It appears to be three inches too short on initial installation, and eight inches too long thereafter. I used a brand of super glue to hold the stretched-out gasket in place, closing the lid to guarantee a tight fit. An hour later, I would discover the lid glued shut in places. <br />
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It was then time for dinner. The truly spiritual rider does not freight up on carbs, huge cuts of meat, nor piles of starches the night before a ride. Experts claim light supping on things like watercress salad, cheese crusts, and herbal tea is the best thing to propel a rider out the door for a traditional Amish breakfast. I parboiled three green beans, a shallot, and some grubs I found in the garden for my evening meal. I planned to eat while reading a popular self-help book titled, <i>How Not To Annoy The Living Shit Out Of Women... A Practical Guide For Men, </i>when the love of my life waltzed in with a friend. <br />
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My lover at the time was a doe-eyed beauty, with a voice as soft as rain water trickling through orchids. She had a smile that refreshed my tortured soul and a kiss like a powerful narcotic. Her friend was another hot-looker with a personality like champagne bubbles set loose in the atmosphere. For the sake of this story, we will call the friend “Melissa.” Melissa was a statuesque brunette with a smile that promised a hot foot or a prison riot, and anything in between. <br />
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Melissa grabbed my dinner and tossed it to a rabid raccoon outside. The ladies suggested headiing to a local Asian joint, to savor some mild sushi (along with a cocktail or two), before calling it an early night. <br />
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“I am compelled to tell you two ladies that I am leading a breakfast run of philosophers through a hostile Amish encampment a first light. I plan to be in bed by 9:30pm, getting a full 7 hours sleep before this ride,” I said. "I want to wake up fully rested, refreshed, and headache free, prior to pulling out of here with time to spare."<br />
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The beauty who was mine looked at me in that special way that women who have been with the same man for more than a decade use to say, “Wanna bet, asshole?”<br />
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“Sure you are,” nodded Melissa, with a look that suggested information to the contrary.<br />
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The Asian place was intimate, dignified, and accommodating.The sushi chef, whose name was Ichiban Makozowai, greeted us like old friends, which we had become. The manager, Izu Fong Chu, said to me, “Ha ha. Good to see you again, Mr. Jack. Your fren’ very funny. She no start food fight again tonight, huh?” <br />
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Melissa wanted adventurous sushi. She ordered cuttle fish babies served in remorse, shark eyeballs in aspic, pulsating octopus suckers, spicy tuna tongues, starfish balls in bonita flakes, politically astute shrimp brains, squid caps, and electrified eel dicks. She ordered hot dishes too. One was called “The Peacock and The Dragon.” According to the menu, it was a guinea hen that had been kicked in the balls and a komodo dragon that died of natural causes. <br />
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There was no bar in this place but it was BYOB. The ladies had two huge containers of mixed cocktails. By the time we had eaten the last deep sea urchin on earth, the waiters were practicing ritual seppuku in the kitchen (disemboweling themselves). So we went to the Irish bar down the street, where it was Mariachi Night. At closing time, Melissa was wearing a huge sombrero, and reenacting the final moments of Poncho Villa on a Dublin Street corner. <br />
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I staggered back to the house, leaving a trail of clothing from the front door to the sofa. At 15 feet, the sofa was closest to a first floor bathroom. I couldn’t find a blanket and wrapped myself in a sleeping dog. Chunks of half-digested sushi began to reassemble and reanimate themselves in my stomach. A fiddler crab fought with an octopus in a deadly struggle. A school of yellow tail went into session. I was close to death at 2:46am, about a minute after this story started. I knew I had seconds to make the bathroom.<br />
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There are times in a man’s life where he fully appreciates the principle behind seat belts. I wished the toilet had had them. Next to the commode was a nice little vanity with a candle on it. My lover back then was as practical as she was pretty. The candle was a small galvanized pail, filled with paraffin and citronella. It had three industrial-sized wicks in it. Next to it was my self-help book from the kitchen, which was opened to page 36. This said, “A man should always light a candle or ignite a block of thermite when taking a dump in a confined space smaller than a zeppelin hanger.”<br />
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Matches were thoughtfully provided. <br />
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My lover had replaced the exhaust fan in this bathroom with a ventilation system from a Latvian lithium mine. Sometimes it was not enough. One night, the vent fan blew through the roof of the house and disappeared.<br />
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I lit the first wick. The citronella struggled. I lit the second wick, and the scent of the citronella was barely noticeable. Then I lit the third and a nuclear blast of citronella filled the room. Twenty minutes later, I stood up, ready to totter out to the couch again. But I am a fireman’s kid, and I blew out the candle first.<br />
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Each wick generated a thick plume of smoke, which rose to the ceiling — setting off smoke detectors throughout the whole house. A woman’s voice, tinged with impatience and a sense of irony, drifted down the stairs. She said, “You finally took a dump so vicious that it set off the smoke alarms.”<br />
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Does anyone want a used copy of <i>How Not To Annoy The Living Shit Out Of Women... A Practical Guide For Men?</i> I don’t need it any more. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Who reads Twisted Roads? </span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: yellow; color: red;">Dick Bregstein (PA), Pete Buccheit (MD), and Clyde Jacobs (PA) </span></b>are celebrating their annual West Virginia Bacchanalia Ride this week. This is where the guys occasionally hit speeds of 62.5 miles per hour, stay up until 8:30pm, and eat meals with all the salt they want. Sometimes they will smoke a cigar, but Clyde complains it is usually all gobbed up by the time it gets passed to him.<br />
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<b>Above: Things took a dark and dirty turn on a ride to West Virginia yesterday, when the Twisted Roads Editorial Review Board posed for their annual group picture. Please insert negative comments here. </b><br />
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Yesterday they announced their riding was curtailed by humidity that went above 20 percent, which is Bregstein’s threshold. When I suggested that they watch something other than the weather channel and beauty queen reality shows, they sent me a picture of their team during morning calisthenics. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOcYGTglAGgE40J2-gLh4Iw3T0jJmoK_diWDiKmV3wuEEyom6AUrleaZ1-B_TkqRdkgyVNrOmDl4GgdnIo-3BbuaJDt2hI_bXyCeYO_ALtg1-cZsZR1niTZNMM0inqVS1KQijovXWeGFm/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOcYGTglAGgE40J2-gLh4Iw3T0jJmoK_diWDiKmV3wuEEyom6AUrleaZ1-B_TkqRdkgyVNrOmDl4GgdnIo-3BbuaJDt2hI_bXyCeYO_ALtg1-cZsZR1niTZNMM0inqVS1KQijovXWeGFm/s640/photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<b>Above: Here is the kind of riding that Dick Bregstein (left) and Clyde Jacobs do best.</b><br />
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<b>Above: Here is the idyllic senior citizens home where the boys have checked in for their stay at Berkley Springs.</b><br />
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<b>Above: Paul Pollio sent this picture of ideal riding weather from Hancock, NY, where he pulled over for a drink of water. </b><br />
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<span style="background-color: yellow; color: red;">Paul Pollio (NJ)</span> took a day trip from suburban New Jersey to Mount Washington (NH) for lunch yesterday. The rain slowed him to a more practical 86 miles per hour, Here is a picture of the rains in Hancock, NY yesterday, where Pollio pulled over to release a trout from his boot. <br />
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<b>Above: The classic Indian Motorcycle that I almost got for a gift...</b></div>
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<b style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: red;">Henrietta Van Dratten (TN)</span></b> sent along this picture of an Indian, which she bought me for a gift, and then took back. Technically speaking, this makes her an “Indian giver.” (I’m sure I will hear from 16 politically correct ethnic groups over that last comment.) I’ve known Henrietta Van Dratten for years, but under another name. This is all very strange.<br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Next blog in 24 hours... </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Dispatches From The Front</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Leave a comment... Maybe you'll win a prize! </b></span><br />
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Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-79393915153755127932013-06-17T14:46:00.002-04:002013-06-22T20:29:53.077-04:00Memories Of A Bike, Straight Whiskey, And My Father — On Father’s Day... <div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><i><b><span style="color: blue;">Parts of the following blog were first run on Twisted Roads in 2008. I have revised certain parts of the story below, to make it more accurate, and to reflect the memories writing it awokened in me. This is a day late for Father’s Day, but so what? The creative process is working very oddly in me these days, but it beats the alternative of not working at all. </span></b></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The most challenging moments I have ever had behind the wheel were when driving with a super critical driving instructor — my father. I’d been driving for two years and now heard a sound that was neither a compliment nor a criticism. Nor was it a function of the motorcycle. The bike “yingggggged” its way through curves like it was in a tractor beam. My starts were smooth. The Kawasaki didn’t stall. Stopped at a light, I heard the distinctive click of a Zippo lighter opening, and smiled when I realized my pillion rider was using this lull in the action </span><span style="text-align: center;">to kindle a cigarette.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The guy on the back was my father.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Many kids have wonderful memories of unique moments with their dads. The most common of these take place at ballparks, where little league games were played and cheered, and at major league stadiums, where legendary players whacked ‘em out of the park. Fishing is another great Norman Rockwell type activity shared by fathers and sons. Who doesn’t remember the first bass or trout taken in the company of your dad? And working on the engine of the family car with your Dad is yet another source of prime memories for others.</span></div>
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<b>Above" The classic Zippo lighter... My dad's lighter of choice. </b></div>
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<span class="s1">I hated baseball almost as much as my father did. I assume he hated baseball because he never once mentioned it in conversation, nor watched it on television, nor ever gave any sign that he had heard of it. Fish came from Russo’s Fish Market on West Side Avenue (Jersey City). I never knew him to walk by a stream, nor to express the slightest interest if anything lived in one. He hated bugs, the sun, and the heat. As for working on the car, my dad had a great collection of tools. He would let me use any one of them provided I did so without his knowledge and concealed such activity while he was alive. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">He was a classic example of the World War II veteran who could do anything. Basic carpentry, general plumbing, and rudimentary wiring were all in his repertoire. While his mechanical ability greatly exceeded mine, it was not something he attempted to hand down. In fact, he once told me that it was his greatest hope that I would one day make enough money to always pay somebody to do the things on my car that he had to do on his. This advice was lost on me at the time because I was four years old and had just dropped one of his tools down a sewer grate.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I learned to drive when I was seventeen. At the same age, my dad learned how to assemble, maintain, and fire a .50 caliber machine gun at unpleasant Nazis, who were shooting at the B-17, in which he was the tail gunner. (Despite the fact this position required frequent filling, my dad asked for it as the B-17G had a separate door for the tail gunner, facilitating exit. He had started out as a ball turret gunner, but did not trust to the good intentions of his fellow crew members to crank the damn thing up in the event the aircraft became disabled, as the majority of them might already be dead.)</span><br />
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<b><span class="s1"></span>Above: Profile of a B17-G. My father's position can be seen under the rudder. </b></div>
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He told me the most amazing stories about the war, a few of which did not put him in the best light. This because I was 15-years-old at the time, and the light in which I saw everything was rose-colored. As a man, I now think my father showed great restraint in certain circumstances. I freely admit I will never be half the man he was on his worst day. </div>
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<span class="s1">I found some of these stories to incredibly sad. My dad lived in a tent for a bit between missions, which must have aggravated him no end. But he explained to me that living in a tent far behind falling artillery fire (plus eating hot food and getting to take a dump in a facility that also had hot water) was much better than spending days on end in mud-lined foxholes, like my Uncle Bill was doing. My father flew to Italy and Germany 36 times. He never got out of the plane (but always left a little something). </span></div>
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<span class="s1">My father never once spoke of the tents that went vacant when B-17s blew up in mid-air, or wildly spiraled to the ground in gyrations that defeated any opportunity for the crews to bail out. He showed me a picture of a kid, about eighteen years old, dressed in tired fatigues, in front of a depressingly fatigued tent — playing with a little white dog. It was difficult for me to envision my father as an adolescent, but he was the kid in the picture. The dog was a stray that latched onto my dad. Pop had named the mutt “Flash.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">My father loved dogs and we always had one in the house. I can imagine what it meant to him after returning from an 8- to12-hour flight, in an unheated bomber with open windows, with the roar of four deafening Wright “Cyclone” engines still in his ears, to have a dog lick his hand with a tail wagging. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“What happened to the dog?” I asked, expecting to hear how my Dad smuggled him home from Italy, or gave him to an orphaned Italian kid, or that the dog lived out his years growling at the mention of Mussolini. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“The army shot him,” my dad said. “We got back from a mission to discover that military MPs went through the camp, rounded up all the dogs, and shot them.” The risk of rabies and fleas in a camp where every trained man was a critical asset meant no dogs. It was just one more aspect of my farther’s war that I never considered. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Did your plane ever crash?” I once asked him. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We had a couple of hard landings, after which the aircraft was used for parts,” said my dad. I wish I had asked him more about that, but he made it seem so commonplace. My first BMW K75 was sold for parts, after a car driven by Emma Blogget ran over it and me. I know what the bike looked like that day. I wonder what my dad’s plane must have looked like.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He was a “no bullshit” kind of person, which made him one of my more articulate critics. His name for me in my adolescence was, “Shitbird,” and I often lived up to it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the summer that followed my successful completion of the eighth grade, I was presented with a reading list for high school. Atop the list was “Northwest Passage,” by Kenneth Roberts. I was out of class about two days, when my father wanted to know what I thought about the book. (What I thought was that I intended to read it about 30 seconds before I’d get quizzed on it in September, but I was reluctant to share this strategy with him at the moment.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A rather one-sided dialogue ensued, in which my dad suggested that the reading list was a Darwinian plot by the Jesuits to separate the higher life forms from the shitbirds, and that I might fool them for a bit if I pulled my head out of my ass and attempted to read a great book that I might enjoy. I looked at the book with suspicion. It was a paperback with 1,000 pages. By page 30 I was hooked as if the book had been printed with narcotic ink. I have since read it at least 20 times.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My dad and I spent thousands of hours in late night conversations on the most incredible topics. These spanned Ayn Rand’s “The Virtue of Selfishness,” the Six Day Israeli War, injuries to the soul, the great works of men and their undoing, the perfection of whiskey, sailboats, float planes, the flaws of politicians, and whether or not I would ever pull my head out of my ass long enough to amount to something. (The smart money said, “No.”) My dad was stoic about the reality of this last topic, though he remained an optimist. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was during one of those conversations, he asked if I had ever considered getting a motorcycle. My answer was, “No.” The explanation, which I did not share at the time, was that you could have sex in a car, even if it was a Volkswagen Beetle, like mine. (This was purely conjecture as I wasn’t getting laid anyplace.) Dad spoke about how much fun a motorcycle might be and what adventures lay waiting for the guy who had one. (The details of this conversation, and their ultimate effect, are covered in my book: <i>Conversations With A Motorcycle</i>.) </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It never occurred to me that this could have been the passing daydream of a fireman (albeit a Battalion Chief), with a mortgage and three kids in private schools. But the seed was planted. I wandered into a dealership (another story covered in the book), paid my money, and became the proud owner of a Kawasaki Triple. (The “Sucker” light burned so brightly in the dealership that I rode out with a tan.)</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Months later, I found my dad in the driveway admiring the bike. I showed him how it worked, the tool kit under the seat, and some other neat aspects of that otherwise primitive machine. And before I knew it, I said, “Want to take a ride with me?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The man who walked through burning buildings and stared down the steely gaze of the Luftwaffe never hesitated.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Wearing only a light zip up jacket and my spare open-faced helmet, he climbed on the back and we took off. It was a weekday afternoon and there was plenty of traffic. I chose random roads, riding north and west to the town of Greenwood Lake, New York. Among the cars my dad once owned was a 1957 Chevy Belair (silver and white with red seats). One of my fondest memories was sitting on the front seat as he hit the impossible speed of 70 miles per hour. I found a straight stretch on Route 17 and opened up the H2. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“This is 75 miles per hour,” I shouted over my shoulder. I heard him laugh. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I pulled into the parking lot of a bar. The drinking age in New York State was 18. For the first time in my life, I went into a bar with my dad. We each ordered the specialty of the house, a beer and a ball. This was a glass of whatever the hell they had on tap, probably Budweiser, and a shot of whiskey. I had Jamesons. He had Fleischman’s, a kind of scotch that you would use to clean paint brushes. He bought a round, and I bought one.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I remember telling him about an idea I had for a story. It was about inner city life. He didn’t think much of it and told me if I gave it some thought, I wouldn’t either. He was right. I never wrote the story. We were on the bike again an hour later. The ride home was fun, and took about 70 minutes. The expression “Shitbird” didn’t come up the whole day. My Dad was one of a handful of folks to ride on the back of my Kawasaki.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now some of you will raise your eyebrows and say nothing. Others may feel compelled to lecture me on the message this sort of story carries about drinking and riding, and how it will impact the nation’s youth. And some may feel that my father exercised really poor judgment.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">But if you are going to set me straight about what I did wrong in my youth, I must advise you that this episode doesn’t even make the needle flicker on the “regret gauge.” As for my father, he was the bravest man I ever met. The emphysema that eventually claimed his life was just taking a toehold, and prevented him from getting a decent night’s sleep in the firehouse. He was a captain then, and volunteered to work “rescue.” Rescue rolled on every call. Since my dad couldn’t sleep, he walked through smoke-filled buildings in the dark. He never spoke about that either. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Happy Father’s Day, Dad! </span></div>
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<span class="s1">New Blog in 48 Hours: The Terrible Side Effects Of Effective Motorcycle Pre-Ride Planning... </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Winner in the Twisted Roads </b></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Kangaroo Gloves Giveaway is: </b></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Sean Kerwick! </b></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Mr. Kerwick should write me at Twisted Roads (<a href="mailto:jack.riepe@gmail.com"><span class="s2">jack.riepe@gmail.com</span></a>) so I can mail him his prize. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Who Reads Twisted Roads?</b></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="background-color: yellow; color: blue;">Lori “Z,”</span></b> alias “Beemer Girl” and “Steel Cupcake (Georgia),” and the publisher of moto-blog “For The Love Of A Motorbike,” sent me this inspiring mug, bearing the message: </span>“Writer’s Block, When Your Imaginary Friends Won’t Talk To You...”</div>
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<span class="s1">If only writer’s block was that simple. My imaginary friends always talk to me. All of them are women, and none of them are nice. One is at my desk right now. She is a brunette, about 5’6,” with shoulder-length dark hair. She is Asian and steamingly gorgeous. She isn’t wearing much and what she has on is secured with Velcro. She says, “Take all you want, but eat everything you take.” She places my hand on her stomach... And instantly turns into Zorina Pamplawicz, my 84-year-old kindegarten teacher. I could scream. </span><br />
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<span class="s1">I called Lori this morning, and she gasped upon hearing my voice. Lori later confided she’d had a dream in which she’d received an email detailing my death.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Who was alleged to have sent you the email?” I asked.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“It was signed like a internet petition, with 2,500 names on it,” she sniffed. “All of them were woman or literary critics who claimed to know you.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Well, you can hear my voice,” I said. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“But are you in hell?” asked Lori. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: yellow;">Bill Elliott</span> </span></b>(New Hampshire) wrote to tell me how much he liked <i>Conversations With A Motorcycle,</i> and that he’d bought one of the few copies of my cigar book from Amazon. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbsJl6cQIgnWAX1CS4Sk43fWkwQ9sdNFlOX0BYHQwvjnVpGW5o80PdR24UauyVx28Dm1YUzuGeWiY_M1fGZfD0Bp0jjiAPmYbS2D_Cj5v29x27Ih2JrxMrXTMDvZrFcZIv089h1OqkiF1/s1600/mail.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbsJl6cQIgnWAX1CS4Sk43fWkwQ9sdNFlOX0BYHQwvjnVpGW5o80PdR24UauyVx28Dm1YUzuGeWiY_M1fGZfD0Bp0jjiAPmYbS2D_Cj5v29x27Ih2JrxMrXTMDvZrFcZIv089h1OqkiF1/s400/mail.jpeg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Politically Correct Cigar Smoking for Social Terrorists</i> has been out of print for years, and used copies are going for a king’s ransom. (I think Bill paid $2 million bucks for his.) I am seriously considering a major rewrite of the cigar book and reissuing it. I get requests for this often and I think the time has come to do another one, more pertinent to the riding crowd. </span></div>
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<b><span class="s1"></span>Above: Bill thought this work of art was my spitting image, minus the beard. </b></div>
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<span class="s1">In his travels, Bill Elliott found this stein (Royal Dalton) bearing the likeness of Bacchus, the traditional Roman god of gin, cigars, fast bikes, and sympathetic lovers. Elliott said, “That looks like Riepe.” And in a side by side comparison, there is a strong resemblance. In a conversation today, Bill added, ‘I don’t know if it’s a stein or what. It may be more suitable for flowers.” (Bill, my old dog used to drink out of the toilet. He lived to be 17. I can drink a cocktail out of a flowerpot.) </span></div>
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<b>Above: I do look like the perfect crucible for rum and Coke. </b></div>
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<span class="s1">Bill thought the resemblance was so striking, that he bought the stein and sent it to me. I christened this remarkable work of art by filling it with rum and Coke, which was consumed in the garage, accompanied by a smoldering a cigar as big as a donkey’s dick. (That was the brand of cigar: “Donkey’s Dick, a mild Nicaraguan taste experience in a $1.50 cigar that is as smooth as your third divorce.”) </span><br />
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<b><span class="s1"></span>Above: Bill Elliott and "Tim" (pillion) about to set off on another "strudel" raid in Bavaria.</b></div>
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<span class="s1">Here is a picture of Bill Elliott in 1967, at the helm of a 1952 “R” bike. He and a friend (identified only as “Tim”) are headed into a Bavaria, for a weekend of utter hell-raising. That was the year that gangs of “R” bike riders terrorized remote Bavarian villages by stopping to taste wine, poke the local apple dumplings, and cough loudly in libraries. “The only thing I remember about that trip is waking up in a field of wild flowers, looking at a beautiful old church,” said Elliott.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Well Bill, that beats waking up in the church and getting married to a woman with a cast iron ass that says “Tirpitz” painted on it. (Don’t ask me how I know.) Elliott brought that “R” bike back to the United States, where it blew up after a dealer failed to tighten the oil plug following a routine service. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Thanks for the stein, Bill. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Above: James Joseph Fox, Ph.D, revered member of the East Tennessee Pterodactyls</b></span><br />
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<b>Above: Detail of the East Tennessee Pterodactyls club logo. This is cool. </b></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="background-color: cyan; color: blue;">James Joseph Fox III, Ph.D,</span></b> a ranking voice of reason at ESU (East Tennessee State University - Tennessee) is a Twisted Roads reader and a devotee of <i>Conversations With A Motorcycle.</i> He also rides with the East Tennessee Pterodactyls. Here is the great man modeling a club shirt. The Pterodactyl logo is a appropriate as the the last of these creatures was still alive when the initial “R” bike design appeared in primitive cave paintings. If a member of the East Tennessee Pterodactyls reads this, I would be delighted to trade a copy of my book for one of these shirts: size 2x. </span><br />
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<span class="s1"><b>© Copyright Jack Riepe 2013</b></span><br />
<span class="s1"><b>All rights reserved</b></span></div>
Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-79779605283187504892013-04-30T16:47:00.000-04:002013-04-30T18:38:34.123-04:00Making Women Smile By Going Down Under...<br />
<br />
Dick Bregstein and I were in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, rattling the picket fences of the Amish with the thrum of our BMW exhausts. Yet things weren’t right on this day. We had the doldrums. Not the kind that come from the occasional hard time at home or in the office, but the devils that mock you from the inside out.<br />
<br />
Dick had savage biker doldrums. His BMW “R1100R” had a recurrent stalling problem that manifested itself with a kind of wheezy chant. His bike seemed to say, “I think I can... I think I can...” whenever it tried to pass my K75. The slide-hammer relief valve, which squirts whale oil on the Johnson bar, was sticking. (This was the story Dick gave me. The week before he’d blamed a shift in the earth’s polarity for the same thing.)<br />
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<b>Above: My riding buddy and Mac-Pac pal, "Leather" Dick Bregsein. He is seen here in one of his many disguises. Some folks cannot recognize him as the motorcycle is upright. </b><br />
<br />
My doldrums were of a more intense nature. I suspected the tide was running out on my all-consuming love interest. A woman cannot hide the little signs her heart has turned. Just that morning, the most stunning beauty I had ever held in my arms said to me, “I dreamed I stabbed you 37 times.”<br />
<br />
That’s not quite the same as “Don’t touch me and get the fuck out,” but it’s not good. According to a book on dreams, the knife can mean a number of things. Not one of them was a symbol of romantic longevity.<br />
<br />
“You don’t seem your usual, happy-go-lucky, eat-shit-and-die self,” said Bregstein. “Woman problems?” We were pulled over by a field where two Amish gentlemen in straw hats were antiquing ladles — to be sold at a roadside stand — by spreading manure with them. <br />
<br />
I nodded.<br />
<br />
“I figured,” said Bregstein. “We all figured. In the Mac-Pac pool, I have 5/23-23. That’s May 23rd for the day she stabs you 23 times.” (The Mac-Pac is the premier chartered BMW riding club serving southeast Pennsylvania and the world.) <br />
<br />
“My riding-club buddies are running a pool on when I’m going to get stabbed by my girlfriend?” I was incredulous. <br />
<br />
“Everybody but Clyde,” said Bregstein. “He told her he’d kill you for a flat fee.” <br />
<br />
“What was the fee?”<br />
<br />
“Ten bucks and a six-pack,” said Bregstein. “He wouldn’t get that much if he won the pool.” <br />
<br />
If I’d had the doldrums before, they were really bad now. <br />
<br />
The best way to beat the doldrums is to go into a motorcycle shop and buy farkle. Nothing makes a man feel as good as holding new farkle in his hands. Seeing the farkle installed on the bike runs close, but that feeling passes. This is because new farkle gets absorbed by a motorcycle within a day or two. Then more farkle is required to keep flagging spirits elevated. This is the same business model for heroine.<br />
<br />
By law, there cannot be a BMW dealership farther away than the planet Mercury. Dick and I rode to the one in the northern hemisphere. It was there I fell in love with a beautiful BMW factory LED stoplight bar. At first I thought it was “retro,” and then I realized it was just “German” stodgy. That made me love it even more. It cost $18,467.00 and my heart broke for the second time that day. Bregstein found a “prescription” windshield for his “R” bike. The prescription was so strong that he could see three days into the future. This accessory cost three dollars less than the Louisiana purchase, and for the first time ever, I saw Dick burst into tears. <br />
<br />
BMW riders are not afraid to show their emotions and the dealership was filled with crying riders. But real riders harness the power of their emotional frustrations and get on with life. Bregstein and I did what all men do when confronted with the actual cost of farkle: we looked at gloves instead. Disillusioned men can never have too many pairs of riding gloves. <br />
<br />
The current style of riding gloves was apparently influenced by Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles. They come in flamboyant colors with protruding armor on the knuckles, finger joints, and wrists. <br />
<br />
I hate them. <br />
<br />
Bregstein slipped on a bright pair of grape-flavored, battle-armored gloves and hissed, “Just call me ‘Donatello.’”<br />
<br />
“I can’t believe you know the names and matching colors of those stupid turtles,” I said.<br />
<br />
“What are you talking about?” asked Bregstein. He slipped his hands into the gloves and jumped down the aisle in a series of bad karate moves. <br />
<br />
Gloves are the ultimate 20-minute biker romance. According to a placard over some great-looking gloves in a locked bin, nothing beats kangaroo leather for comfort, protection, and endurance. Kangaroo leather is supposed to offer a seductive touch to your hand while being damn near bulletproof as far as sliding on the ground goes. <br />
<br />
“Too bad we can’t raise kangaroos and make gloves out of them. We’d be rich. Exotic women would love us,” said Bregstein. Thus was spawned the adventure Dick and I would come to know as, “Making Women Smile By Going Down Under.”<br />
<br />
Our research began by watching dozens of YouTube flicks on kangaroos. This curious animal has a face like a deer, ears like a rabbit, and legs like leaf springs. A Harley rider tried to breed them in the US a few years ago but the animals didn’t like his aftershave, apparently.<br />
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<b>Above: Similar to other species, male kangaroos are often accused of thinking with the "little head," which develops a controlling personality at age 13. </b><br />
<br />
We booked passage to Australia not unlike the way Burt Munro traveled to the US from New Zealand — on a tramp streamer — where we were required to work as part of our fare. The ship carried 25,000 tons of organic fertilizer and two shovels. Every few hours, Dick would press his ear to the hull, listen, and say, “I think we’re passing through the Panama Canal now;” or, “That sounds like Tahaiti to me.” Bregstein and I had eyes like lemurs when they let us out of the hold, six weeks later.<br />
<br />
The ship dropped anchor 2 miles off Dinkins Cove, in New South Wales, Australia. They dropped us into the water 10 minutes later. Dinkin’s Cove is a community comprised of 22 bars,14 hotels, nine pawn shops, six whore houses, two movie theaters, and a government-staffed tourist information kiosk. It reminded me of most places in Nevada. <br />
<br />
“I have two questions for you,” said Bregstein to the staffer in the tourist information kiosk. “How can we blend in as locals and where is the closest kangaroo herd?” <br />
<br />
The lady in the kiosk advised us that the best way to fit in among the locals was to wear a khaki shirt and to get a hat that snaps up on one side. She then gave us the bad news. It was the wrong time of the year for kangaroos. The Kangaroos had gone north for the winter. <br />
<br />
“How far north?” asked Bregstein.<br />
<br />
“Trenton, New Jersey,” she replied.<br />
<br />
We’d arrived in the height of the emu migration season. Hundreds of thousands of emus were migrating into town, and nesting on any flat surface that was 14-feet wide and 60 feet off the ground. They sought out factory chimneys or tenement fire escapes. They were nesting on every tree, bush, and building eave. Emus weigh about 170 pounds and stand close to six-feet tall. They mate for life. The suicide rate among male emus is about 68 percent. The surviving males are generally discovered to be deaf.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Leave a comment at the end </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>of the story and win a pair</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>of Kangaroo Leather Riding Gloves! </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>One winning comment selected</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>at random... </b></span></span></div>
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<br />
No one walks around looking up during the emu nesting season. These huge birds defecate a near volcanic eruption of a white substance about the size and density of a large broccoli pizza. It is considered “good luck” to be crowned by one of these, but only by those who witness the coronation from a distance. <br />
<br />
The lady in the tourist kiosk advised us to hire a guide at one of the local watering holes, who could show us where the kangaroos were wintering. Our first step was to acquire the appropriate outfits. The shirts were easy. The hats were a challenge. Dick found a cheap tourist copy of an Australian slouch hat in a joint on the waterfront.<br />
<br />
“Does it make a difference what side I leave snapped up?” asked Dick, to the counterperson, who was dissolving into a puddle of bad tattoos and cigarette smoke. <br />
<br />
“Not to me,” she said. <br />
<br />
My hat made more of a statement from the bush. It looked like a partially deflated cowboy hat with a dozen corks hanging from the brim. The purpose of these was to keep flies and other insects from buzzing about my head. We found it in an outback outfitter’s shop under the sign “Hugh McGuffie’s — Welcome.” <br />
<br />
“Are there a lot of insects in Australia?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Well, I’ll be blowed,” said the outfitter. “There are millions, but that hat will stop anything short of the Great Australian Loop Centipede.” <br />
<br />
The Great Australian Loop Centipede is one of the few living things in the place that does not have a pouch. Each of its young is hatched singly, and fired from the far end of the tube – like a dart — into the ass of whatever target is presented. <br />
<br />
“Are there many of those around?”<br />
<br />
The outfitter laughed. “There’s three for every man, woman, and sheep in these parts. There probably one taking aim at you right now.”<br />
<br />
“What keeps the Great Australian Loop Centipede away?” <br />
<br />
The outfitter glanced slyly from side to side, and said, “This...”<br />
<br />
He showed me a WWII army surplus flame-thrower. It was only $489 Australian. I got it and told Bregstein it was for him, as it weighed about 90 pounds. I suspected the sale wasn’t quite legal, as the words “portable coffee maker” were stenciled on the tanks. <br />
<br />
Our next stop was the bike rental shop. The pickings were pretty slim. Dick rented a battered R80 GS that was 32 years old. It had seen two decades of hard service with the Royal Australian Rabbit Fence Maintenance Corp., and had a special mount across the back for stringing wire. It had also been used to drag rubble carts out of a kiwi mine and as a delivery vehicle for a unique brothel called “Tarts On Two Wheels.” The bike still bore swatches of the bright purple livery of its last career, and guys all over town waved at the “Trollop Trolly” as Dick rode by. <br />
<br />
I rented a faded blue K75 that had been unpopular with the locals.<br />
<br />
“The bike is thought to be haunted,” said the dealer, whose name was Chancre Jack. “You can hear the ghost in the machine when you wind it up.”<br />
<br />
Typical to the marque, the K75 snarled into life as soon as I hit the starter. It began to whine as the RPM climbed. I revved it once or twice, just to go up and down the scale, and then I saw the bike shop staff quivering. <br />
<br />
“Can’t you hear the tormented soul trapped in the engine?” asked Chancre Jack. <br />
<br />
“You mean this sound?” I asked, twisting the throttle. The bike whined like a beauty queen regaining consciousness at my house.<br />
<br />
“That’s it,” shrieked the dealer.<br />
<br />
“I’ve heard this before,” I said, switching off the bike. “It is the soul of a Valkyrie, seeking revenge.” I then showed the dealer the clear “porthole” for checking the oil. “By tradition, the K75 was assembled on Walpurgisnacht, in utter darkness. The story says a blind quality control inspector, a former circus midget, got trapped inside one of the engines. His face is sometimes visible in the window. His screams are present always.”<br />
<br />
“I guess you don’t want the bike.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll take it for free... And the spirit will be purged when I bring it back.”<br />
<br />
“Deal,” said Chancre Jack. <br />
<br />
When we stopped for gas, Dick asked me: “Do you think this trip has too many bad omens at the start?”<br />
<br />
“What do you mean?”<br />
<br />
“Well, we shoveled shit to get halfway around the world and we arrived in Australia at the height of a kangaroo drought. Then the only motorcycle you can rent is haunted. We have to wear these stupid hats. The trees are filled with huge bird-shit generators. And we haven’t even gotten out of town yet.”<br />
<br />
I looked at him and sighed. “Dick... The adventure begins tomorrow. There is nothing wrong with that K75 and you’re riding the ‘Squeals On Wheels’ delivery wagon. This is like every trip we’ve ever done.”<br />
<br />
“It is?” asked Dick.<br />
<br />
“It is.” <br />
<br />
And for the second time in his life, Dick Bregstein started to cry. <br />
<br />
We spent our last night in town attempting to hire a guide — without success. It was the Sheila Bonzo Bangaroo weekend, or something like that, and no guy was leaving town. “Next time, one of us is going to have to check the national holidays and local customs,” said Bregstein. “We get caught up in this stuff entirely too often. Remember what happened to us in Albania.”<br />
<br />
“Looking for a bit of cuddle?,” asked a woman’s voice. A woman’s voice can have many qualities. It can be husky and dusky. It can be light and musical. It can be mysterious or intriguing. Not this one. This one sounded like 25 years of heavy boozing, smoking like an industrial fire, and trading sex for chewing gum. (Not whole packs of gum either.)<br />
<br />
Her hair hung straight down and she had a patch over one eye. She had a squashed cigar in her mouth that moved from side to side in an attempt to escape. When the bartender ignored her, she drank the warm spilled beer that collected the trough under the taps. <br />
<br />
She was hot for Bregstein. The amazing thing is that she was the fourth woman like this to hit on him within an hour. (He wondered if they were sisters.) But she was the first to get huffy about getting the cold shoulder. <br />
<br />
“Then why’s ‘ee advertising?” she asked.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, Dick had the right side of his hat snapped up, which in southern hemisphere bar circles means, “Gentleman with limited sense of humor and questionable taste in cigars desires the company of a worn-out bar frowze — with eye patch — for pointless conversation and ghastly sex.”<br />
<br />
“What does it mean with both sides snapped up?” I asked the bartender.<br />
<br />
“It means your friend is acquainted with sheep.” <br />
<br />
This is the kind of information you cannot buy at any price. <br />
<br />
Then it was my turn. <br />
<br />
“Are you the two guys looking for a guide?” <br />
<br />
This voice was different. It oozed from blue eyes, short blond hair, seamless tan lines, and lips like one of my adolescent day dreams. She was a second alarm stunner... The kind that simmers for an hour or two before you realize you’re watching the words slip from her mouth as she speaks. There was instant chemistry between us, but it was the formula that generally results in a stink bomb. <br />
<br />
“Take off that stupid hat,” she hissed. “The people in this town have been selling you shit and telling you worse since you washed ashore. Do you see anyone else wearing hats and shirts like those?” <br />
<br />
I’d been having my suspicions. Bregstein and I seemed to be the only two guys in town who looked like the extras from a Crocodile Dundee movie. <br />
<br />
Her name was Sheila.<br />
<br />
“Not the Sheila Bonzo they’re all talking about?” I asked.<br />
<br />
She rolled her eyes like she and I had been married for years. (That’s the way a woman who’s been to diplomatic school asks a man, “Are you really this fucking stupid?” I remained motionless and expressionless, as any response is interpreted as a “yes.”)<br />
<br />
Sheila told me her story, or the parts of it she thought I’d swallow. She was desperate to get to a remote spot in the Australian outback, but some son of bitch had taken all her cash. Her only alternative seemed to be working as a sheep dipper on an interior-bound mutton drive. And that would take six months to cover 200 miles. By coincidence, the very thing Dick and I were looking for could be found in the same location. <br />
<br />
“Kangaroos?”<br />
<br />
“Only a chump would try to make gloves out of kangaroos,” said Sheila. “The best leather for biker gloves actually comes from wombats. And not any kind of wombat, but the giant vampire wombat. I know where you can find the last giant vampire wombat cave. They are in there hanging upside down by the millions.” <br />
<br />
Now Dick and I rolled our eyebrows. The plot had suddenly thickened — like quicksand around our throats. We started out looking for kangaroos and went to the place where they are made, only to discover there weren’t any and that kangaroos weren’t what we really wanted in the first place. And now a total stranger, albeit a mysterious and hot-looking one named Sheila, was willing to put us on to a good thing, provided we took her with us. <br />
<br />
“I don’t know,” said Dick. “Maybe we should ask somebody...”<br />
<br />
“Who?” snapped Sheila. “Which of these assholes would you trust with the location of the last-known cave of giant vampire wombats?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know,” said Dick. “Maybe him...” He pointed to guy in biker gear passed out on the bar, blowing little bubbles in a puddle of warm, soured beer.<br />
<br />
Sheila turned to me, looked into my eyes, and said, “Would I do this if I was lying?” She open her shirt and showed me the tops of the most perfect tah-tahs I had ever seen. <br />
<br />
Dawn was a rumor in the skies when we headed into the outback. Dick led, following the rabbit fence into the interior. His bike was loaded with the impedimenta of basic leather tanning. He carried the coffee-maker strapped to his back. Sheila clung to the back of my bike, filling the pillion with a warm presence I hadn’t known in a while. Romance starts easily on a motorcycle as the rider and pillion candy are already two-thirds of the way there. I tried to help it a little by squeezing the front brake every now and again, causing her to slide forward, bumping my back with her yielding, but firm breasts. (This is known as copping “the about-face feel.”) She threatened to kick me in the balls after I tried this for the third time. <br />
<br />
The heat in Australia rises slowly and settles in the air — about six feet off the ground. It is heavy with the moisture of life, the calls of birds with rainbow beaks, the scent of flowers that devour their young, and the penetrating stares of scandalized marsupials who carry their kids and car keys in the same pouch. And sometimes there is the rumble of distant thunder, the sound of stampeding Huntsman spiders, each one weighing more than a pound.<br />
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<b>Above: The weakest section of the Great Australian Barrier Rabbit Fence, dividing Australia from neighboring New Zealand.</b><br />
<br />
The road paralleled the rabbit fence for 1400 miles, then turned slightly left at the first curve we encountered. There was a Donut King there. Most Americans regard the doughnut as a US invention. But most European cultures have a tradition that either involves a round fried pastry with a hole in it, or a simple fruit-filled, iced, dough-ball. Contrary to any claim the average American could stake to doughnut fame, the world’s largest doughnut, weighing 3.5 tons and measuring six meters across, was constructed at one of these Donut King locations, in Australia. The world’s largest doughnut-fed ass, however, is rumored to be on display in pink shorts at a mall in Mississippi. It too measures six meters across. <br />
<br />
“What’s the problem here with rabbits?’ asked Dick, munching on a doughnut. <br />
<br />
I explained how a pair of rabbits got loose in the 1880’s, when Australia was largely a wild settlement of convicts — like the District of Columbia is now. The rabbits mated with the indigenous Tasmanian tigers and the country was soon overrun by 200-pound rabbits that could rip the head off a horse. The fence divided the country in half, and all of the Tasmanian killer rabbits were hunted to extinction on the side that was worth anything.<br />
<br />
“What about the other side?” asked Bregstein.<br />
<br />
“Fuck ‘em. Who gives a shit?” I waxed philosophically.<br />
<br />
“Well, what side are we on?” <br />
<br />
“What difference does it make?” I said, pointing to a huge hole in the fence. <br />
<br />
We camped alongside the malarial Billabong River, which in the rainy season, is two miles wide, 1800 miles long, and two inches deep. It hadn’t rained in 23 years and we fell asleep listening to rogue Giant Australian Loop Centipedes slurping from the trickle that was left. These are remarkable creatures, and we came upon one that was eating a radial tire it had ripped from a passing tour bus. <br />
<br />
Sheila indicated we should make no noise and just slip away. <br />
<br />
“Why?” I whispered.<br />
<br />
“Because to anything reduced to eating a radial tire, your ass will look like the world’s largest doughnut.” She had a point.<br />
<br />
It was odd waking up in the wilderness, nearly alone with a beautiful woman. Her tan was fading into a rich skin tone that seemed to invite one’s fingertips. I saw her at first light, standing in her panties and bra, and in the clunkiest hiking boots you could image. She had straddled the K75 and was attempting to start it by mashing the button and holding it. The bike was gasping. <br />
<br />
“Stop,” I yelled. “You’ll fry the starter relay.”<br />
<br />
She blushed and the crimson flush spread under her bra. “I always wanted to start a motorcycle. I thought I could do it without bothering you,” she said. “Do you think this bra looks too tight on me?” <br />
<br />
It wasn’t tight at all. <br />
<br />
Bregstein wasn’t fooled. Later that day, when she went off to hiss at the geckoes, he said to me, “Are you buying that shit she gave you this morning?” Before I could answer, he continued: “That bra wasn’t too tight. I think she bought it with the intention of wearing if for a few days and then returning it for a full refund. Keep your eyes open, my friend.”<br />
<br />
“Hissing at the geckoes” is one of those cool Australian expressions that means “taking a piss.”<br />
<br />
She did know a lot about giant vampire wombats. According to her story, she was raised in an orphanage in the nearby town of Dangle Creek. Sheila claimed she used to go into the cave on school trips, where her third grade science teacher demonstrated how you could knock the sleeping wombats off the roof of the cave with a rock. “If you used a skipping motion, you might get three or four of these creatures with one shot,” she said. Her class loved these trips and students would spend days gathering stones for the day-long vampire wombat slaughter.<br />
<br />
Sheila described the giant vampire wombat as looking like your typical bat, but having a wing span of 8 feet. The female has five teats of varying lengths grouped together like fingers on as glove. Oddly enough, many of the females seemed to come in right and left hand models, depending on which side of the clan cave they were spawned. <br />
<br />
“So what you’re telling us,”said Dick, “Is that these things come with pre-attached gloves — in varying sizes — already.”<br />
<br />
“Now you understand,” said Sheila. <br />
<br />
“That’s amazing. We’re gonna be rich!,” said Dick. “What happened to all the dead vampire wombats you left on the cave floor?”<br />
<br />
“Something ate them,” she said with a shrug. Then she got suddenly distant. <br />
<br />
We reached the 2800-mile marker on the rabbit fence that next day. “We have to turn left here,” said Sheila. <br />
<br />
“How can you tell?”<br />
<br />
She pointed to a rusted sign in a clump of twisted, dried grass. It read: “Turn right for the most desolate part of the country. Next comfort station: 3400 miles. $200 fine for random spitting or urination.” <br />
<br />
“How would they know if I stopped to take a piss?”<br />
<br />
“This is Australia,” said Sheila. “You’re expected to turn yourself in.”<br />
<br />
The barren outback was amazing. Every mile was like a different segment of a National Geographic special. I had always thought those clips of life transpiring (under ghastly conditions) in a few seconds were time lapse photography. But I took one of several $200 pisses and watched in amazement as a plant sprung up from the wet spot in the dust, flowered, attracted a bee, which was eaten by a lizard, which was ripped apart by a huge bird, which was then knocked out of the sky by a weet-weet tossed by a passing indigenous person. All of this took place in 45 seconds. <br />
<br />
The weet-weet is a throwing stick of the indigenous people of Australia. Depending upon the manner in which it is thrown, it can hop along like a tadpole, scurry sideways like a politician, or return to the thrower two years later to report on what it has seen. <br />
<br />
The R80-GS handled the outback beautifully. Bregstein actually fell asleep several times, waking up when the bike ran out of gas and fell over. The K75 struggled a bit, wallowing in the GS’s backwash as we traversed croc pits and swamp viper bogs. At one point, the front wheel dug into the muck and the engine stalled. Dozens of Australian monitor lizards swarmed us. These reptiles are insidious man-eaters, so it was without hesitation I sent Sheila wading through the morass to fetch a cable end from the winch on the back of Bregstein’s bike. They hissed and backed off. Bregstein said it was professional courtesy.<br />
<br />
The trip was becoming more of a challenge. Sheila’s initial enthusiasm never mentioned the barren outback, the crocodiles, the monitor lizards, the oppressive heat, nor the great white shark that Bregstein found in his top case. We were running out of essentials. Dick claimed the croissants were beginning to turn and that we were down to three slices of pineapple cheese cake. Gas was about to become critical too.<br />
<br />
Sheila got more peculiar as we got closer to the cave. Her recollection of certain details became fuzzy. She hesitated when I asked why she left the region... And how she left this remote place. Her stories about exploring the cave dried up entirely. I saw her standing half naked in the dawn every morning. I saw her standing totally naked in the moonlight — totally naked for the exception of those clunky boots. She would never take them off. The boots were huge, and sort of triangular. They made it impossible for her to work the K75’s shifter in the delicate manner it demanded. <br />
<br />
Her fascination with the K75 was the only saving factor. She wanted to know everything about starting it, shifting it, and where I kept my keys. (I knew the motorcycle would bring us together.) It was during one of these discussions that she kissed me... Kissed me and put her hand in my pants... Pants pocket actually. I told her that was where I’d kept my keys. But there was a hole in the pocket lining instead.<br />
<br />
We found the village of Dangle Creek at the mouth of the cave on the fourth day. Some houses were still standing, but barely. Some were burned. There was no sign of an orphanage. In fact, there were no signs of anything. <br />
<br />
“What the hell happened here?” asked Bregstein. Dick is hard to fool. Four burned out houses, six abandoned ones, numerous skull faces carved into posts, and a rotting rope dangling from a gallows told Bregstein that more than tumbling real estate values was at play here. <br />
<br />
“Where was the orphanage?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“The orphanage was a trailer that traveled from town to town,” said Sheila. “Not every town could afford it’s own orphans. We shared.”<br />
<br />
“But where are the people?” asked Dick. <br />
<br />
“Perhaps they went to a movie,” said Sheila.<br />
<br />
“Could they be in the cave?” asked Dick.<br />
<br />
“Yes, the cave,” said Sheila. “They are probably all up at the cave.”<br />
<br />
There was less than an hour before nightfall and wandering around in a huge cave with waking vampire wombats held little appeal for Dick and none for me. Yet spending the night in this creepy town was out of the question. So we set up camp between the cave and the village. <br />
<br />
Dick was positively giddy at the idea that we were about to become rich overnight. In the morning, we’d corner the market on bullet-proof suede wombat gloves. In the afternoon, we’d be the toast of the moto industry. He experimented with names and slogans for our glove line. Some contenders were:<br />
• Soft To The Touch But Hard In A Tumble — Wombat Dick's<br />
• Super Tough Wombat Dick's — “Straight From The Bush...”<br />
<br />
Bregstein wasn’t the only one intoxicated by the excitement. As the fire reduced itself to embers, Sheila got hot. The stars were silent witnesses to the passion that unfolded. Some shot off into space, propelled by my desire... A desire fueled by the proximity of the savage Australian bush. Sheila’s skin felt like warm silly putty in my hands. And I felt her hands on me... All over me... Searching and probing. She was naked to the warm air, all but for those huge, clunky boots. <br />
<br />
“Take them off,” I whispered. “Take off those boots.”<br />
<br />
“In the cave,” she sighed. “I have a deformity with my feet, and I’m shy about it. But I’ll take off my boots in the cave.”<br />
<br />
I understood her reticence. Despite my success with women, I too have a less than perfect physique. I have a genetic abnormality with my man-gland. Instead of one penis, I have five prehensile ones. My underwear fits me like a glove. <br />
<br />
Night shadows drained into the cave as dawn spilled from the horizon. Sheila and I stepped into the palpable darkness. I thought the cave would be cooler than outside, with drafts wafting upward from subterranean passages. But it was hot and dank in there. And something smelled really bad. <br />
<br />
“I’m taking off my boots now,” said Sheila. <br />
<br />
The dedicated Twisted Roads reader knows I have a thing for modestly endowed women. Tiny hooters drive me crazy. But I also love women with tiny feet. My last lover had the sexiest feet on earth. I use to marvel at her sneakers. They were almost like toy shoes. I knew what I was about to see wasn’t going to be anything like that. But every relationship is different. I have learned to grow with my lovers — one foot at a time. <br />
<br />
The sun rose in the mouth of the cave — directly behind Sheila. The beauty of the woman shone in a golden radiance. She existed as pure sensuality, etched in the most perfect light of day. My eyes traced the outline of her throat, her shoulders and her tight breasts. The sleek line of her waist led south to the gentle curve of her hips, and to extraordinary legs. These ended in... <br />
<br />
I couldn’t believe the horror before my eyes. It was so utterly unexpected. I forgot to breath in that instant, and then I didn’t want to.<br />
<br />
She had the feet of an emu. Huge, three-toed feet designed for ripping open termite hills or for kicking Cape Buffalo in the balls. I confess to the gentle reader that I screamed in panic. But this was nothing to what I was about to see. The gathering light revealed I was on a ledge 30 feet above the cave floor, and it writhed like something alive.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<b>Above: She had the feet of an emu... I was horrified. I'd seen worse, but not first thing in the morning. And certainly not when sober. </b><br />
<br />
This portal to hell seethed with Giant Australian Loop Centipedes. Uncounted millions of these disgusting creatures — each the size of a finger — thrummed against the fetid niter-stained walls of the cave. Yet I could see thousands of huge specimens, as long and as thick as a man’s arm, undulating in and out of this terrifying pile. White disjointed bones, picked clean, caught the light too. And then I saw the skulls, each frozen in a silent scream. <br />
<br />
“That’s right,” hissed Sheila. “Meet the townsfolk of Dangle Creek. You’re going to be elected mayor today.” <br />
<br />
“But why,” I stammered... <br />
<br />
“To break the curse for another year. For every sacrifice I drag into this cave, I get to have normal feet for one year. But judging from the meat on your butter-ass, I might get 18 months out this deal,” said Sheila. “And then I’ll toss that other addle-pated twit in here too.” <br />
<br />
“You’d sacrifice us just to have sexy feet?”<br />
<br />
“You have no idea what it’s like to be different in a place like this.” <br />
<br />
I thought of the women Dick had met in Dinkin’s Cove. “You know, I don’t see those feet as much of a drawback...”<br />
<br />
“Shut the fuck up,” Sheila screamed. “Would you run off with me on your motorcycle if you knew I had the feet of a huge, flightless bird?” <br />
<br />
“Not under normal circumstances,” I started to say. She didn’t give me a chance to finish. I was to going to add, “But I’d give it a shot if you didn’t scratch for worms or start crowing at dawn.”<br />
<br />
“Aaaaaarrrrgh,” She screamed. “I hate BMW riders. You think you are so fucking clever with your gadgets and your gear. You are all such assholes.”<br />
<br />
I took offense as this rash generalization. <br />
<br />
“It was so easy to lead you out here. All I had to do was flash my tits at you. If I’d offered to let you whisper into my sugar scoop, you’d have thrown Dick to the centipedes yourself. You even taught me how to ride your bike so I had a way out of here.”<br />
<br />
There is nothing more discouraging than to have your number dialed right the first time. The centipedes were swarming beneath the ledge and I knew I had but seconds to live.<br />
“Will you answer me one question?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Make it a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question,” she hissed. <br />
<br />
“So there really are no giant vampire wombats hanging upside down in the cave, are there?” <br />
<br />
“You are so fucking dense,” screamed Sheila. “See for yourself.” Then she dropped kicked me with one of those feet. <br />
<br />
I felt myself falling backward over the ledge. It is amazing the kind of things that run through your head in a time of crisis. I thought of my last lover’s little feet, and how she’d get her toenails painted at a joint in Paoli. This one would have to go in for an estimate. A $500-deductible wouldn’t cover that paint job.<br />
<br />
The drop was not quite vertical and my flailing arms found the stump of a walla-walla root. My own grotesque feet — two flattened loaves of Wonder Bread — were an inch or two above the snapping mandibles of the centipedes. I screamed one word: “Bregsteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!” <br />
<br />
Dick Brgstein is a man of extraordinary patience, but he has his limits. On this morning, he’d carefully sliced the last of the pineapple cheesecake into three pieces, opened the last can of anchovies, and mixed some unspecified local berries with bog water for a celebratory breakfast. He’d set three places offering the nicest view of the cursed town and waited... and waited... and waited. He figured I’d taken Sheila into the cave for a pelvic examination, but would be back momentarily. Momentarily was becoming a honeymoon. <br />
<br />
“To hell with the two of them,” muttered Dick. “I’m gonna make some coffee.” <br />
<br />
He unstrapped the 90-pound “coffee maker” and flipped the switch marked “brew.” A strong smell of burning jet fuel filled the air. A green light flickered on, and Bregstein hit the button marked, “Dispense.” <br />
<br />
There was a loud “whoooosh” and a semi-solid stream of gelatinous fire shot into the cave. It narrowly missed Sheila, arched over my head, and made a warm impression on the local centipede population. <br />
<br />
I pulled myself over the ledge’s lip and discovered Sheila was gone. Bregstein said she’s ran past him at 62 miles per hour. “She had the nicest ass... But man did she need a pedicure.” <br />
<br />
We never saw her again.<br />
<br />
“Did I fry all the giant vampire wombats?” asked Dick. “This coffee maker sucks. It has one setting.”<br />
<br />
“Dick, she sold us a bill of goods. The whole thing was just a horrible ploy.”<br />
<br />
“I knew it from Day One,” said Bregstein. “I’d catch her staring at me, and suppressing that little sarcastic smile. I wondered when you’d get wise that I was the real target. Do you think there’s another cave around here filled with gloves?” <br />
<br />
That’s what I like about Bregstein. He can always see the bright side of discharging a flame thrower into a fragile eco-system. <br />
<br />
Four days later and we were back at the bar in Dinkin’s Cove. We decided to wear our hats and get ragingly shitfaced on our last night in Australia. I was thinking very kindly of Bregstein. This was the fourth time he’d saved my life on a ride. I wanted to extend a selfless gesture of appreciation to my riding buddy, who was presently drinking alone at the bar. But Dick is a man of intense pride. He is suspicious of appreciation... Especially from me. This would have to be a subtle gesture. <br />
<br />
He never saw me snap up both sides of his hat. <br />
<br />
Copyright Jack Riepe 2013<br />
All Rights Reserved<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">On April 16th, 2013 — The prestigious Germantown Cricket Book Club grilled Jack Riepe on his new book — Conversations with A Motorcycle — which had been chosen as their "Book Of The Month." Highlights published here on Thursday, May 2, 2013. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">• Auth<span style="font-size: x-large;">orities have determined that the subsequent a<span style="font-size: x-large;">ttempt on hi<span style="font-size: x-large;">s life was not related...</span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">• <span style="font-size: x-large;">A brunette suspect was no<span style="font-size: x-large;">t detained...</span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">• No threat was found from a literary critic...</span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">• <span style="font-size: x-large;">The book was banned by </span></span>a religious group...</span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Order your copy directly... </span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">$2<span style="font-size: x-large;">0<span style="font-size: x-large;"> for the book... $5 fo<span style="font-size: x-large;">r priority shipping...</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Email your name<span style="font-size: x-large;">, address, and phone number to: <span style="font-size: x-large;">jack.riepe@gmail.com</span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><b> </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Put: "Book Order" in the<span style="font-size: x-large;"> sub<span style="font-size: x-large;">ject li<span style="font-size: x-large;">ne.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><b> </b></div>
Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-56608550183422161992013-04-10T11:49:00.000-04:002013-04-10T12:21:00.932-04:00Dispatches From The Front...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Twisted Roads will routinely publish readers' comments or respond to questions seeking advice about technical riding, maintenance, relationships, sexual dysfunction, or motorcycle accessories. While advice is given freely, you get what you pay for. You might be better off with the services of a professional bartender or a truck stop sexual surrogate.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">"Death On The Prairie" </span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>Dear Twisted Roads:</b></i></span><br />
I was crossing the North Dakota prairie on my 1975 Harley Davidson Iron Head Sportster with my mother-in-law on the pillion. I have been married for 22 years and have avoided giving this old bitch a ride until now. My wife recently agreed to a threesome — with a pole dancer from a local moto watering hole — if I would just take the old bat out for a good high-speed run. <br />
<br />
This Harley’s got straight pipes that roar as loud and as ceaselessly as summer thunder, and I could still hear my mother-in-law bitching about my shortcomings. She started with the usual horse shit about how her daughter could have done so much better than the guy who mops up the containment room at a nuclear facility... How none of her other high school boy friends had “Eat Me” tattooed on their foreheads... And how none of her other guys drank beer from bullet holes in the beer keg. <br />
<br />
I was about to go deaf when a wild turkey flew across the road and swacked her dead-center in the open-faced helmet. I glanced in the mirror and saw the remains of a huge Tom jammed into her gaping maw. Suddenly, all I could hear was growl of the bike and wind whistling around my goggles. It was the first time the old bag couldn’t talk in 30 years. For a minute, I thought she was going to fart herself to death. Being out on the silent prairie at 90 miles per hour was like finding yourself between pure thought and raw speed. <br />
<br />
I realized she might choke and thought about getting her some medical attention. We were about 25 miles west of Fargo, North Dakota and I took her to a clinic — in Billings, Montana. I got there too late, though. The turkey was dead. My mother-in-law had nearly chewed through the 45-pound Tom by the time we got into the emergency room. I bought a turkey call for the ride back. <br />
<br />
Here’s my question: do those turkey calls ever work?<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Stanley “Sturgis” Slankowski<br />
Lutefisck, Minnesota<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Dear Stanley:<br /> As a dedicated BMW GS rider and an engineer, I will attempt to give you a highly technical explanation that implies I actually know something about the subject. While the noise of a moving motorcycle may seem constant to the rider, the Doppler effect (named after Franz Doppler, an engineer who thought he was a huge cockroach) creates a moving barrage of sound to anything ahead and on the side of the machine. *Therefore, the full impact of the turkey call will only hit a stationary bird for a second, causing great confusion as to the call’s exact source. <br /><br />It won’t work well if at all. <br /><br />Next time, try duct taping the turkey call into your mother-in-law’s mouth. The constant high-pressure discharge of sound should draw turkeys up to ten miles ahead of the speeding bike. Of course, it may also succeed in attracting one 700-pound turkey. If this happens, pull over immediately and use the video camera app on your cell phone to tape the resulting mating ritual. Keep the bike running in case your mother-in-law wins. </b><br />
<b></b><br />
<i>* When a BMW-riding engineer uses the word "therefore," it means you are dense if you don't understand the conclusion. </i><b><br /><br />Thanks for your question.<br />Ted Dillman<br />Outdoor Editor/Twisted Roads</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;">"When In Washington, DC"</span> </b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Dear Twisted Roads: </b></i></span></span><br />
On a recent tour of Washington, D.C., prompted in part by a TW blog episode in which publisher Jack Riepe haunted a cemetery, I discovered there is a discernible lack of cosmetic surgery options in the nation’s Capitol. There were no facilities to get a boob job west of New York Avenue. No one would do a nose job on Pennsylvania Avenue. Oddly enough, I could get a hand job just about anyplace on Capitol Hill. Why is that?<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Lester Millwright<br />
Anal Park, Iowa<br />
<br />
<b>Dear Lester:</b><br />
<b>You were probably in Washington on one of the six days each year that Congress is in session. If you stand on the steps of the Capitol (the building under the huge gas-pressurizing dome) with your Johnson extended but ensconced in a glove, you will have it “shaken” by every third person exiting the facility, who will swear they are delighted to see you and sorry that you missed their 90-second annual contribution to government (a vote on postal regulations in Somoa).</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Yours Truly,</b><br />
<b>Emmit “Brownie” Smearz</b><br />
<b>TW Political Editor</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;">"Breaking Another Moto Guzzi Record"</span> </b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><b> <span style="font-size: large;">Dear Twisted Roads:</span></b></i></span><br />
I was riding through the Adirondack mountains when I pulled over to buy a half gallon of maple syrup at a roadside stand. The grizzled sourdough behind the counter assured me that the containers of syrup had been boiled down from the trees behind him the month before. I noticed that all of the syrup he had to sell was very dark. The syrup I have bought off supermarket shelves in my native New York City is very light. I suspected a con job and made that famous "New Yorker Aggravation Face" by puckering to the point where I looked like a pair of eyes over a cat's ass. <br />
<br />
Then I demanded much lighter syrup.<br />
<br />
The Adirondack gentleman explained that the syrup would lighten naturally if I shoved the container up my ass. <br />
<br />
I was able to ride my Moto Guzzi 340 miles before the half-gallon container in my ass became a distraction. What is the record for riding an Italian motorcycle with a half-gallon container of syrup in one’s ass?<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
T.D. Filcher<br />
President And Total Membership<br />
Salami Bikers International<br />
33rd Street (Between 9th and 10th Avenue) Chapter<br />
New York City, NY <br />
<br />
<b>Dear T.D. Filcher:</b><br />
<b>The record is 342 miles. You almost did it. If you go back and tell the guy his syrup tasted like piss, you could easily break the record for riding 340 miles with a boot in your ass.</b><br />
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<b>Sincerely,</b><br />
<b>Mucca Baravelli</b><br />
<b>TW Italian Bike Editor</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: blue;">"Lying To My BMW-Riding Lover" </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>Dear Twisted Roads:</b></i></span><br />
I met a BMW rider in a bar the other night. (I don't know what kind of bike he rode but it's the one you see in all those old black and white pictures of the Civil War. It's the one with those jug things sticking out on the side.) Now I know that 99% of BMW riders are total douches, complete with the kind of conversation that would put a statue into a coma. (Keywords are “oil change" and “airhead.”) But this guy seemed different. He was full of life and outrageous stories. He told me he could make a face that gave him mystical seductive powers. He called it "The Manatee Mug." We had a couple of drinks and then he made this silly sort of face.<br />
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I let him believed it worked. I took him back to my place and took my clothes off. <br />
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Well, he was gone in the morning. And yet, I was troubled. I felt as if I had lied to him. That stupid face meant nothing to me. In fact, I faked all of those orgasms too. I even lied about my age. I am not 42-years-old, but 97. Still, I had a good time with him, even if I did have to buy all the drinks. So if you ever run into a guy named "Breg Dickstein," will you tell him I said "hello?" <br />
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Sincerely,<br />
Emma Blogett<br />
Shades Of Death Nursing Home<br />
Grey Thigh Gap, North Carolina<br />
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<b>Dear Emma:</b><br />
<b> I will remind "Breg" of his encounter with you often.</b><br />
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<b>Sincerely,</b><br />
<b>Jack Riepe</b><br />
<b>TW Publisher </b><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>"The Salami Of The Month Club"</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>Dear Twisted Roads:</b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">I found an interesting internet dating site for single women interesting in meeting guys with motorcycles made in Italy.</span><i><b> </b></i><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">Using</span> </span>the "Two Wheeled Salami Dater's Hotline,<span style="color: blue;">" </span> </span></span>I met a fascinating man who rides a Moto Guzzi. I was totally unfamiliar with this bike, which has a sideways-mounted, V-twin engine. The machine represents a timelessly clean Italian design that is really beautiful in every regard. The rider wants me to come over to his place (in exciting New York City) for pancakes. What should I do?<br />
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Anticipating your answer,<br />
Christine Dumont<br />
191 Dumont Road<br />
Dumont, NJ<br />
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<b>Dear Christine:</b><br />
<b>Insist on an omelet instead. Anything that does not require maple syrup.</b><br />
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<b>Sincerely,</b><br />
<b>Vinnie Steevars</b><br />
<b>TW Food Editor</b><br />
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;">"Harley Riders Debate <span style="font-size: x-large;">Classic</span> Issue"</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: blue;"><b>Dear Twisted Roads:</b></span></i></span><br />
I am writing to you in my official capacity as the President of the Smegma Lac Harley Davidson "Classic" Riders, in Smegma Lac, Michigan. Each month, our club debates another issue of extreme pertinence to the riding community... then we conduct an outrageous wet tee shirt contest. This month's question has us stymied. Here it is, "What the hell was the Scots poet Robert Burns writing about when he penned the words 'Twa Corbies?'"<br />
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Sincerely,<br />
Gelding Thomas<br />
President<br />
Smegma Lac Harley Davidson "Classic" Riders<br />
Smegma Lac, Michigan<i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Dear President Gelding Thomas<i>:</i></b><br />
<b>It is common knowledge throughout the Highlands of Scotland that when writing the words "Twa Corbies," Robert Burns was thinking about the difficulties of synchronizing the three carburetors on the legendary Kawasaki H2. Burns was not known for his patience, and the original quote was </b><br />
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<b>"The fookin twa corbies on this piece a shite, </b></div>
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<b>Adjust them as ye will in darkness or light, </b></div>
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<b>Na' man nor God can get them a'right." </b></div>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b>All the best to you...</b><br />
<b>Landau Goldfarb</b><br />
<b>TW Classics Expert</b><i><br /></i><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Who reads Twisted Roads?</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Pictures Submitted By </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Twisted Roads Readers... </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">"How big do you like 'em?" </span></i></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9504BKBZo5bO1yBAJSGIb8H6q25EsnCX1MZh_SGkhodkfN1V3HYEfI3v0HidRfbEml5xYPJ0L3Q1fOftuLXJeaaDdQ9mYwrxTKKDJWhXTOpfW4ieIo74O9sgHEOFejf1bNqXaE_xKAfO/s1600/-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9504BKBZo5bO1yBAJSGIb8H6q25EsnCX1MZh_SGkhodkfN1V3HYEfI3v0HidRfbEml5xYPJ0L3Q1fOftuLXJeaaDdQ9mYwrxTKKDJWhXTOpfW4ieIo74O9sgHEOFejf1bNqXaE_xKAfO/s640/-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b> Above: Wayne "Woody" Woodruff (Pennsylvania) likes them as big as his new BMW F800GT, one cool-looking bike. When asked the question, "What kind of rider has an F800GT," Woodruff smiled and simply gestured. (See tee shirt for explanation.)</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahPrQLoGAh4QKS0HjZ5VC7nkgEaInIEz-LEibenG360iuKsp9fANfibSdNPYx_W1S5D1VdWChaSsMBx09Wfh8J0jFDkrZmkPaC8Bixl6dAedK-oqkDqFIzPEy_lqfXz_pjfsyW7w0uNF4/s1600/482805_10200967263486723_1897092006_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahPrQLoGAh4QKS0HjZ5VC7nkgEaInIEz-LEibenG360iuKsp9fANfibSdNPYx_W1S5D1VdWChaSsMBx09Wfh8J0jFDkrZmkPaC8Bixl6dAedK-oqkDqFIzPEy_lqfXz_pjfsyW7w0uNF4/s640/482805_10200967263486723_1897092006_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b> Above: the unimpeded view of Woody's bike within minutes of purchase. </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="color: blue;"><b>Tuff Cookie Rider "Triumphs..."</b></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXs7K8OjWqJ1fkCJ2aZFbRxgi50vNDNIn8iwGVJa4JhWYXGBbb2w8Fbf4S_KZ_AOUu2Bp5l5wTRJFMUHc8h0xLZQXxHXVlYLuFJa5EWGHCtkZpNsidFeuKOesUGlX0JiOEu6ajSfIcgWV/s1600/59693_10151568681509345_1112717594_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXs7K8OjWqJ1fkCJ2aZFbRxgi50vNDNIn8iwGVJa4JhWYXGBbb2w8Fbf4S_KZ_AOUu2Bp5l5wTRJFMUHc8h0xLZQXxHXVlYLuFJa5EWGHCtkZpNsidFeuKOesUGlX0JiOEu6ajSfIcgWV/s640/59693_10151568681509345_1112717594_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b>Above: Kimi Bush (Pennsylvania) smiles with her new Triumph Scrambler. The classic lines of this great Brit bike constitute her second ride in a growing fleet. She is better known in Teutonic biker circles as the pilot of "Tuff Cookie," a pink BMW F650. </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZzyv_H5T98u8AOklqYyTEpXjTpMzLqUFd_IwvpzSQOgkX31AM65gcgnGd0af9wyZrwlSUBOVJ_xqTCOYNdJ5g0-ha36sPF-B6UInOT3FVv_0ANDYL6q1zA6PUFcymXz2e3HSukelDhbA/s1600/544716_656600560565_1837636369_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZzyv_H5T98u8AOklqYyTEpXjTpMzLqUFd_IwvpzSQOgkX31AM65gcgnGd0af9wyZrwlSUBOVJ_xqTCOYNdJ5g0-ha36sPF-B6UInOT3FVv_0ANDYL6q1zA6PUFcymXz2e3HSukelDhbA/s640/544716_656600560565_1837636369_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b> Above: The growing fleet of Kimi Bush shows the new Triumph Scrambler with "Tuff Cookie," her BMW F650. Word on the street is that the new Triumph may be known as the"Iron Crumpet." </b><br />
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<i><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Secret K100 Turbo Project:</b></span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46V5A1GehmuDuBGxK9veFzegD6TgSl8TvViO9A7qG_m4TKDrLrQJNVAAnqmh3zJrSH1VVy3TP0nZa9LwKTPQslkPvKJ_mH8Lh3BXkKhtwE7EXLt7z6hXbb30tNfAaJItlTD-rXAMKYAJp/s1600/-7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46V5A1GehmuDuBGxK9veFzegD6TgSl8TvViO9A7qG_m4TKDrLrQJNVAAnqmh3zJrSH1VVy3TP0nZa9LwKTPQslkPvKJ_mH8Lh3BXkKhtwE7EXLt7z6hXbb30tNfAaJItlTD-rXAMKYAJp/s640/-7.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Above: Peter Frechi's (Pennsylvania) secret garage project: the K100 Turbo. Frechi has been working on this bike for 17 years now. Why? He wears a blindfold while doing the restoration work under the direction of Gerry Cavanaugh, who only speaks the Cantonese dialect of Chinese. Frechi is also deaf. Frechi has great expectations of this turbo-equipped BMW classic. He has named the bike "The Hindenburg." </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="color: blue;"><b>Another Rider Plans To Leave The Pavement </b></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="color: blue;"></span></i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Above: Dan Mc<span style="font-size: small;">Ke<span style="font-size: small;">n<span style="font-size: small;">zie (Minnesota) proudly poses with his new Suzuki V-Strom 650, which <span style="font-size: small;">he is equi<span style="font-size: small;">pping for expeditions that do not require pavement. <span style="font-size: small;">A ded<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">icated</span> Twisted Roads reader, Mc<span style="font-size: small;">Kenzie claims he go<span style="font-size: small;">t the idea for riding in the dirt a<span style="font-size: small;">fter reading it in th<span style="font-size: small;">is column for years. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Have a great picture of you and your bike? </span></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Send it in to Twisted Roads, </span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> jack.riepe@gmail.co</span>m(.) </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Put "Rider's Photo's" In the subject line. </span></b></span></div>
Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-35145270746194517582013-03-27T13:28:00.000-04:002013-03-27T14:25:14.086-04:00Forbidden To Discuss... What All Bikers do!There is a great little Mexican joint just off the corner of Downingtown Pike and East Lancaster Avenue, in Downingtown, PA. It takes 25 minutes to get anything on the menu because the folks who run the place make everything from scratch. And while there are two or three things listed that anyone would recognize from a Mexican chain restaurant, there is no comparison with the bill of fare here. “Rincon Tarasco” has the best Mexican food I have tasted north of Acapulco. You could almost make a meal of their Guacamole and fresh corn chips. <br />
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The kitchen is an open book. You can look over the counter and watch your entree crafted from the freshest ingredients in the most authentic way. If I had a complaint, it is that this place is “dry” and you cannot get a great Mexican beer — like Negra Modelo. They serve those fruity Mexican sodas and I am partial to the pineapple and lime flavors. <br />
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The restaurant is intimate (small) but biker casual. The bikers that had just casually left this place were Breg Dickstein (not his real name), Clyde Trotsky (not his real name), Gerry Cavanaugh (his real name), and me. The bikes were strung out in a line as we headed north to Strasburg. I was in the lead with Dickstein not more than 3 seconds behind me. It was a warm spring day and paving cutbacks gave the run a bumpy aspect. The gentle up and down motion of the bikes, coupled with the afternoon heat, set the Mexican meal to percolating. <br />
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Riding a motorcycle is the ultimate freedom. You can talk to yourself or even sing as the thrum of the road and snarl of the engine drown out everything else. All incriminating sound evaporates in the celebration of forward motion. I raised myself in the saddle and let fly with a mighty anal bellow. Had we been in a closed environment, like a zeppelin hanger, the resulting noise would have been the equivalent of material ripping. And not ordinary material, like a bed sheet... but something far more substantial, such as the tarp used to cover the outfield at a ball park. <br />
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I counted “One second... two seconds...” and glanced in the mirror. <br />
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Dickstein has the personality and reflexes of a cobra. He’d seen me rise up in the saddle and guessed what was coming. Before I could reach “three seconds” in the count, he swerved to avoid an invisible obstacle. Unfortunately, the subtlety of the moment was lost on Clyde, who rode into the vapor barrier with total oblivion. The humor of the moment was almost lost in the horror of his expression. Trapped in the confines of a full-face helmet, his eyeballs popped out and pounded against the face shield like two little fists. <br />
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Dickstein and I kept going. What else could we have done? <br />
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Seasoned rider Gerry Cavanaugh claims to be above these puerile antics. Getting the bloated feeling common to politicians about to give a campaign speech, he dismounted by a lake, bent slightly, and brought down a flock of low-flying Canada geese. “Once you get the range and windage right, the rest is easy,” said Cavanaugh.<br />
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While accredited studies of biker flatulence are rare, many anecdotal observations are attributed to “meat loaf night,” hosted by various riding clubs. There are always one or two stories of “R” bike seats bursting into flames or Harley’s accelerating to the speed of light, leaving comet-like trails behind them. Yet there is very little statistical analysis or scientific data to support these claims. Consensus acknowledges that biker flatulence increases in potency and frequency as age advances. According to one medical expert, it takes less than 15 minutes for a 58-year-old man to convert the mass of two chili dogs into 200 cubic yards of nerve gas. A 68-year-old man can convert a dish of apple sauce (or anything else on a diner’s “early bird special” salad bar) into an explosive vapor capable of causing a mine disaster. Worse in both cases is the sudden change of atmosphere which can make a feed lot seem positively aromatic. <br />
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Nor is this condition restricted to men. Women are not only capable of breaking the vapor barrier but many do so without suspicion, relying on their feminine guile to shed guilt. One flawlessly beautiful woman I know stepped into the shower with a hulking Harley pilot who rode under the name of “Kevlar.” The shower stall simmered with the steam of the hot water obscuring this woman’s toxic release. She bolted, then applied her dainty bulk to holding the shower stall door shut. <br />
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“Kevlar” trumpeted like a mastodon caught in the tar pits. His screams became hollow gasps, followed by a thud seconds later. “That gnarly son of a bitch has been doing this to me for years,” said his wife. “See how he likes it.” <br />
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A dainty morsel of a rider I adore buzzes through the Pennsylvania countryside on a bike painted a distinctly feminine color. She seeks out a German Frau Brau Haus, where she can get a Limburger cheese sandwich, with sliced Bermuda onion, on pumpernickel. Within minutes this lethal combination is whipped into the equivalent of diazinon. She does Pilates and has developed the kind of muscle control which will sustain a build-up of 168 psi. On one ride, a cager got too close to her bike and she let fly with a backdoor thunderclap, blowing the windshield out of his car. <br />
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Moto gear manufacturers have been aware of this problem for years. It has been said that attempts to mask the discharge of personal methane led to the development of mesh pants. Yet you cannot wear mesh in autumn. Solid ballistic pants would generally blow out on the third or fourth release. Special valves, once common to steam locomotives in the 19th century, were bulky and took up pocket room. A company in Minnesota developed an airtight product line called “Gastro Bloomers,” which were airtight ballistic pants guaranteed to sustain a shotgun blast at close range. The company dissolved in lawsuits. It seems riders would tuck the pants into their footgear. The integrity of the pants actually magnified the effect of the release and the soles would blow clean off the rider’s boots. <br />
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This unique aspect of rider behavior has changed the way some bikers travel. When my shrinking circle of riding buddies rents a cabin for a long trip, we now look for a place with a ventilation system that would do justice to the Lincoln Tunnel. This wasn’t possible on one trip. An engineer in the crowd suggested we all buy little wooden toy train whistles and insert them to the point where they could issue adequate warning, like a kind of air raid system. This proved impractical as the sounds coming out of Dickstein’s room at 5am were reminiscent of Union Station in 1865. <br />
<span style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
©Copyright Jack Riepe 2013<br />
All rights reserved<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Who Reads Twisted Roads? </span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"> On The Road To Yellow Knife...</span></span></span> </span></span><br />
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<b>Above: On the road to Yellow Knife, Gary Christman explains to a local Harley rider that the BMW GS is supposed to look like that and that he hadn't crashed earlier in the day. Photo by Gary Christman. </b><br />
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<b>Above: On the road to Yellow Knife, a waitress asks Jim Robinson to recite the alphabet. He can do it, but only if he can sing the alphabet song he learned in kindergarten. Photo by Gary Christman. </b><br />
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<b>Above: On the road to Yellow Knife, Ken Bruce laughs, not realizing a Ural and three wheels are in his immediate future. Photo by Gary Christman.</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span></span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">From The Days When BMW Was Into Chrome...</span></span><b> </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL439FTPP5dUipWPpxWh_X2MNrUDD1-mXex8kMraYw4b5LqmBuUQHqqzcY_spNnhin9VuY3ttiSDBQGxnJtE9rF_DdnBLLRTZ-ZegUILJLCg7Vyj-tacV6_4egCGRGdR9ln0wNEZa2FBJg/s1600/-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL439FTPP5dUipWPpxWh_X2MNrUDD1-mXex8kMraYw4b5LqmBuUQHqqzcY_spNnhin9VuY3ttiSDBQGxnJtE9rF_DdnBLLRTZ-ZegUILJLCg7Vyj-tacV6_4egCGRGdR9ln0wNEZa2FBJg/s640/-1.png" width="426" /></a></div>
<b>Above: Rick Prell on his 2003 BMW "R1200C Phoenix." He named the bike "Mandy" after one of his favorite Barry Manilow songs. Photo submitted by Demise Prell</b><br />
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<b>Above: Rick Prell's 2003 R1200 C Phoenix "Chrome Head." BMW's short term experiment with chrome resulted in one of the most distinctive applications for the "R" bike. Rick is posing here with a helmet he got from the Star Wars back lot. Photo submitted by Denise Prell. </b><br />
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<b> <span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"> From The Sunny State Of Washington...</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Above: Doug Vavrick (Washngton), on </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: small;">"Helga," <span style="color: #1f497d;">his</span> expensive German mistress, a 2002 R1150RT-P. While the photo gives the impression of snow, Vavrick has just been tarred and feathered by "K" bike extremists. </span> </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Got a picture of you and your ride? Send it in! </b></span></span>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Mark it "Reader's Photo" in the subject line. </b></span></span>Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-67903572146938475432013-03-21T14:05:00.000-04:002013-03-22T11:54:11.994-04:00Kiss No Asses...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am hopelessly delusional from time to time. The allure of doing something becomes so strong in my mind that it overpowers my instincts to flee and I do it anyway. This explains two of my marriages. It justifies my love affair with 1975 Kawasaki H2. It accounts for that episode with the redhead. It vindicates my adolescence. It is the only reason I can give for wanting to ride my motorcycle from bucolic Pennsylvania to Washington, D.C. <br />
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A buddy of mine from a misspent corporate affiliation had joined a division of the federal government. He rides a cost efficient, chrome efficient, and noise efficient Harley Davidson. It was his suggestion that we meet in the Oyster Bar of the “Old Ebbitt Grill,” and bestow sneers upon those who wear red ties and kiss asses. I winced. I wore a red tie the last time I was in the “Old Ebbitt Grill,” as I kissed the ass of a potential client who would hire me to write congressional testimony. <br />
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Ass kissing is an important part of the daily business ritual in the nation’s capitol and I was good at it. I would apply ChapStick to my lips with a paint roller, often going as far as three coats (but only in the center to conceal telltale wax build up). The ritual entailed springing for lunch, laughing at tedious jokes, and shrewdly implying that I too hoped to be a cockroach when I grew up. <br />
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The client would then present his, or her, ass, and I would kiss it. Sometimes I did this with a loud noise but etiquette generally required a quiet bullseye on the buttocks. The lip balm would form an instant bond and I would be attached like a lamprey. It should be noted that it was a point of honor to be attached to an ass of some consequence. Washington, D.C. is a target-rich opportunity for thousands of inconsequential asses.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jFFwCQjKBA-y7V9XIgF043PfJI2TKc9xjXnverpxe_auognRS7a2aEaFD5SzqTG_ap3MdzEy8UGI0l0aa1u95Bny7snFAlcsBw7TbIpii_5dyEqnW55V0sH-qwKr2vqWghBkutoWGD6B/s1600/donsjohns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jFFwCQjKBA-y7V9XIgF043PfJI2TKc9xjXnverpxe_auognRS7a2aEaFD5SzqTG_ap3MdzEy8UGI0l0aa1u95Bny7snFAlcsBw7TbIpii_5dyEqnW55V0sH-qwKr2vqWghBkutoWGD6B/s640/donsjohns.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Above: This is the newest feature at the US Capitol Building. It is called the "Speed Connect." US citizens can now enter the little white booth and leave a message for the elected official of their choice. It allows the average American to give back to Congress what Congress so liberally bestows on the rest of the country. The warning light indicates when Congress is in session. "Red" means the dome is filled with scalding hot gases. </b><br />
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The “Old Ebbitt Grill” is an extraordinary place. It has been the source of great dining, potent drinks, fresh oysters, political schemes, conspiracies, and scandals since 1820. The decor is manly, with mounted trophies on the walls, some alleged to have been shot by Teddy Roosevelt. It is intensely popular with the eloi of Washington society and some 800 diners are turned away daily.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmmpisg8vUc7SGfrolCmzpedOl5_rkrblsXc-8fftpOSv1wO3jfDq6CmX4-wLtqsqq-JRhIq9-bhED0rHPRLZ1CuGL2AKW0dSkOF49Oh1WxwRBUhivd5D2y-0mDe-Wb2_SbOfpGFzCX8k/s1600/800px-Metropolitan_Square_-_Washington_DC_-_north_facade.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmmpisg8vUc7SGfrolCmzpedOl5_rkrblsXc-8fftpOSv1wO3jfDq6CmX4-wLtqsqq-JRhIq9-bhED0rHPRLZ1CuGL2AKW0dSkOF49Oh1WxwRBUhivd5D2y-0mDe-Wb2_SbOfpGFzCX8k/s640/800px-Metropolitan_Square_-_Washington_DC_-_north_facade.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
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<b>Above: "Old Ebbitt Grill" —on the corner of 15th Street and "G," with the blue awnings. </b></div>
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It was my thought that we could meet on the high ground outside the city, tour the monuments, then eat a couple of dozen oysters, washed down by a couple of Bourbons. (Yes, I know what some of you are thinking. Get your ChapStick out.) I wanted to have my 1986 K75, known as “BlueBalls,” photographed against the Lincoln Memorial and the Jefferson Memorial. These are two of my favorite Presidents. Jefferson believed that the federal government was a necessary evil, to be limited in its authority over citizens. Lincoln believed there should only be one necessary evil in North America and that he was running it. <br />
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Both men were incredible political manipulators with their respective character cast in stone. One doubled the size of the country. The other held it together and managed to get a train running through it. Politicians today can’t chew gum and scratch their asses at the same time. <br />
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But this run was not to be. My friend was called away and the grim reality of this ride began to sink in. Old Ebbitt Grill is close to the White House and parking can be a challenge. You can get oysters in places with a nicer view. Traffic in Washington, D.C. is based on the logic of most legislation, which is to say it is maddening. And Washington itself is a squalid city, with elite neighborhoods surrounded by those that are less so. There was no guarantee I’d get a decent picture of a monument with my bike in the foreground either. <br />
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So I went anyway. <br />
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The most direct way to Washington, D.C. is Interstate 95. This route winds its way through hell. In some places, each side of the road is six lanes of bellowing trucks and careening cages pounding by like asteroids. Cops are as thick as ticks on a deer’s hide and the view ahead is limited to your escape points. But I know another way that eliminates almost half of this, bypassing Delaware completely and putting me in Maryland at the Susquehanna River. <br />
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This ride took me through horse country and Amish farms on a day when the predominant color of the weather was slate gray. I like gray days in early fall when the tinted light in the world seems to rise from the leaves on the trees. The air is cool and sometimes crisp, making the wearing of ballistic gear a delight. My 21-year-old BMW ran like it had just left the assembly line and made the sound of a Messerschmidt on a mating flight. There was a perceptible buzz in the handlebars but nothing that would have qualified as vibration. <br />
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I stopped every now and again to drop my feet, alleviating arthritis misery. At one place, I watched an Amish farmer handle a team of six horses dragging some kind of harvester. He stood ramrod straight on the yoke, pivoting the team like it was a Vespa. He didn’t have arthritis. On the other side of the field, two women in bonnets watched him put the horses through their paces. I could almost hear one of them say, “Hans ist goot. Hans se haben a grosse schwanstucker.” (This is Pennsylvania Dutch for, “Hans has a big hat, I bet.”)<br />
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There were hedge rows lining the last field where I stopped. I poured coffee from a battered Nissan bottle in my top case and savored the bite of the steaming brown liquid. A Chinese ringneck pheasant, an enormous cock bird, stepped out of the bushes and regarded me with utter disdain. Since I wasn’t hunting, I could appreciate the expression on this bird’s face. It was like he knew I was headed to Washington and he wanted me to kiss his ass too.<br />
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The country road aspect of this trip was soon to peter out and I was in no hurry to break the spell. A little planked church sat on the other side of the pavement, accompanied by a churchyard full of satisfied customers, the majority of whom had moved in during the late 1800’s. I like old cemeteries. The sentiment is honest and the artistry is sometimes surprising. This one was pretty modest, even for the country. The oldest of stones were grouped under an enormous oak tree. The name on the largest of these was Enoch Borders, a husband, a farmer, and good man, apparently. He was in his seventies when he died. I could almost hear Enoch telling his wife, “You can bury me under that little tree. It won’t amount to much.” <br />
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This cemetery gave me an idea and I pulled my atlas out of the top case. On the outskirts of the nation’s capitol sits a huge cemetery that was apparently the place to call it quits for the most prestigious families in government, back in the years following the Civil War. The headstones and mausoleums are some of the most resplendent and unusual in the nation. I could go there. <br />
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It was about two and a half hours from where I stood though it would seem longer to my knees. Twice, I nearly came back. But I had it in my head to ride someplace that appealed to me on one level, and yet was challenging on another. I am not giving the name nor the specific address of the cemetery, though anyone looking just beyond this story will figure it out. My reasons for not giving the actual name and address are simple. The atmosphere in this place is fragile. I don’t think hoards of bikes should descend on it. Certainly not those with deep-throated growls audible at more than three feet from the engine. But I do think this cemetery has museum status for architecture, artistry, and personal expression. The place does have library-type rules, which should be respected. <br />
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The cemetery is a series of interconnecting roads that skirt ponds and meadows that sooth the mind, and presumably the soul, as so many of them are resident there. The mausoleums run the gamut from stark to unbelievably classic, complete with attending angels, statues, and exquisite stained glass windows, visible through clear panes in bronze doors. But other grave sites use a variety of artistic techniques to achieve a high level of personal statement, or a family’s regard for their deceased. <br />
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My BMW made no noise as I rode in from one of the side streets. Yet while I intended no disrespect, I felt the bike was out of place here and I rode back to the street and parked at the curb. This was seven years ago, when the arthritis was more manageable than it is now. I planned to walk for a bit. Some of the mausoleums were in the style of temples or little palaces for the dead. They must have cost hundreds of thousands in the 1880’s, when money used to be worth something. There were a couple that would have made nice Bilbo Baggins-sized houses in different settings. Yet some of the most haunting graves were among the simplest. One was a granite slab that had a bronze figure of a reclining man on it. He was raised on one arm with a hand pressed to his forehead. The carving on the slab read, “Don’t forget me.” The look on the statue’s face was unnerving. Though I never knew this man in life, it is impossible for me to forget him in death. <br />
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I spent an hour gimping around on my cane and I walked too far. My knees started to creak in keeping with the atmosphere and I looked to get off my legs. One grave had a carved marble chair as a tribute to the deceased. A few fallen leaves had collected in it. Glancing around, I saw the cemetery was deserted and I sat in it. The stone was cool against my riding gear and I closed my eyes for a minute. You could hear the breeze starting rumors in the trees as the day turned even grayer. I found myself wondering if I was the first person to ever sit here, and I thought that unlikely. Then I wondered about the purpose of this marble seat. It was actually on the grave facing outward, not on the edge looking in. Was it to accommodate the spirit of the deceased? Was it there so he could pass judgement on the living? Or was it to provide the living with a perspective from the grave? Such were the thoughts that drifted through the holes in my head. <br />
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I fell asleep before I could come to a conclusion. <br />
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The minute for which I closed my eyes grew into an hour. The afternoon cooled as the gray day progressed and a slight chill passed from the seat into my butt. While the seat part of the marble chair was actually sculpted in the smooth shape of buttocks, it was still hard stone. I couldn’t help but notice that this marble seat and stock seat on my BMW had a lot in common. <br />
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I awakened grateful for the snooze but really stiff. The day had darkened considerably and my black riding jacket blended in with the shadow of hundred-year-old trees. I lurched to my feet and stretched. I cannot tell you the effect this had on the Japanese tourists 50 yards away. They were taking their time and taking pictures of the more intriguing graves. They may have been in my vicinity a full 10 minutes without realizing I was not part of the scenery. <br />
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One woman let out a half scream and the whole crowd, about a dozen, stampeded up the little road. I felt like Godzilla. <br />
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I do not know the penalty for stampeding Japanese tourists in a cemetery, but this was Washington, DC, the home of politically correct and politically motivated regulation. It would either be life in prison or I’d have to kiss the ass of every tourist on the bus. While I have a thing for Asian women, I doubted I’d get the option of kissing their asses selectively. I took one last look at the grave with the carved seat and I swear I heard a muffled laugh. Maybe I’d stumbled on the purpose of the marble chair after all. <br />
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The K75 started with the subtle whine that is the bike’s trademark and I headed north. The pain in my knees was considerable and I didn’t make it all the way home. There is a nice little motel on the border between Maryland and Pennsylvania and I called it a day. In my kit there was a toothbrush, a cigar, and a pint of rum; enough for a night’s survival. My room looked out into a little court, and across the way I saw a Mennonite woman flick on a light and remove her bonnet. A cascade of red hair flowed over her shoulders. Then she drew the shade. <br />
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“Damn,” I thought. “Are they all like that?” <br />
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To be continued...<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Future Blog Postings </b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>March 23 -- Dispatches From The Front</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>March 28th -- The Redhead Episode </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Who Reads Twisted Roads? </span></span></span></b></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Above: Amelia Gazzana reads Twisted Roads all the way from Australia, where she uses this beautiful powder blue "F" bike to herd wombats. Amelia contends that this "F" model makes a more peculiar noise than the legendary K75. She says, "It sounds exactly like the futuristic car the Jetson's used tp drive." She included a reference. Click <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdWswvLPdE0&NR=1&feature=fvwp" target="_blank">here.</a></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Above: Ken Bruce, life-sized action figure on the right, recently showed up at the last Mac-Pac winter breakfast of 2013 with his new Ural. Ken has now joined those riders currently surfing the hack rig wave of nostalgia. For those wondering, that is the natural shape and texture of his head. </span></span></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Above: Bud Wilkinson is the moto correspondent for The Republican-American, the most significant daily newspsper in Waterbury, CT. He is also the publisher of <a href="http://ride-ct.com/">RIDE-CT.com</a><a href="http://www.ride-ct.com/" target="_blank">http://www.ride-ct.com/</a>, a progressive website on the cutting edge of moto news and developments. Bud just sent me an urgent notice on the availability of Jamison's Irish Whiskey's newest and most exclusive label — Select Reserve Black Barrel. His heart is in the right place. (Wilkinson's website is the newest addition to my growing list of "Destinations," posted on the right. Check it out.) He is seen here on a 1974 Honda CB 750. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Ab<span style="font-size: small;">ove: Way<span style="font-size: small;">ne DeWaay<span style="font-size: small;">, of Minnesota, sent us this <span style="font-size: small;">photo of a classic K75 loaded for bear and the long haul. I <span style="font-size: small;">love the authority bars on this rig. From what we can see of it, the paint o<span style="font-size: small;">n this bike appears to be che<span style="font-size: small;">rry, though it is <span style="font-size: small;">blue. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </b></span><br />
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Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-75137596367526112082013-02-07T10:44:00.000-05:002013-03-03T12:09:49.606-05:00Purple Mountains Mystery...<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Prologue:</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<b><i>The following story is absolutely true, with a few alterations in places where it is not. The untrue parts are those that imply I was thin, rode my motorcycle with precision, and didn’t sweat while riding in the deep south. The true bits are those claiming southerners (US) will eat anything fried in enough lard, that there is mystery in the purple mists of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and not everything can be easily explained. (For example, can anyone explain why the English version of the 1986 BMW K75 owners’ manual has the photos captioned in German? If this can be explained, can it be explained in a way that doesn’t sound sinister?)<br /><br />I was sitting in an Adirondack Mountain bar with Chris Wolf (a Honda rider with a yellow bike named “Hepatitis”), when he bet 10 rounds of drinks that he had a more mysterious motorcycle story than I did. I studied Chris’s eyes for sincerity, and would have been startled to find any. Chris is English, and came to the United States because he heard a British accent will get a guy laid here every time, even if the accent can only emote sarcasm. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Chris Wolf — Accomplished rider of the yellow Honda known as "Hepatitis."</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">(Photo by the author)</span> </b> </td></tr>
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<b><i><br />We pulled our chairs closer to the fire and Chris gallantly sneered, “You tell yours first.” To the waitress, he said, “Bring us ten rounds of drinks and stake the tab to the mantle.” This was a local tradition in which the wager, a whopping huge drink tab, was stuck into the hewn timber mantle using a Revolutionary War bayonet said to have belonged to a Hessian deserter.<br /><br />“This in the bag,” I thought, “as I will be shortly.” I drew a deep breath, and began.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;">My Most Mysterious Motorcycle Story:</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></span><i><br /></i></b><br />
A little heat, a little fatigue, and a lot of miles can play tricks on a rider. It may seem as if motorcycle’s serenade has gained something: a note of wear or a ping that wasn’t there before. You may detect a momentary vibration that suggests something is loose. You’ll think you may have imagined it, just as you imagined that redhead in the convertible gave you a long, sweet smile. But you can’t be sure. <br />
<br />
This level of extrasensory moto awareness is usually magnified by a hangover or sleep deprivation. It has been my experience that a hangover, and a night of Cupid’s gymnastics, are not mutually exclusive of each other. Some experts even suspect a “cause and effect-type” relationship between the two. But it is almost guaranteed that you will be doing 95 miles per hour when you think you hear something amiss on the bike. <br />
<br />
A legendary rider — Horst Oberst — once said, “A motorcycle makes two kinds of noise, the cheap kind and the expensive kind.” At speeds over 95 miles per hour, all strange noises are the disturbing kind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Horst Oberst — Accomplished rider and authority on both kinds </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>of strange motorcycle noises. (Photo by the author.) </b></span></td></tr>
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I was clawing my way up I-81, through “Old Virginia,” when I heard the “buzzing noise.” I distinctly thought the three-cylinder mill on my 1986 BMW K75 was gnawing something. Then I wondered if I had “felt” the noise more than heard it. It could have been a tire shredding, or the head bearings hanging up, or anything. I’d been six hours in the saddle, on a hot day, running on three hour’s sleep, with a prison riot raging in my head. I’d spent most of the night before in a Tennessee strip joint, where you could have intoxicated the on-stage porkers with barbecue sauce. (I am not attempting to be unkind here, merely accurate.) <br />
<br />
There is an old expression that goes, “Honey, I’m going to drink you pretty,” but there wasn’t that much liquor in the state that night. That doesn’t mean I didn’t give it a good try. My decision to set off at dawn, about three hours later, was not one of my better ideas. I thought the cool mountain air of the south would revive me. In truth, a faith healer would have had his work cut out for him that day. <br />
<br />
I eventually found my way onto I-81 and into Virginia. Shifting steel blockades of trucks and cages made passing impossible. The most vicious ”white line” dancing didn’t buy me more than 200 additional yards in 5 miles. There are much nicer roads and several of them paralleled this interstate. But life moves at a slower pace in Virginia — about 55 mph slower, to be exact — and I thought I was in a hurry. The gas light winked on (for the second time that day) just as I imagined I heard something grind. Then I thought I felt something drag. Then I thought I smelled burning oil. “Screw this,” I thought next. “I want hot coffee, a donut as big as my ass, and a place to sit that doesn’t feel like this seat. And if there is a motel close by, I’ll take take that too.” <br />
<br />
I had no complaints with the seat. It was a Russell Day-Long Saddle, custom-crafted to match the contours of my ass. It was built on the frame of a pool table and had to be sent through the Panama Canal from the west coast. That seat was so good, it made me feel like every member of the US Senate had kissed my ass twice. My problem was the seat was attached to the motorcycle and I wanted off the bike. <br />
<br />
I banked into the exit for Braleysburg (not its real name), which was actually 20 miles away, on a country road that wound through open fields, old hardwoods, a swamp and a couple of cemeteries. I pulled over to put my feet down at a shady spot where the headstones came right up to the road. The names of the deceased were distinctly American, like Silas Henry and Jubilation T. Soames. I wondered how many of these folks had descendants still breathing in the surrounding county. (Headstones in a Jersey City cemetery would have names like Aiden Clancey, Guiseppi Antonucci, or Stosh Polwalawycz.) I pressed on to the town. <br />
<br />
Founded in 1672 by a preaching hangman, who was an authority on distilling, Braleysburg was a post office, a general store, a gas station, a diner, and a motel. Sixty percent of these facilities were in one building. The general store was closed. It had closed in 1972, the same year the diner got its last batch of fresh donuts. The motel was of a 1950s vintage that genuinely appealed to me. A sign on the road read, “Payson’s Motel. A ‘Vibra-Bed’ in every room.” The empty parking lot read, “Vacancy.” I was the only guest.<br />
<br />
The sweet old lady who ran the joint welcomed me with a smile and plate of warm cookies. She reminded me of a Hollywood scriptwriter’s version of somebody’s grandmother: gray hair done up nicely, wire-rimmed glasses, and a soft voice. Her name was something like “Aunt Pitty-Pat Payson.” <br />
<br />
My room was along the side, away from what little traffic there was. I could glimpse part of the road, but my view of the mists rising off the Blue Ridge Mountains was spectacular. Glittering dragon flies flitted above a tranquil pond on the edge of the property, marked by a few cattails. The room was immaculate and homey, with a handwritten menu from the adjacent diner on the dresser. The furnishings were dated but glistened with lemon oil. There was a television on a stand, but the white lettering over its buttons had faded. I’d be fine here.<br />
<br />
According to the menu, the diner was open until 7pm, but that was arbitrary. It was just as likely to close two hours earlier. I was hungry enough to eat, and decided I would go “deep Southern” for the night. My ambitions included fried green tomatoes, chit’lans, collard greens, possum fritters, catfish or ham... whatever the hell they had that personified Dixie. I already knew that nothing beats a southern breakfast. A southern breakfast is the second best thing I have ever tasted. <br />
<br />
No biscuit is complete unless it is dripping sausage gravy. No ham steak is as inviting as when accompanied by fresh eggs, grits, and red-eye gravy. And while a meal like this scores 48,000 Weight Watcher points, I recommend it be followed by a third cup of coffee and whatever pie is hot out of the oven — preferably buttermilk pie. If a southern breakfast was this good, I could only image what a great southern dinner could be like. <br />
<br />
“Imagine” would be the operative word.<br />
<br />
The diner used to do a great business during the halcyon days of the War Between The States. It’s popularity had suffered since then. The waitress (blond, late forties-ish) and the “chef” (who had a tattoo of an armadillo on his arm, under the legend “Remember the Armadillo”) seemed mildly disinterested by my arrival, until I fired off my New Jersey accent. Then they looked like they were smelling something bad.<br />
<br />
“What would you like?” asked the waitress.<br />
<br />
“What do you recommend?” I replied.<br />
<br />
There was a pause, and I swear I heard the cook mutter, “I recommend you stick your head up your ass and roll down the road like a hoop.”<br />
<br />
The waitress stifled a laugh and cleared her throat at the same time.<br />
<br />
“How’s the chit’lans and collard greens tonight?”<br />
<br />
They looked at each other and busted out laughing. <br />
<br />
“We’ve got meat loaf, macaroni and cheese, and green beans,” said the waitress. <br />
<br />
“There are no other entrees?”<br />
<br />
“You got three right there,” she said. “How many do you need?” <br />
<br />
“We got sides,” said the cook. “We got more sides than a box. We got cornbread, left over from this morning; grits, left over from this morning; black-eyed peas, left over from yesterday; and goose liver pate.”<br />
<br />
“When was the goose pate left over from?”<br />
<br />
“It’s left over from when the cat wouldn’t eat it,” she said.<br />
<br />
I am particular about meatloaf. Most places make it according to a time-honored recipe from the Turkish penal system. It is inedible by my standards. The same goes for macaroni and cheese. The only acceptable options are Kraft Mac and Cheese or absolutely home-made casserole, with chucks of ham and fresh green peas, mingled with firm-cooked elbow macaroni, oozing sharp melted cheddar. (No one makes the second kind any more.) In the south, macaroni and cheese is semi-flaccid, served in bright orange spackle. <br />
<br />
“How about chicken-fried steak, black-eyed peas and fried green tomatoes?” I asked. “Can you heat some cornbread on the grill?” <br />
<br />
This was as close as I was going to get to an authentic southern dinner. A thin beef steak dipped in batter normally reserved for fried chicken was made to dance in a puddle of sizzling lard. Black-eyed peas are actually beans, usually cooked with anything else (bacon, possum or squirrel) to give them flavor. And fried green tomatoes... well they are different. <br />
<br />
I first became aware of fried green tomatoes watching the 1991 movie of the same name. It starred Mary Stewart Masterson and Mary Louise Parker, who ran a cafe somewhere in Depression Era Alabama. (“Depression Era” is the time period, not the name of the town.) The cafe became locally famous for its barbecue and fried green tomatoes. This movie made me want a tomato sandwich... a sandwich in which the tomatoes were Mary Stewart Masterson and Mary Louise Parker, with me wedged in between. <br />
<br />
I have eaten fried green tomatoes in Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia. I must be missing something because they taste like shit everyplace. Imagine fried eggplant, without the redeeming quality of the eggplant. But it doesn’t stop me from trying. I imagine Mary Louise Parker feeding me fried green tomatoes, one slice at a time. <br />
<br />
The best part of dinner was the blackberry pie. The blackberries were local and fresh. They were as big as the last joint on my thumb, semi-deflated in a gooey thick sweet blackberry juice ooze, encased by a somewhat collapsed yet delightfully flaky crust. There were three pieces of pie left in the tin and I bought them all. My head was still troubled and all I wanted to do was sip coffee and watch the last rays of the setting sun dance on the Blue Ridge Mountains. <br />
<br />
There is a phrase — purple mountain’s majesty — which applies to the Blue Ridge Mountains, more so than any other mountains in my experience. I have seen the Alps disappear in the clouds. I have seen the contrast of the Rockies against flawless skies. I have watched the Adirondacks mask themselves in gray mist. Yet it is only in Tennessee, Virginia, and North Carolina have I seen mountains cloak themselves in purple shades of royalty. The sight alone is worth making the trip. <br />
<br />
It is amazing how how color appears in nature. There is wonder in the green flash of dawn as the sun rises over the Atlantic, and awe in the blue glimmer of the northern lights in Upstate New York. Rainbows shimmer in the sky and on trout. And now I finally witnessed the “purple mountain’s majesty” as stated in the song. <br />
<br />
I was falling in and out of reverie when the muted growl of a motorcycle came from the road. The Doppler effect provided a nice touch as the sound of the engine rose and fell in passing. It wasn’t the guttural growl of a Harley, nor the Messerschmidt cadence of a BMW. It had a more cultured baritone quality to it. <br />
<br />
Then I heard it return. The engine was running at a lower RPM as the bike pulled into the motel’s lot. The sound effects of unseen activity seeped around the corner of the motel. The engine got switched off. Boots crunched in the grit of the driveway. The screen door to the office screeched open and slammed. And then they repeated themselves in reverse. A second or two later, the motorcycle pulled into view.<br />
<br />
The machine was a deep blue 1983 Honda CX 500 Custom, one of the most beautiful motorcycles ever built. Compact to the point of being “concise,” it had an upright configuration, with a decent rake to the forks and a slight buckhorn cast to the handlebars. Extraordinary in its appeal was the Moto-Guzzi-style sideways mounted V-twin. Under the tank, a chrome-shrouded radiator did the cooling. The paint was flawless. It was the kind of blue that gets its opaqueness from the soul of the bike. (I am partial to BMW’s Orient Blue, a lustrous color that derives its hue from the blackness of the rider’s soul.) Yet it wasn’t perfect. The radiator shroud was executed in garish chrome and the wheels were a Frankenstein combination of cast and riveted rims. I might have been able to live with the radiator, but not those wheels. The Honda was without a windscreen and sported soft leather saddle bags.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The 1983 Honda CX 500 <span style="font-size: small;">De<span style="font-size: small;">l</span>uxe</span> — A beautiful motorcycle (Image from Wikipedia)</b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
The bike and its rider were covered with bugs. The rider was a skinny weasel. He wore scarred boots, faded jeans, a short leather jacket (made for practical riding with a high collar), soft gloves, and a tinted flip-face helmet. I gave him the manly nod reserved for charter members in the cool-but-strange-bike-riders’-testosterone club. It was ignored. <br />
<br />
He pulled off his helmet to reveal a shock of short red haircut and the worst case of helmet head I had ever seen. He was a she. She had two thin lines for lips and freckles that had been drizzled onto an angular face. Her eyes bored through mine, doing a retinal scan for character flaws. She hadn’t been in my company for 30 seconds and had already dismissed me as a shit-head.<br />
<br />
“Welcome to Braleysburg. There’s hot coffee and homemade blackberry pie,” I said, gesturing to the unopened cup and the pastry box on the cheap white plastic seat I was using as a table. “I didn’t know what time you’d get here, so I just opted to have something sweet.” <br />
<br />
The corners of her mouth flickered upward as a softer light flashed through her eyes. I responded by leeching more blue into my own. (Just in case.) Her lips visibly tightened. I’d caught her underestimating me and she didn’t like it. Not that she gave a damn what I thought. She was just pissed that my eyes said, “It’s okay, Honey. I’m used to it.”<br />
<br />
“Nice bike,” I said. “You don’t see too many of those around.”<br />
<br />
“Thanks,” she said. She looked over at mine but said nothing. I knew she had never seen anything like the K75 — with its rare Sprint fairing — and was struggling through the first impression. <br />
<br />
“Fuck you,” I thought. “I wouldn’t have wheels like that on a dung cart.” Just thinking this made me flash her another smile.<br />
<br />
She pulled a saddle bag liner out of one pannier and opened the door to a room two down from mine. I took a long sip of the cooling coffee and closed my eyes again. It had been my intention to light a cigar, but now held off, out of consideration. (Not consideration for the woman, but for my expiring headache.) Some things are not improved by a cigar. <br />
<br />
I felt myself dozing off. Every place has a distinctive feel to to it. The allure of a New England village (Maine), where the wind carries the salty taste of a cracker; or an Adirondack (New York) camp, where the woodsmoke competes with the balsams; or a saloon where aromas of mint, bourbon, and perfumed panties (New Orleans) mingle at the bar. Each stands out as sensations to be savored. Here, in this place, the water scent of the pond was suggestive of a summer that lasted nine months. I closed my eyes thinking of summers I’d spend as a kid. <br />
<br />
It was past dusk when I opened them again. The moon was up and its silver light caught the mists coming off the distant mountains. They were slowly filling the fields around me. First flowing around stands of trees and then filtering through them. There was a muted explosion of sound on the pond, as a swimmer surfaced and stepped out of the water. It was the woman. A filmy tee shirt, glued to what few curves she had, dripped water as she stood in the moonlight — staring straight at me. The tee shirt barely came down past her waist.<br />
<br />
I like skinny women. And if they are flat-chested... well, I really that. This one could have been a model in the late 1970’s if she’d had another couple of inches in height. It was then I noticed the most peculiar thing. She was positively luminescent in the moonlight. Not that the moonlight danced around her. Not that she was the kind of woman who could bend light with a smile. The moonlight seemed to pass through her. She derived her substance from the moonlight and the mist. It was almost as if this was her real form, while the guise of the rider was assumed. <br />
<br />
She started walking toward me, moving with a measured grace that was positively feline, putting one foot in front of the other, stepping through the cut grass. Yet there was a purpose in her movement that made me wish that I had been inside my room, behind a locked door, dead drunk in my bed. <br />
<br />
“Do I make you nervous?” she said.<br />
<br />
“All pretty women do.”<br />
<br />
This was not the reply she was expecting. <br />
<br />
“You find me pretty?” she asked.<br />
<br />
One of the greatest movies ever made is the black and white classic Casablanca, starring Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Claude Rains, and Paul Henreid. There is a scene in which a young woman, about to be taken advantage of by a corrupt police official, asks Humphrey Bogart, “What kind of man is Captain Renault?” Bogart replies, “He’s like any other man, only more so.” <br />
<br />
Those words could have been written about me. I love women, and I’d love a different one every weekend if it was up to me. When necessary, I can squeeze a nicely-worded compliment from my DNA. But I cannot lie with my eyes which is why I don’t play cards nor work as a marriage counselor. My eyes answered her question and she was surprised.<br />
<br />
“You should be nervous. I am the goddess of moonlight and mist, in challenge to the smoke you have been blowing up the asses of women for years,” she said. “Stand up. and be judged.”<br />
<br />
“Like hell I will,” I thought. But my will was not my own and my body followed her commands. <br />
<br />
She took my hand and led me into the darkness that was my room. The door was already open and the moonlight seemed to follow us. What happened next was one of the strangest experiences of my life. She was naked, except I don’t remember her taking anything off. She was touching me, although I had no sensation of being touched. And she was kissing me. Yet there was no satisfaction in her kisses, just a wild insatiable longing. What I did feel was a terrible sense of being taken for granted. I somehow knew that I would be left without purpose... without substance... without a shadow... Left to wander the earth without motive. I would become the personification of fried green tomatoes. I also knew that the Honda CX 500 Custom had belonged to some other worthless guy who was now in hell. <br />
<br />
She was a collector; some sort of supernatural wonder that avenged women who had become superfluous to the lives of men. This was a charge for which I had no defense in my younger days, but for which I repented when I was older. (I repented by kissing the asses of a dozen woman who rewarded my devotion by starting the final conversation with, “I’ve been thinking about us.” I now associate the taste of shapely ass with a short fall through a trap door.)<br />
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The extent of my repentance was not enough. She looked at me with eyes that threatened to drain my soul, or whatever the hell it is that men use for a soul. She was here to make me pay; to take something from me. In a second, I knew I’d be consumed and that she’d be riding out of here on a 1986 K75, with a Sprint Fairing. I wondered if my soul-less body would be damned to ride that Honda with those wheels. For an instant, there was despair. And she smiled. I felt myself fading, dissolving in the moonlight and the mist. There was but one course of action to take.<br />
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I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them again, I fired my secret weapon: The “Battered Baby Seal Look.” No living woman can resist its power. The question now was, “Could it save me from the malevolent spirit of one?” <br />
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The “Battered Baby Seal Look” gets its name from the cute expression of the Harp seal pup. There is no cuter expression on the face of the earth. It will melt butter at 400 yards. (Too bad it has the opposite effect on Canadian hunters, who are practicing divorce lawyers during the summer.) I looked into the eyes of this vengeful soul and gave her both barrels at point blank range.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsvfTFgs60LRW-cQrvSitQX9nxEk1A4aVUJLNbFWMhUzyCRuJyoEouv1AW_bQwdf_6_bvaItk57H00bBepu4T9jq2p0OISE1wfYN9GnkqLPMLI77ORoKFwZNhSOqU5jcjD5Hs1BLhLWfy/s1600/baby-harp-seal_230_600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsvfTFgs60LRW-cQrvSitQX9nxEk1A4aVUJLNbFWMhUzyCRuJyoEouv1AW_bQwdf_6_bvaItk57H00bBepu4T9jq2p0OISE1wfYN9GnkqLPMLI77ORoKFwZNhSOqU5jcjD5Hs1BLhLWfy/s640/baby-harp-seal_230_600x450.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Baby Harp Seal...</b> <b>(Image from the Internet)</b></span></td></tr>
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The “Battered Baby Seal Look” is to women like hot butter is to popcorn. While the effect is soft, it is also immediate. She looked at me with surprise, almost in disbelief. And then her own eyes softened. She could suddenly feel my tortured soul. Even in the darkness, I knew my eyes were glowing like electric sapphires. Her hand acquired substance and warmth against my chest. <br />
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“A little lower,” I suggested.<br />
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She was still there at dawn, past the hour when she was to have collected my soul and taken my bike.<br />
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“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked. <br />
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“Would you mind washing my K75, and taking extra care to soak the bugs off the windscreen with a hot towel? It’s really easy to scratch that Sprint Fairing.” <br />
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“Sure,” she replied, getting up. “You want coffee while I do that?”<br />
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“Easy on the cream and two sugars,” I replied.<br />
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She was gone when I got out of the shower. There was no trace of the Honda and the K75 gleamed in the morning sunlight. A cup of java, just as I like it, was by the bike. I decided to make my escape pronto. I was doing 60 mph by the time I left the motel parking lot. With less than 5 miles to go before I-81, I saw a single headlight closing behind me. The rider had a familiar skinny profile. <br />
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The bike behind me was a Honda CX 500 Custom — one of the most intriguing motorcycles ever built. But I was on a K75, one of the ugliest motorcycles to ever achieve mechanical perfection. Undoubtedly, the “Battered Baby Seal Look” had worn off and the spirit wanted to revisit my character flaws. I twisted the throttle and thought, “Feets don’t fail me now.” <br />
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The K75's engine wound up for the pitch and gave me the fast ball. Despite the fact that I had again gone without sleep, the cadence of the motor was flawless. There was nothing amiss with this bike. I shot out onto I-81 with the tach and the speedo needles parallel to each other — pointing straight ahead. I was clipping 85 mph when I glanced in my mirrors and saw her waving. Then I realized, she was giving me the finger.<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Epilogue: </span></span></b><br />
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<b><i>“So that’s my story,” I said. “Admit it. It’s better than yours. Do the manly thing and pay for the ten rounds of drinks we just consumed in its telling.” <br /><br />Chris raised his eyebrows and gave me a mild look of askance. “So you claim the last woman you had sex with was probably deceased,” he said. <br /><br />“Either that, or she may have been English,” I replied. “You have missed the entire purpose of this story. Now let’s hear yours.”<br /><br />“I have to piss first,” he replied. “You’ve been talking for an hour and I need to drain the iguana.” <br /><br />That was the last I saw of him. His mystery was apparently ongoing. <br /><br />“I believe this is yours,” said the waitress, holding the bar tab in one hand and the bayonet in the other. I started to protest but a got a good look at her eyes. I swear they had the mist of the Blue Ridge Mountains in them. </i></b><br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2013<br />
All Rights Reserved<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Who Reads Twisted Roads?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">Paddy sent us this...</span></span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: white;">Paddy Pollard has been a devoted Twisted Roads reader for the past two years. He recently sent me a nice note complaining that he's never won anything on this blog. Guess what, Paddy? Your luck is unbroken. Pollard runs a small motorcycle touring/hire company in Scotland. Judging from the pictures, he rides through some of the most beautiful places on earth. His runs range over moors, around fens, and through mountains that delight the eye and captivate the soul. He can be reached directly by clicking </span></b><b><span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">www.scotlandbybike.com.</span></b> But I wouldn't wait too much longer to make reservations for 2013. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioObrjfCscPxBf4O5w0Q8LFf04AjGecCrEJ-Zzw8hj-YpQIo8X-w48TWLkoO2OG85MRAwRcY_CorMAgFmRHb-lpDJuqpJX865XiNrziFSi2xOoLrL005qO4CwV-ET7M4_0-2_lyuxBUFjn/s1600/-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioObrjfCscPxBf4O5w0Q8LFf04AjGecCrEJ-Zzw8hj-YpQIo8X-w48TWLkoO2OG85MRAwRcY_CorMAgFmRHb-lpDJuqpJX865XiNrziFSi2xOoLrL005qO4CwV-ET7M4_0-2_lyuxBUFjn/s640/-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>The rugged beauty of Scotland and the nature of the "GS" friendly terrain beckons to all riders. Contact Paddy Pollard directly at www.scotlandbybike.com.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlmOqrUc9PXoiuLZsArvUK9PcYeViCk8D4uS_n3TW1OEuIz5IMF0RCm3Psyczt0O2BPreGBn1gYS3ll_ytHCeFn7QrRATBATWWtIigbz-dKePqrJnjC_khf8Zxh8OYQiyTZDd3kF8O2Q-/s1600/-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlmOqrUc9PXoiuLZsArvUK9PcYeViCk8D4uS_n3TW1OEuIz5IMF0RCm3Psyczt0O2BPreGBn1gYS3ll_ytHCeFn7QrRATBATWWtIigbz-dKePqrJnjC_khf8Zxh8OYQiyTZDd3kF8O2Q-/s640/-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b>Local inns and pubs abound with Scots character and hospitality. Paddy knows where to take ye. It is rumored that some of these places are haunted by great single malt spirits.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRtrnLkAD-M8DwPXqY-OjVJFjUdwS5wxw6ORnZkYPntOpqo1S5r8aGP_7lC_RVKgJSKSGLQ7AUdUaMkxxB_4CcozbR7_r8ScPXnenG1j9MPHeQsWp0gMrednb7R2FV1IbQ_U0CAGoc2st/s1600/-9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRtrnLkAD-M8DwPXqY-OjVJFjUdwS5wxw6ORnZkYPntOpqo1S5r8aGP_7lC_RVKgJSKSGLQ7AUdUaMkxxB_4CcozbR7_r8ScPXnenG1j9MPHeQsWp0gMrednb7R2FV1IbQ_U0CAGoc2st/s640/-9.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: white;">Traditional entertainment in Scotland. Not your average pole dancers. Paddy has invited me to come to Scotland as soon as the weather breaks. "Aye, when it's a cool day in hell," said Paddy. </span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">The Cantwell Factor...</span></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>This picture (below) was submitted by Twisted Roads reader and close personal friend Mike Cantwell. It depicts his daughter “learning about <span style="font-size: small;">certain</span> <span style="font-size: small;">forces of nature</span>” through the study of the baby harp seal, which is mentioned in this story. Cantwell believes that 99% of life is a learning experience. He does not state what the other 1% is, but he wants his kid to recognize it when <span style="font-size: small;">she steps in it</span>. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>"Kid, when you see eyes like this: start running!"</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>"Okay, <span style="font-size: small;">Daddy."</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>From The Book of Patzer... </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">BMW wren<span style="font-size: small;">ch Dan Patzer — w<span style="font-size: small;">rit<span style="font-size: small;">ing fro<span style="font-size: small;">m the great Pacific Northwest — wrote to comment on the c<span style="font-size: small;">enterfold photo<span style="font-size: small;">graph <span style="font-size: small;">in his copy of Conversations With A Motorcycle. This was the first time Patze<span style="font-size: small;">r<span style="font-size: small;"> had ever encou<span style="font-size: small;">ntered a brunette with legs like the New Jersey Tur<span style="font-size: small;">npike. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "De<span style="font-size: small;">ar Ja<span style="font-size: small;">ck," Patzer wrote. "One picture is w<span style="font-size: small;">orth a thousand words.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">You could have elimin<span style="font-size: small;">ated all of chapter 6 with this <span style="font-size: small;">one.<span style="font-size: small;">" </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">According to Robert Knorr...</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">In a desp<span style="font-size: small;">erate attempt to se<span style="font-size: small;">ll <span style="font-size: small;">th<span style="font-size: small;">is motorcycle to the first perso<span style="font-size: small;">n who will listen, Robert Knorr systematically explains the advantages <span style="font-size: small;">of</span> riding a<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">bike that is cooled by recirculati<span style="font-size: small;">ng whale oil. <span style="font-size: small;">The rider, "Sam," has only one quest<span style="font-size: small;">ion<span style="font-size: small;">: "Is this an 'R<span style="font-size: small;">' bike?" He w<span style="font-size: small;">ill later po<span style="font-size: small;">int out to Knorr that there is a reason why "K" comes b<span style="font-size: small;">efore "R" in the a<span style="font-size: small;">lphabet. Note the look on Knorr's face as he realizes the kid is right. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Sam: <span style="font-size: small;">"Does the ladder come off the back of this<span style="font-size: small;">?<span style="font-size: small;">"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Knorr: "I paid extra for that." </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;">Look for more readers' photos and a special announcement tomorrow. </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><b> </b></div>
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Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-34768742888120799692013-01-21T02:10:00.000-05:002013-01-21T11:59:18.476-05:00The Dragon Is Loose On Twisted Roads...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love the feel of naked women, motorcycle handlebars, and the keyboard of an Apple computer. I do not regard these wonders as things to be possessed, but things that possess me. Nothing in life has brought me greater satisfaction than wild romance, wild rides, and writing the story of both. Yet it appears my luck has run out lately. <br />
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I am giving up on women until the summer and possibly longer than that. I had thoughts of hitting on one in particular but have decided to give her the pass. Like a surfer on the beach in Hawaii, where the waves are four stories tall... or like a skier peering down a near vertical drop, ripe for an avalanche... or like a S.Q.U.I.D revving the guts out of a crotch rocket at the beginning of Deal’s Gap... I look at her and my mouth gets dry. She is stunningly beautiful in a cultured pearl sort of way, full of charm and sophistication. Her perfumed embrace could be heaven’s prelude or the portal to an emotional chipper. There was a time when I would have danced on the edge of that challenge— with a drink in my hand. Now, I think, “One false step and it’s in the chipper for our hero.” I think she can only take me in micro-doses before throwing up anyway.<br />
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This is a bad sign and I have decided to concentrate on “Plan B.”<br />
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"Plan B"is a emotionally rewarding relationship with a sensitive, semi-retired, slightly tanned, 45-year-old pole dancer, who can look at me in that sizzling way, and say, “I decided to do a proper tune-up on your ‘K’ 1300GT.”<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicUxpQRc0IXZAFeOhNSlIw_zkbYCYdKvRycZ4CL-yYDNy6XxxO1m5eVmltHgGOU-l1z8LVKX4UhwhuKjh_chfqLGbax7umxn_7A9nA66kyO6ZqO2IchmJVigBD4GMunO5qZB0hYFIUkpFa/s1600/456px-Albrecht_Du%CC%88rer_002.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicUxpQRc0IXZAFeOhNSlIw_zkbYCYdKvRycZ4CL-yYDNy6XxxO1m5eVmltHgGOU-l1z8LVKX4UhwhuKjh_chfqLGbax7umxn_7A9nA66kyO6ZqO2IchmJVigBD4GMunO5qZB0hYFIUkpFa/s640/456px-Albrecht_Du%CC%88rer_002.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Favorite Things: Apples</td></tr>
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<br />
She’ll be perfect if her tramp stamp reads, “K Bike Postage.” I hope to meet her on a ride between the Jersey Shore and the Pacific Coast this summer. The odds are slightly better that a more understanding woman like this won’t take offense if I occasionally fart without filing an environmental impact statement. It would be really cool to end up with a petite redhead who was an expert welder and an authority on the Chicago Manual of Style. Then again, I wouldn't mind meeting a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=laQZPfWkwRQ" target="_blank">demure blond who knows how to keep a low profile at bike events. </a><br />
<br />
I used to think nothing could match the breathless excitement that comes from undoing a brassiere for the first time. Then came the day I opened up the throttle on a BMW K75 and passed a long line of trucks on a curving stretch of Pennsylvanian interstate. I was doing 70 mph as I went by the first rig at the end of the line. The speedo read a cool 108 mph as I eclipsed the eighteen-wheeler at the front— 12 trucks later. You have reached a certain level of maturity (wisdom) when you’d rather twist a throttle than massage a breast. One is a lot less dangerous than the other.<br />
<br />
There was no vibration. The engine growled with Teutonic confidence. The tires were new and perfectly round. Handlebar inputs were as subtle as telepathy and the bike banked on a suggestion. Molecules of wind toyed with the bare skin at the collar of my jacket as my transformation became complete. I was no longer a man but an emotion. The kind of emotion <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0brHGJ6xqbk" target="_blank">Patti Smith oozes in <i>Because The Night.</i></a><br />
<br />
The trucks were in <i>my</i> “No Zone.” In fact, anything that was mundane or rooted to the earth was now in my “No Zone.” This included one job, one relationship, one stalled writing project, and anything that wasn’t on the stretch of road in front of me. <br />
<br />
By vibration-free I mean the rage that was the engine output found its way to the back wheel instead buzzing through my testicles. Still the ride was far from smooth. The surface of the road was marred by half-assed repair and outright neglect. While thousands of jolts were swallowed by the forks and a Works Performance Shock on the back, the larger cracks, heaves, and seams gave a spicy flavor to the ride, reminding me why I was a god above the sheep in the cages around me. Though there was a good three-quarters of an inch to the red line, this was maximum effort for the K75 and anything else would have just been noise. <br />
<br />
All of this happened on the first day I took a motorcycle on an interstate, after not having ridden a bike on one for 30 years. There is something about a motorcycle that just says, “Let the damn thing go.”<br />
<br />
I have been a professional writer for more than 30 years. In the early 1980s, my weapon of choice was an IBM Selectric typewriter that could correct a mistyped character. That was replaced by a Brother electric typewriter that presented a line of text on an little LED screen, and which could delete an entire line of text, even from the typewritten page. At the time, I was working for a white slaver of a publisher who wanted me to use a word processor. Writers are superstitious by nature and change is as welcome as a dose of clap. I came into the office to find an early word processor (with a tiny blue screen) on my desk.<br />
<br />
“The entire company is switching to these,” said my boss proudly, “What do you think?”<br />
<br />
“I think you should shove it up your ass,” I replied. (This is a true story. I don’t like my writing process to be disturbed. Believe me, the way I compose is peculiar enough.) He was back two years later with another bizarre invention. This one was an ivory plastic cube with a gray screen on it, that sort of lit up, and was accompanied by something called “a mouse.” <br />
<br />
“Wait until you see this one,” he said. “It does simultaneous composing and typesetting, it will give you a printed copy to hold in your hand, and the hard copy will look like it came out of a print shop.”<br />
<br />
It was the first Macintosh computer by Apple and I fell in love. The machine came with no directions. It worked intuitively. It worked the same way every day. It required no code. It never broke and it never broke my balls. I have had four Apple desktops and three laptops in 30 years. I believe that my current laptop, a MacBook Pro, is the finest computer ever made. I cannot imagine life without it. I certainly can’t imagine struggling through life with a PC. If my only option was to compose on a PC, I’d have stayed married and been dead by now. <br />
<br />
The MacBook Pro’s illuminated keys and polished aluminum case feel like the finest brassiere silk to my fingertips. Composing on it is one of the five earthly comforts. The other four are the taste of French kissing in the office, the aroma of exquisite cigars, the bite of Irish Whiskey, and the the sound of a hot motorcycle winding up for the pitch. <br />
<br />
The way I compose has driven three women and two publishers to madness. I first go into a kind of trance that entails drinking 9 cups of coffee, watching old black and white movies, smoking a few cigars, and generally doing nothing, while some part of my brain — a part not directly connected to anything — tries to figure out what the hell it is that I want to say. Then suddenly, it come out like a torrent, washing whole villages and civilizations downstream. <br />
<br />
I was once commissioned to draft Congressional testimony for a client looking to impact some obscure legislation. It was due at 2pm. My editorial assistant was a lover whose intellect was substantially larger than mine. She said, “They are going to fire your ass though a cannon if you don’t meet that deadline.”<br />
<br />
I was sitting in a comfy chair at the time, watching Jimmy Stewart in <i>Mister Smith Goes To Washington.</i> This Hollywood Classic had just reached the point where Jimmy Stewart, a junior Senator from someplace, stood up, pulled an apple out of his pocket, and launched a filibuster. <br />
<br />
She: “Are you nearly done with the testimony?”<br />
<br />
Riepe: Nothing<br />
<br />
She: “Have you started it yet?”<br />
<br />
Riepe: Nothing. <br />
<br />
She: It’s 11:45am. You have two hours and 15 minutes.”<br />
<br />
Riepe: Nothing.<br />
<br />
Jimmy Stewart finished speaking, and I said, “Honey, could you take dictation for me?” <br />
<br />
I spoke for 11 minutes. She emailed the text to my office, 20 feet away. I cleaned up a few points and sent it to client. It was approved on the first take. It went to Congress in its finished form at 1:57pm. <br />
<br />
She: “Why the hell didn’t you do this yesterday? You’re making me crazy!”<br />
<br />
Riepe: “This movie wasn’t on yesterday.”<br />
<br />
I never learned to type. I use two fingers. The forefinger on my left hand works the shift key. The forefinger on my right hand does everything else. I have written two books, 395 short motorcycle stories (actual count), and millions of words this way. I have written hundreds of press releases and speeches (on site at conventions) this way. I write a monthly column this way. I answer email this way. I have always done it this way... until this weekend.<br />
<br />
The arthritis that is turning me into a gimp has now spread to my arms, hands, and shoulders. There are days when I cannot hold a pen in my right hand to autograph books. There is a wheelchair parked at the edge of my desk. I regard it as the ghost of “Arthritis Future.” Right now, there is a box of cigars sitting in it. I will take the LeBrea Tar Pits or the gas pipe before I sit in this fucking chair. (That is a promise.) <br />
<br />
If you combine my odd composing style, complicate it with the pain of arthritis, and add to it the postpartum-type of depression that followed the release of my new book, you’ll understand my absence from this blog. The book was a success from the word “go,” and was received with overwhelming enthusiasm from just about everyone who bought it. The “really liked it” crowd ran about 99.44 percent to the .66 percent who politely said, “This is shit.” I couldn’t keep up with demand and won’t have that problem solved until February. But I didn’t anticipate that. I worked myself int a funk wondering what people really thought.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTEKFt1igbuKL3BI9fADvGlRm3M7liRRXeL9xOHQlecbKBkQgTIK9QbKZjz_4FA4vFU7A-4wtpfe_NqsZJTFDzz0_zKLHoZR2jZBOuWQdsEhBVAFiuZneBET72-vpKRfqgjS992ZXHwpq/s1600/Book+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTEKFt1igbuKL3BI9fADvGlRm3M7liRRXeL9xOHQlecbKBkQgTIK9QbKZjz_4FA4vFU7A-4wtpfe_NqsZJTFDzz0_zKLHoZR2jZBOuWQdsEhBVAFiuZneBET72-vpKRfqgjS992ZXHwpq/s640/Book+Cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new book sold out three times before Christmas! There is a waiting list for the next release! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The lack of blog activity here sparked concern among a number of my readers (none of whom have ever left a comment). Banding together on a BMW MOA (Motorcycle Owners Of America) forum, they determined that I had turned into a giant shapeless mollusk. They assumed I was stretched out on a shit house floor, blinded by a whiskey rage, with ineffectual slime stalks resting on a keyboard. <br />
They were 66 percent right. (I wasn’t drunk.) <br />
<br />
These incredibly sensitive guys — led by Mark Morales and Chris McCarthy — rallied 18 or 20 others into buying me a Dragon Dictate for the Mac program. The assumption was that arthritis would ultimately leave me a chattering head in a 10-gallon aquarium tank. This program would enable me to dictate my memoirs, observations, and stories — even as a severed head in a tank. It was suggested that they could put my head in a top case and ride me around too. Chris McCarthy offered to take my head bowling. (This has a sinister ring to it.)<br />
<br />
I have never been so flattered and so honored by readers in my life. This was more significant to me than winning a Pulitzer Prize. (I am saying this because I am fairly certain I am not in the running for a Pulitzer Prize. If, in fact, I am being considered for a Pulitzer Prize, let me say that the honor paid to me by these kind readers could only be surpassed by a Pulitzer Prize.)<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://shop.nuance.com/store/nuanceus/html/pbpage.dragon-landing-2012-v2?utm_medium=ps&utm_source=Google&utm_campaign=Dragon&utm_term=mac+dictate&cvokeywordid=281063262&resid=UPzl6QoBAlcAAA9-R10AAAA7&rests=1358751209198" target="_blank">Dragon Dictate For Mac</a> arrived last week. I was so excited, I squeaked. It was followed by another box that was a more deluxe headset and microphone. I opened each and poured over the abbreviated instructions. I had visions of sitting with my feet up, cigar in hand, while a captured Dragon took note of every word and turned it into text. <br />
<br />
The installation went as expected and the program came alive. First, the microphone had to be calibrated. That took about 90 seconds. Then I had to read 12 paragraphs of a short story (provided), so the computer could learn my accent. At the onset, I checked the option for “British Accent” and British Spellings.” I guess I still had hopes for impressing the woman in the opening paragraph. I have a Jersey City accent that makes me sound like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qt4QpSjFXM" target="_blank">Leo Gorcey</a>, and the program kept asking, “What? What did you just say?” Then it automatically recalibrated itself for a “low brow, New Jersey accent common to urban Morlocks.” <br />
<br />
The program steered me into a highly simplified tutorial designed to get you dictating like a fascist leader in record time. The best way to describe the manner in which the program takes direction is to compare it to the way telegrams were originally composed. (As I write these words, I realize there isn’t anyone under the age of forty-five who knows what a telegram was.) All punctuation is stated. Each simple sentence ends with the word “PERIOD.” Yet in composing an email to a friend today, I described a former relationship (not my last one) as “juggling loaded pistols with a woman whose period lasted 7 years.” I couldn’t complete the sentence as the program kept typing “juggling loaded pistols with a woman whose.”<br />
<br />
Then there is the other challenge: I talk to myself. I intended to write, “The bike leaned into a turn so tight that I nearly split my pants. There is something wonderful in being able to reach out and touch the pavement, sliding by at 80 miles per hour.” <br />
<br />
What the program typed was, “The bike leaned into a turn so tight that I nearly split my pants. Who the fuck is going to believe I ever leaned a bike over that far? There is something wonderful in being able to reach out and touch the pavement, sliding by at 80 miles per hour. But I wouldn’t know shit about that.” <br />
<br />
The program also has a hard time believing that a human can be as scathingly vicious as I am. It translated the word “douche bag” into “elected official” and thought I wanted “insurance company lawyer” for the phrase “that fucking scumbag in the suit.” <br />
<br />
This dictation program is amazing as it works in every Mac application. I answered 40 emails today in the time I would have typed responses to four. The instant spell check is really good. I plan to spend an hour a day with the manual, memorizing every command option. I intend to write the sequel to <i>Conversations With A Motorcycle </i>without ever touching the keyboard. In fact, I intend to write it with a cigar in one hand, a drink in the other, and a brunette (or a redhead) in my lap. <br />
<br />
I cannot adequately thank the BMW MOA Forum of guys — the Posse — who made this possible. You guys snapped me out of a tedious malaise. Some of the folks who contributed to this project comment regularly on this blog. Others I have just met (online) for the first time. Mark Morales is a great guy and Chris McCarthy... well Chris McCarthy is some kind of a guy too. Chris is likely to become a recurrent theme on this blog. I would like to ride with all of my blog readers sooner or later — but if I can ride at all this summer I will meet up with Chris. I suspect he has visited a number of locations mentioned in my book, within an hour of my last being there. <br />
<br />
There will be an interim blog post in two days. The madness is again on me. I’m sorry I was gone so long.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Readers Pictures Will Start Running Again in Two Days.... </b></span></span><br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2013<br />
All rights reserved... Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com84tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-38876176049660800912012-11-29T12:20:00.002-05:002013-03-03T12:20:37.974-05:00Che Guevara And I Have Two Things In Common...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: yellow; font-size: large;">I deeply regret the long absence from this blog. The hurricane thrust me into a week of darkness that seemed to last long after the lights came back on. Quite frankly, the life and the laughter just went out of me. Hundreds of thousands of people had it much worse than I did, with homes and businesses smashed. </span><span style="background-color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: yellow;">Hurricane Sandy put a
dramatic dent in the distribution of my new book — Conversations With A
Motorcycle — but I have managed to get a handle on it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: yellow;">All book orders
taken prior to October 15th will be filled within a week or so. Most
folks have their books now. Some got two. Orders taken after that will
be filled before December 18th. I thank all of you for your patience and support. </span> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: yellow; font-size: large;">I remember a sentiment expressed in the Revolutionary Spirit of the workers who rose up against the Czar: "That which does not destroy me makes me stronger." Many shouted this as they were cut down by Cossacks, proving the point. In that spirit, I now commence the publication of this blog with the following story about socialist moto- love. </span><br />
<br />
The woman had a reputation for tedious discussions on the politics of protest, the enslavement of the worker class, and the benefits of the collective. Her life was dedicated to exposing whatever the hell it was that kept the proletariat in their accustomed chains. Lithe, with unrestrained breasts that bounced beneath tee shirts that were always a couple of days past clean, she had an an urban earthiness that was anything but urbane. Her name was Louise Enwright but she called herself Lenochka Lyubov. She wore a beret and an expression that permanently indicated her disdain for make-up, deodorant, mouth wash and other excesses of western thinking. <br />
<br />
She was a genuine red... a real pinko... a Communist — from Long Island. Her mother was a doctor and her father was a stock broker. They had so much money that her maid was a Republican. <br />
<br />
I met her in my last year of college, in a class called “The Literature of Revolution.” She was always reading “the Russians.” These were authors ranging from Tolstoy to Dostoyevsky, who understood life to be a pointless endeavor suffered in frozen, desolate train stations while waiting to be arrested by the czar’s secret police. (For comic relief, key characters occasionally fell in front of the train or froze to death. They were envied by those characters who survived.) According to the word around campus, Lenochka liked two things: criticizing the bourgeois and a good straight hump. <br />
<br />
I generally overlooked belligerent proletariat ladies, whose pubic hair extended to the tops of their knee socks. Yet I was going through a self-inflicted romantic dry spell, largely caused by annoying every female within 400 miles. I had heard that the women of the local fifth column were the least discerning on campus, and most likely to respond to vodka-flavored paint thinner and the promise of breakfast. <br />
<br />
I wandered into a Soviet-friendly poetry reading wearing a tee shirt that sported a red star on the front. (It was an advertisement for a brewery.) Most of the shirt’s details were concealed under a green G.I. field jacket that I wore when on my bike. The motorcycle was an insidious 1975 Kawasaki H2. Under my arm was a green (metal flake) helmet, with black trim. When the ensemble was complete, I looked like a militant candy apple. Lenochka had been hitting the vodka all night. To her, I looked like a Communist super-hero. All I needed was a red cape and hip boots from a plumbing supply store. <br />
<br />
But I had the next best thing. I clutched a dog-eared paperback copy of Nikolai Karamzin’s “Poor Liza,” printed in Russian. The pages had yellowed and some had simply fallen out, only to be stuffed loosely back in. I had liberated it from some obscure shelf in the campus library. At some point, she would ask me to translate a page and I would just make it up. <br />
<br />
I was surprised at the number of Communists in the room. The men had that treacherous, beaten-dog look about them. The ladies showed the hard, timeless contempt of women in perpetual revolution, damned to screwing men whose passions were conspiracy and bumming cigarettes. <br />
<br />
Lenochka’s preference was for weaselly guys who looked like bomb-throwing anarchists right out of Doctor Zhivago, and who could do push-ups for two straight hours. According to several authorities, if you had a knack for that sort of exercise then you could ride in her sidecar all night. I did not have a knack for doing push-ups, even when I was thin and on the varsity fencing team. I did have a knack for alluding to the fact that I could do push-ups for hours. My thought was that it might be easier to change the game once it got started. After ten or twelve vodkas, served straight up at this campus cultural celebration, I told her I could do push-ups with both hands behind my head. <br />
<br />
I thought the night would be easy, as I had a bottle of vodka, the price of breakfast, and a clean shirt. Yet I had competition. Across the room was an exchange student from Tito’s Yugoslavia. This bastard was communist lite, but the closest thing to a real red within 4,000 miles. He was interested in Lenochka, as the other beauties lacked even her minimalist appeal. He spoke with a genuine accent, had genuine rodent eyes, and came from a country that was still in Europe but close enough to Turkey to be suspected of something. <br />
<br />
He offered to take her home.<br />
<br />
“How,” I asked, thrusting myself into the hushed dialogue. “There is no streetcar to reality from here. I have a motorcycle.”<br />
<br />
“Why do you ride a motorcycle?” Lenochka asked. “It’s an expression of rebellion, isn’t it? Is it your way of striking back at the establishment through non-conformity?” <br />
<br />
I didn’t answer right away, as nothing piques the feminine revolutionary mind like a dramatic pause. Instead, I gave her the kind of sideways glance used to great effect by Nikita Khrushchev when charming the crowds at the United Nations. <br />
<br />
“I ride a motorcycle to be more like Che Guevara.” I had it on good authority that Che rode bikes and proletariat women hard. <br />
<br />
The famous Argentinian revolutionary took a 6,000-mile motorcycle ride through South America in 1952. The profound poverty he found forever set the aspirations of Communists everywhere. My suave manner as a Che devotee made Lenochka waver in her initial assessment of me as a sexual opportunist who would say anything to get laid. <br />
<br />
Then I applied the clincher.<br />
<br />
“Nothing helps me understand the literary weight of the ‘Russians’ like riding a motorcycle,” I said. “From time to time, I pull over and read this book.” I looked down at the floor and pulled the book from my pocket. A dozen pages dropped out. "It is nothing," I quipped. "I have them memorized." I looked up and smiled. It was the smile that would become known as the Battered Baby Seal look. <br />
<br />
Lenochka said we should go to her place. The motorcycle had triumphed over the politburo. The communist from Yugoslavia shrugged, accepting the obvious. He would spend the night with the red version of Madame Defarge, a woman regarded as an enigma considering her demeanor was concealed by facial hair. She was passed out on the floor.<br />
<br />
The motorcycle was a challenge for Commissar Lyubov's skirt. Lenochka mounted the pillion and tucked the excess material under her ass. She was wearing the kind of knee socks you’d expect to find on an extra in the Wizard of Oz, but no underwear. I gave her the usual bullshit about tapping her leg when she needed to hang on. At one point, I reached back for a handful of thigh. It felt like she had a ferret in her lap. <br />
<br />
“Can we ride around for a bit so I can feel the Russians too,” she yelled. <br />
<br />
I took her hand from my waist and put it in my lap. “That’s Peter The Great,” I shouted. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She asked me to pull over and read from "Poor Liza." I did, under a streetlight. Or I appeared to. I basically ran through a few scenes from Poe's "The Pit and The Pendulum." That's cheery enough to be Russian. We were sitting on the bike together as I slithered through this travesty, and she began to touch herself. Or maybe she was just taking the ferret's pulse. I told her to get off so I could restart the bike. And then I started to laugh, because that's exactly what she was doing. <br />
<br />
My college was located in a highly fashionable New Jersey suburb that oozed money. The streets were lined with trees that all spoke two or three languages and the houses were Tudor homes that no Tudor could afford. Lenochka didn’t live near there. She directed me across the tracks to an industrial hell, where she had an apartment between a salmon cannery and a steel mill. Now one might think the aroma of fish from one direction or the scent of sulphur from the other could be a bit overwhelming. Both were nothing compared to the reek of cat piss which came a litter box that got changed with every Presidential election. (The cat apparently pissed dioxin.) <br />
<br />
The place was decorated with unwashed clothing and the sink choked on porcelain dishes that were slowly being etched by bacteria. Rutting microbes stampeded in the bathroom. But such was the heat of my desperation that I was willing to bonk the ferret with the hammer of Thor anyway. Lenochka offered me a glass of white wine that fizzed when the cork was pulled. I declined. <br />
<br />
The spirit of the house was a Siamese cat named “Akula.” It was sleek with a smooth chocolate coat that didn’t seem to bother my allergies, as long as I didn’t touch it. Plus, all the booze that I had chugged earlier in the night seemed to forestall my allergic reaction. <br />
<br />
Lenochka dragged me further into this soviet sty, the center of which was a sacrificial futon. A candle bathed the room in a dingy Communist light and I realized this woman was a manifesto with breasts. She wasn’t big on kissing and wanted a good straight hump in the tradition of the push-up. <br />
<br />
I was prepared for about 12 thrusts before the inning change and moving to the bottom. At thrust #10, I cleared my throat in anticipation of making a suggestion when the fucking cat attacked my bare ass and dug its claws into my skin. I screamed, arched my back, and thrust downward causing Lenochka to clamp onto me like a bear trap, pinning my arms. I yelled again and started convulsing to get the cat off my ass.<br />
<br />
Lenochka gasped and lie there quivering. <br />
<br />
I delivered a backhand across my ass that launched the cat like a tennis ball. My butt was bleeding and the only clean thing I could find to wipe the blood was my own undershirt. <br />
<br />
“Do you want me to do something for you?” asked Lenochka.<br />
<br />
“Yes,” I said. “Get moose and squirrel.” **<br />
<br />
The ride back to my place stung at every bump, but the worst was yet to come. Showering after the next fencing meet, two of the guys had ‘the red badge of passion’ on their backs: the fingernail scratch marks of appreciative women. <br />
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I had similar chevrons... but mine were smaller and engraved on my ass. <br />
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“Did you nail a ferret or something?” asked one of my teammates.<br />
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** Anyone looking for an explanation of "moose and squirrel" in connection with a communist theme isn't really hip enough to read this blog, and should click<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTzuO24i-YA&feature=endscreen&NR=1" target="_blank"> here</a>.<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Who reads Twisted Roads:</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">These are actual pictures, submitted by actual readers, unafraid to <span style="font-size: large;">a</span>ctually admit they read Twisted Roads...</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMam_3o2NrBUzhKVWWnlUtGDygI0Z8Bt0uvkx2m3jsqXJdEGBijGS30ccnB2cfDxqPhU-_FibZBLdKWuJJ4DeWk6ptAZHcG2YLeMBJgOy_q1aLN_eIX-grNFk4QmwzbLaBf0Cmn8Rz-Ndv/s1600/-8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMam_3o2NrBUzhKVWWnlUtGDygI0Z8Bt0uvkx2m3jsqXJdEGBijGS30ccnB2cfDxqPhU-_FibZBLdKWuJJ4DeWk6ptAZHcG2YLeMBJgOy_q1aLN_eIX-grNFk4QmwzbLaBf0Cmn8Rz-Ndv/s640/-8.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Above: This is Mark Jones<span style="font-size: small;">, the<span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">head honcho of Air Ambulance Wor</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">ldwide</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">, Inc.<span style="font-size: small;">, posing in front of his yellow Goldwing (whi<span style="font-size: small;">ch is a Honda, for our German riders who don't get o<span style="font-size: small;">ut much</span>). He is <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">coveting the R1200RT in the foreground, which is owned by Mal Clingan (Florida). Air Ambulance Worl</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">dwide is a fixed</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">-wing evacuation</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> company. (Where they hell w</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">ere they during my second marriage?) Ma</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">l is taking the pictur</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">e and pr</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">obably giving Mark the finger. You have to wonder what kind of a rider Mal is if he need<span style="font-size: small;">s the CEO of an ambulance company to escort him on rides to the Post Office and the proctologist. Note the extra large top case o<span style="font-size: small;">n the "R" bike. This houses the steam boiler <span style="font-size: small;">and auxiliary whale oil tanks. N<span style="font-size: small;">ice paint<span style="font-size: small;">, Mal<span style="font-size: small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Above: Carl<span style="font-size: small;">a <span style="font-size: small;">Sark rides a Honda 750 <span style="font-size: small;">Shadow (pearlescent <span style="font-size: small;">gray and white<span style="font-size: small;">). Here she is on Thanksgiving Day, stalking wild turkeys as they cross the road in her native Indiana. <span style="font-size: small;">(What the hell is it with Hondas today<span style="font-size: small;">?) And where are your gloves, Carla? This <span style="font-size: small;">H</span>onda is tricked out with the optional light packa<span style="font-size: small;">ge, the crash ba<span style="font-size: small;">rs<span style="font-size: small;">, and <span style="font-size: small;">cool saddle bags that actually have <span style="font-size: small;">Fastex releases under the <span style="font-size: small;">chrome buckles. Carla likes long walk<span style="font-size: small;">s on the beach (good luck in Indiana) and polishing 56 square yards of motorcycle. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<b>Above: Twisted Roads Reader David Zmoda sent us this picture of one of his sheep, who I shudder to think may be his current ride. "Z" (as he is known to his friends) claims he hasn't ridden a motorcycle since 1978. Yet there seems to be a strong sheep-riding contingent in his native Maryland. Gangs of sheep-riders have been seen on the highways there. I am thrilled that the model picture above does not have a BMW logo on it. </b><br />
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<b>Above: Dedicated Twisted Roads Reader Charles Murphy (Murph to his friends) zapped me yesterday with photos of his shop (Oregon) which is something of a legend in local BMW and Moto Guzzi circles.This will be one of my stops when I head out west next summer. </b></div>
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<b>Above: Murph's roadside service is handily provided by this immaculate "R" bike, which was rumored to be ridden out to the Oregon area by the Lewis and Clark expedition. The "R" bike design represents one of the purest, engine concepts. The earliest of these designs (known as Airheads, after members of Congress) were cooled by the breeze. Later models (the Oilheads) relied on whale oil, air, and the phases of the moon for cooling. Newer models use a stunning water-cooled technology first employed on "K" bikes during the Regan administration. </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZlKkcw_6KGr-4OlRTmSHiaOB0EU78o_qNw9TodCUoYHzkBsvAKPtvTyWuGiHezkrMos_RMEcpH-9qxQmmkfuMAaR7l8ny7VZJhkUfB_7oXV47n4lftUiabcmuYHoPA3oQDr7AB2_L37s/s1600/-11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZlKkcw_6KGr-4OlRTmSHiaOB0EU78o_qNw9TodCUoYHzkBsvAKPtvTyWuGiHezkrMos_RMEcpH-9qxQmmkfuMAaR7l8ny7VZJhkUfB_7oXV47n4lftUiabcmuYHoPA3oQDr7AB2_L37s/s640/-11.jpg" width="640" /> </a><br />
<b>Above: This is a cool... Murph developed this test stand to put rebuilt engines through their paces without having to reinstall them in the frame first. "This enables me to test for oil leaks and other things with everything out in open and easy to access," said Murph. "It's also a crowd magnet at local rallies and events. </b><br />
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<b>Above: The control panel allows Murph to test various engine functions on command, as well as determine the efficiency of other engine components.</b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Are you a Twisted Roads Reader? Then send in a picture of you, your bike, or your girlfriend on your bike. You could win a valuable prize. This month's winner (November) is Dave Zmoda of Maryland. His winning entry — the willing sheep — has earned him an EZ Tire Pressure Gauge. And he might win another prize if he submits a picture taking a reading off "Lamb Chop" with the g<span style="font-size: large;">auge.</span> Remember — Loud Bleats Save Lives! </span></span></b><br />
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Send Pictures To jack.riepe@gmail.com — Put "Rider's Photo" in the subject line.<br />
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<b>* No farm animals were injured, insulted, nor maligned by affiliating them with either political party in this blog. However, I did poke a few "R" bike riders in the eye with a stick. But this only because the BMW "K" bike gets the stink-eye from so many of them. And I did make another swipe at elected officials, only because it is a sin to miss a slow-moving target. Twisted Roads apologizes for not zeroing in on Dick Bregstein lately. That will be rectified shortly. Twisted Roads is not BMW-centric and welcomes photos from riders on Harleys, Ducatis, Moto Guzzis, Hondas, Kawasakis, Yamahas, Suzukis, Triumphs, and Vespas. All bikes (and sheep) actually</b>.<br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012<br />
All rights reserved<br />
Photos submitted of hot girlfriends do not automatically receive prizes but I will look at them often. <br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></span><b><span style="background-color: white;"></span> </b>Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-74703859008668865832012-11-02T22:48:00.001-04:002012-11-02T22:48:42.100-04:00Reports Of My Demise Are Premature...The news reports were confusing.<br /><br />The ocean was slamming against the dunes. The tides were running heavy. Minor flooding was being reported from various shore points as dire warnings were being cited by weather experts. <br /><br />Looking out the window, conditions seemed not much stiffer than an afternoon pushing a thunderstorm. It had drizzled for a bit and the litany of reporters (one of who showed us a line of six sandbags against a pizzeria doorway) kept talking about the doom that was crawling up the coast. I thought, “This is a piss poor excuse for a hurricane. I’ve been to union meetings that were rougher than this.” <br /><br />I was under the impression we’d been in the storm for hours. <br /><br />Then the reporter said, “The hurricane is expected to make landfall in about 5 hours.” It was still a couple of hundred miles away. According to the weather map, landfall would be between my bathroom and kitchen. The gentle Twisted Roads reader will understand that I thought that this was one of the longest build-ups I had ever seen for a weather event. Star War: The Empire Strikes Back didn’t get this kind of hype. <br /><br />The wind was shortly gusting to 50 and 60 miles per hour and the house was considerably noisier than my preferred Nolan helmet. The rain started but never reached the frenetic levels I had been told to expect. There is a brunette friend of mine who occasionally captures my fancy (isn’t there always), and she races sailboats. Her description of the wind whistling in the forestays and her stories of heeling a boat on the edge of a knife-like breeze fascinate me. I was working on a story in which I thought to compare the gentle moaning of the wind on a moonlight Atlantic night with the raging anguish of K1300GTs engine, balls to the wall in a horizontal interstate Messerschmidt power-dive, when the lights began to flicker. <br /><br />A brilliant flash bathed everything outside in a micro-second shade of electric blue as a pole transformer exploded outside. The lights came back on and wavered again, as another pole transformer blew up minutes later. In that second of darkness, I remembered I had bought the cheapest surge protector the store had, and I yanked the magnetic power cord off the Apple. The lights made one more attempt to stay lit and ran the the gamut from dim to brilliant — as the last pole transformer on the block evaporated in sparks and loud “boom.”<br /><br />The room was not totally dark. The screen on my faithful Apple laptop still glowed with the thrill of whatever the hell it was I had just typed. It was 9:55 pm and wind gusts were pulling the ton (100 mph). I switched on my Coleman LED camp lantern and called it an early night. While an LED lantern is the ultimate in disaster convenience, it’s not much for ambience. The sterile light is ideal for finding the bathroom but not conducive to reading. Stretching out in bed, I thought the wind like sounded passion on a sailboat. Then something blew into the side of the house. It happened two more times, and I plastered my face to window. Far above the hell of the storm was a full moon and it wasn’t real dark outside. I expected to see zombies staggering in the street. What I saw was almost as amazing. Wind gusts were blowing deer into the siding. “Good,” I thought. “Fucking rats on stilts.”<br /><br />I put my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. There was nothing romantic in this howling of the wind. I would lie awake for the next 5 hours. The wind did its best to twist my balls. It counted the tiles on the roof. It tore at the siding at the house. It shook the tree on the lawn. It even peered in the window and made fun of my comparison of the noise of made by a racing sailboat and the classical music cadence of a finely-tuned Teutonic motorcycle. (Sorry, brunette cupcake, riding a motorcycle will keep you 19 forever.) <br /><br />So the wind did the only thing it could do to hurt me: it destroyed my childhood. Ten miles to the east, Barnegat Bay rose like a hissing shit-bitch from hell and swirled over Pelican Island, before venting its seething fury on the backstreets of Seaside Heights and Seaside Park. The Atlantic surged over the beach... over the dunes... over the boardwalk... and over the houses, some of which were rented by my family when I was a kid. It ripped everything before it with an indescribable rage. <br /><br />Click <a href="http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/news/2012/10/31/hurricane-sandy-photos-show-historic-seaside-heights-jersey-shore-devastation/" target="_blank">here</a> to see for yourself...<br /><br />These were the beaches where my mother, a beautiful blond, chased three kids in the sand. These were the honky-tonk amusements where my dad went on things that went upside down with my cousin Claire. This was the home of Casino Pier, where kids on Union Street (1962) discussed a roller coaster — the Wild Mouse — in awe and fear. It was where my dad handed me my first oyster on the half-shell and watched my face as I slurped something with the consistency of a used flem ball. <br /><br />“Thank you, sir. I’ll have another,” I said. <br /><br />Casino Pier was where I would park a motorcycle in 1975, and have a rum and Coke at at the outdoor bar — the Aztec — while watching girls in bikinis walk by. (I’d wonder if I’d ever nail one.) It was where I parked my motorcycle in 2005 and had a few rum and Cokes at the same outdoor bar, while watching girls in bikinis walk by. (Can you guess what I was thinking?) <br /><br />The back of Casino Pier is broken. A newer roller coaster is in the water. The old spook house and the rides that have been there for 20 years are gone. The stretch of boardwalk with the sausage sandwich stands, the orange custard stands, and the chintzy clackerty wheel games (where you had a better chance of getting elected Pope than of wining a decent prize) are gone. The stands were you could get the worst pizza in the world are battered. The souvenir shops, the tee shirt warrens, and the ear piercing places are bust up. I am assuming that the chocolate stalls that my mother so loved, selling fudge so thick and sweet that your ass would inflate like a life raft if you ate one piece are heavily damaged. Each was someone’s livelihood. Each was a family legacy.<br /><br />Funtown Pier is a shambles. The best places for clams on the half-shell and corn on the cob (boiled to a soft yellow, knobby pulp) may have been spared. And the jury is still out on the antique carousel. The place where I played miniature golf with my brothers and sisters (on a carpeted course that was like the lobby of a shit-house hotel) is sandblasted. And the last place I ever had dinner with my mother — The Berkely Fish market — well, who knows. Maybe that was spared. <br /><br />Writing of the Jersey Shore, I once described Cape May as a national treasure. And I recall describing Seaside Heights as the Jersey shore’s painted whore. Cape May is where you go with a new lover when every detail in life is just perfect. Seaside Heights is where you go when your heart rides a motorcycle. Any motorcycle. It’s where you went to smell French fry oil with scented sun tan oil, with a hint of salt in the air. It’s where you didn’t have to apologize for thinking about that tanned tartuffle in the thong. (But you did have to behave... The cops would mercilessly break your balls.) Bruce Springstein never sang a damn thing about Cape May. (Actually, he sang about Asbury Park, which used to aspire to be Seaside Heights.) <br /><br />I can’t believe that this is the end of Seaside Heights. I can’t believe that a newer, stronger, phoenix won’t rise from the mangled beams, stripped boards, and fractured neon. And I can’t believe it won’t be there on Memorial Day, 2013. My legs are like the boardwalk at Seaside. But they’ll be tougher and stronger next year. I plan on riding a 2004 K1200 next summer. And I am going to lead a ride to the bar at the old Aztec. I plan to spend the weekend there. <br /><br />Who’s with me?<br /><br />This is the end of Day 5 without power at the Jersey Shore. I have no lights... No internet... And intermittent phone. I have not had snack cake since May. I would now kill for chocolate cupcakes. Send me some. <br /><br />©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-42845889350492238152012-10-29T14:34:00.001-04:002012-10-29T14:34:33.321-04:00The Hurricane Got Nasty...Dear Twisted Roads Readers:<br />
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The storm activity became noticeable around 2am today, as the wind started moan. Everything grew silent at 5am, as the wind and the rain stopped... And then it started with a vengeance. I am 15 miles from the ocean, but a scant 20 or 30 miles from where the hurricane is expected to make landfall. Wind gusts are expected to top 90 mph, but I am beyond the storm surge, I think.<br />
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The wind is a constant 50 to 65mph now and the rain is bullet-like. It sounds like a jet engine screaming over the roof. The house is sound and tight. The utilities are taking a pounding, however, and the lights are flickering. Power is out all around me. The electricity is expected to go down by 7pm and may not be up for a while. Meaning days. Some utilities are claiming a week.<br />
<br />
If I do not answer my email, it means I have no access to it. It means that charge is gone in my phone. I have food, water, gas to cook on, and the neighbor's lawn on which to take a dump. I have cigars and rum. I plan to mail another batch of books on Wednesday. Nothing is going to move tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I'll post a update to this at 7pm tonight.<br />
<br />
Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-10951135472595855452012-10-27T08:57:00.000-04:002012-10-27T20:40:53.014-04:00This Quiz Could Save Your Life...<br />
Do you live on the east coast? Are you prepared to deploy and sustain an extensive emergency
program as a result of a catastrophic natural storm predicted for
Monday, October 29, 2012? This simple quiz will help rate your
preparedness for what could be the storm of the century. Senior
meteorologists are predicting tidal surges as far inland as Flagstaff,
Arizona, accompanied by winds capable of blowing sailors who are not
actually on leave. Resulting power outages are likely to go unreported
for weeks as residents find a certain calm and solitude in the absence
of stupid campaign bullshit currently flooding television, radio, and
internet information sources.<br />
<br />
On Sunday, supermarkets across the northeast will resemble prison
riots as people fight over the last three “D” batteries, the final
gallon of milk, and the one remaining pair of Spanks in aisle “8,” in
anticipation of life as we know it coming to an end. Millions of men and
women who presently share the same house will rush to buy quarts of
gin, vodka, and rum to get through 24 hours together, without the escape
of the internet, e-mail, “Dancing With The Stars,” or porn. In one
house, a frantic spousal unit waved a book in the air, yelling, “How do
you reboot this fucking thing?” <br />
<br />
One family planned to get through the crisis by simply going to a
different restaurant each night for dinner. When told the restaurants
would probably be closed, the husband and father of three football
players broke into tears and wailed “We’ll starve without the
microwave.” He collapsed against the eight-burner, gas grill in the
yard. One woman, a blond, remembered the last power failure, and how she
sat in her car for three days, waiting for the traffic light on the
corner to resume. <br />
<br />
Houses with pumps for the well may discover a shortage of water for
drinking and flushing the toilet. When told she could fill the tub with
water for flushing the toilet, one individual — an elected official —
stated, “Things would have to be pretty bad for me to start shitting in
the bathtub. I can get by shitting on my constituents for at least a month.” She claimed her husband used to piss in the kitchen sink,
but it was eventually easier for him to lift the seat in the bathroom
than it was to remember to put the dishes in the drainboard.<br />
<br />
Democrats and Republicans blamed the weather on each other. According to the Liberals, the storm is the result of rich scumbags not spending an extra 50 cents on sunshine and fleecy clouds. (Amazingly enough, there is not one rich Liberal in the United States.) Conservatives believe that Liberals have given away the sunny weather in exchange for a better interest rate from China. Many in both parties
agree that no debate moderator should be named “Candy” if she has a
face like a sack full of jowls. <br />
<br />
Please take the following quiz to gauge your level of emergency preparedness:<br />
<br />
1) Would you be able to find the best bottles of wine in your cellar, if you had to grope around for them in the dark? <br />
A) Yes...<br />
B) No...<br />
<br />
2) Assuming you found the wine and drank it with a lover by flickering candle-light, would you: <br />
A) use the last two good “D” batteries in the house for the flashlight; or <br />
B) use them to power up that amazing sex toy?<br />
<br />
3) There is one cup of milk left in the house and a crying baby in the next room. Would you: <br />
A) pour the milk into the baby’s bottle; or <br />
B) Make a pot of coffee on the gas grill and get the kid used to the taste of quality Java?<br />
<br />
4) The wind is raging outdoors and your mother-in-law is wrapped around a tree, about 30 yards from the back door. Would you: <br />
A) Send your wife out to tell her to shut up; <br />
B) Comfort your wife with the knowledge that you used quality rope and competent knots in tying the old bitch to the tree?<br />
<br />
5) The storm has released a killer virus into the atmosphere and you
are hiding in the basement for the third consecutive week. Food is
running low. Would you eat: <br />
A) The dog; or <br />
B) The cute redhead from next door?<br />
<br />
6) The water is rising and dry floorspace is becoming scarce. You can either save your Harley or your BMW. Would you:<br />
A) Save the Harley so you can get laid in the future...<br />
B) Save the BMW so you can get laid by someone younger than 72 in the future.<br />
C) Push your wife’s piano out into the rain and save both.<br />
D)) Save the Goldwing because it has been years since you've been laid. <br />
<br />
7) Raging floodwaters force you to make a decision. Would you save:<br />
A) The cardiologist<br />
B) The tree surgeon<br />
C) The engineer<br />
D) The bell-maker<br />
E) The septic system specialist<br />
F) Bregstein (My riding partner)<br />
G) That cute brunette who moved to Philly<br />
H) The motorcycle mechanic (Remember, the right answer sometimes hurts.) <br />
<br />
8) Civilization is about to be swept away. You have a choice of one book to read. Would it be:<br />
A) The BMW “R” Bike shop manual<br />
B) “Your Prostate And You”<br />
C) “The Biggest Dick I Ever Rode With...”<br />
D) “Conversations With A Motorcycle”<br />
<br />
<br />
The correct answers are:<br />
1) A<br />
2) B (The amazing sex toy lights up as well as undulates)<br />
3) B <br />
4) 2 Bonus points for A, Triple zipple points for B<br />
5) B<br />
6) B is more right, but the others work too.<br />
7) The answer is "H"<br />
8) The answer is "D," because this book is great. It makes riders remember, and it makes pillion candy dream.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">This Book Could Save Your Personality....</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">An autobiographical novel, Conversations With A Motorcycle details the first two years in the saddle for writer, humorist, and target of feminine venom Jack Riepe. It is the story of a starry-eyed adolescent's descent into the moto-maelstrom of depravity, as he trades the transparent values of his upbringing in Jersey City, for the promise of beer-scented romance in the gutter. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">And quite frankly, the gutter was a bit ambitious for him most times. </span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Riepe leaves nothing out in this account of emotional survival and glorious surrender. Unlike his other works, this one reeks of honesty, or something. It is packed with soul-searching astride a Japanese street-screamer, colored by the cold tint of women's sneers, against the backdrop of the toughest city in New Jersey — in 1975. Riepe is routinely beaten and left for dead at the curb, and that is by the women he desires. Yet in the end... Well, look at him now.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">194- Pages... 21 Chapters... </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Wrapped in a cover as soft as motorcycle glove leather... </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">On pages that suggest you turn them in bed.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Your squeeze will demand you read it aloud... but in an occasional whisper.</span></b><br />
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" 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<span style="font-size: large;"> $20 Autographed To You, Or To Someone You're Trying To Impress...<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>$5 S&H... Quan<span style="font-size: large;">tities Are Limited Between Now and Christm<span style="font-size: large;">as<span style="font-size: large;">.<span style="font-size: large;">.. Autographed books take two weeks to process. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Months of Waiting Are Finally Over... Copies Are Shipping Now<span style="font-size: large;">... But some folks have be<span style="font-size: large;">en waiting since July! </span></span></span><br />
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<br />Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-39113520469768064172012-10-13T19:30:00.003-04:002012-10-13T19:30:49.901-04:00Stolen Gloves And The Veal Sandwich...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The first raindrop materialized in the lower left-hand corner of my face shield, and left a tiny snail trail of moisture as it angled diagonally upward across my field of vision. I wiped it off on the back of my glove. <br />
<br />
“Could be anything,” I thought. “Bird piss, bug guts, condensation from a passing vehicle, spittle from a blond... anything. Anything but rain.” I hadn’t seen any birds. It was the first week of fall and there were no bugs. Traffic was light. And I hadn’t been close enough to a woman to get spat upon lately. That left one possibility, and if I had any doubts, a smattering of raindrops hit the clear plastic like birdshot fired at a grouse. <br />
<br />
The day had matured into a solitary shade of gray, unaltered in its intensity from an hour past sun-up well into the late afternoon. The forecast had been for a 47 percent chance of rain, a statistical coin toss. Would I have ventured out on the bike for a 47 percent chance of getting laid or a 47 percent chance of winning a lottery? Who wouldn't?<br />
<br />
I called my riding partner, Dick Bregstein, to ask if he felt like joining me on a run to Centralia, PA, the remains of a town sitting atop a coal mine fire that has been burning for 60 years.<br />
<br />
“There’s a 47 percent chance of rain today,” said Bregstein. “If it was anyone else, I’d have my gear on and be out the door in a heartbeat. But it’s you and that virtually guarantees a downpour. No offense, Jack, but you have the luck of the damned.” <br />
<br />
Bregstein had a point. Anyone else might have had a 47 percent chance of getting laid, but I had usually had a 53 percent chance of getting fucked. So I rode out alone on the legendary K75 known as “Fireballs.”<br />
<br />
The weather had held all the way up to Centralia, with temperatures in the low 60’s and light breezes, despite the murk. Centralia was pretty much as I remembered it: vacant lots with the occasional wisp of steam and toxic gas rising from the ground. Yet now that I was 90 miles from home via indirect roads, my chances of getting soaked seemed more like 100 percent. The insinuation of rain became a smattering of drizzle as a motorcycle shop close to my heart hove into view. I usually knew 20 people in here and couldn’t think of a better place to wait out a passing squall.<br />
<br />
The weather had eliminated the crowd. <br />
<br />
The parking lot out front had only two machines in it, and neither was familiar to me. One was a Suzuki that oozed speed, even on the side-stand. The other was an old rat bike of a Triumph. This almost guaranteed some grizzled rider would be leaned over the counter inside, bullshitting about the good old days, when all motorcycles sprayed oil like it was champagne. These riders invariably sounded like Gabby Hayes, dressed like Wallace Beery, and had an aroma like Henry Grajewski's pig farm. <br />
<br />
Neither of the two customers in the shop met that description. The Suzuki rider was a Brad Pitt look-a-like, who dropped by to pick up two quarts of herb-scented motor oil ($37.50 each) in logo-branded bottles. He was leaving as I gimped in.<br />
<br />
The Triumph biker took me by surprise. Scuffed boots, worn leather riding gear, and hair shaped by a scratched helmet that had seen too many seasons, she was Asian, with dark, hypnotic eyes. I am sucker for brunettes but I am a lost soul to Asian brunettes. <br />
<br />
She moved through the gear aisles with the kind of indifference that comes naturally to women whose innate sensuality has been bending light since puberty. It didn’t matter to me that I was 20 years her senior. In my mind, I was thin, tough, and edgy. She’d see my red K75 outside and bite her lower lip in anticipation of a sexual union that would astound mating sea otters. Our eyes met for a minute, and it was a tough to tell if the contempt in hers was merely feigned or a reflex. <br />
<br />
Stacks of riding gloves — designed to meet the most technical demands or the parameters of moto fashion — were displayed between the racks of leather jackets and shelves of helmets. Flashing me a look of challenge, she selected a pair of vented, armored riding gloves (in the $125 category) and shoved them inside her coat. Her pouty lips formed a silent sneer, and she headed toward the door.<br />
<br />
I was stunned for an instant. Then I grabbed a pair of the same gloves and headed toward the counter. Her body sinuously moved through the door with purpose, though without haste. <br />
<br />
“Do you have my credit card on file?” I asked the guy behind the register.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, Reep” he said."We do."<br />
<br />
I tossed the gloves on the counter and said, “Charge me for a pair of these and please return those to stock. I’ll explain later.” <br />
<br />
She was already headed out into traffic — wearing the poached gloves — by the time I got my leg over “Fireballs.” I was in third gear and pushing 55 miles per hour when I left the parking lot. She was ahead of me by 800 yards, but in no real hurry. I caught up to her at the first light. <br />
<br />
“Nice gloves,” I yelled over the muted din of the running engines. She shot me a blank expression and pulled away as the signal turned green. She acquired attitude with each mile and started pulling further ahead as traffic allowed. I followed her through four lights, to a side road that ran through cornfields and a forested stretch. It was here that she laughed in my face, pulling left around a car stopped in front of her, and then darting right. She had a 90-second lead that might have translated into giving me the slip, had I not slowed as I came upon a tired-looking gin mill with a gravel smear of a parking lot. Her bike was parked alongside other vintage British iron, which was intriguing by itself. My red K75 looked like the Teutonic pimento in the British olive. <br />
<br />
The place was a tarnished go-go joint catering to a leather crowd. I found her standing at the bar, with her arm around a dancer whose physical perfection was inversely proportional to the tiny size of her g-string. The Asian beauty pulled the glove from her right hand and worked her fingers behind the little triangular patch of fabric. <br />
<br />
Nearly speechless, I said, “I don’t usually wear gloves when I do that either.” <br />
<br />
It was then I noticed that crowd was almost exclusively women. I thought about ordering a drink and then figured what’s the point? The bartender shot me a wry look and asked if I wanted anything. I glanced at the two women, smiled back at her, and asked, “I don't suppose I could get a veal sandwich?” <br />
<br />
“Dream on,” she said.<br />
<br />
It poured on the ride home. <br />
<br />
©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Who Reads Twisted Roads? These Folks Do!</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToGO1vvAbtJEA9ko4AGXUDCB3LaeetClUdWIISmTCtMLPDlM_3SFAuFyYqBFJkUaBS6BA42wVSM723nplLCDCDktzKnrwSwjQuALzrMqPt5-PdzzqKMD8L205IFK5j2PX_YgLj2785xha/s1600/Bull+Shoals+Ferry+Gary+Schults.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToGO1vvAbtJEA9ko4AGXUDCB3LaeetClUdWIISmTCtMLPDlM_3SFAuFyYqBFJkUaBS6BA42wVSM723nplLCDCDktzKnrwSwjQuALzrMqPt5-PdzzqKMD8L205IFK5j2PX_YgLj2785xha/s640/Bull+Shoals+Ferry+Gary+Schults.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Above: This shot is from veteran Twisted Roads reader Gary Schultz, sitting astride what I thought to be a nice variation of a Triumph Bonneville. Gary (wearing a blue windbreaker to the far right) was kind enough to point out that he is riding a retro 2001 Kawasaki W650. In my estimation, this is one of the most beautiful bikes to ever roll off the Kawasaki assembly line. Strikingly British-like in its lines, the W650 has a wider gas tank than the Triumph and while retro in nature, it runs with the flawless performance associated with Japanese motorcycles. </b><br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELZg9bG6R1HPeeIyifnpq2UqHN7amQgd25mtLA0IDSqo8qn15Z80W0oK1rsIrY6Tq1FWBwbHZaIfER8fyGZmSWFXjnl-ZwgB9J46Vkc5YodTyPANLN9mupR2DPUL7XX-FONud9tZbx7Lu/s1600/-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELZg9bG6R1HPeeIyifnpq2UqHN7amQgd25mtLA0IDSqo8qn15Z80W0oK1rsIrY6Tq1FWBwbHZaIfER8fyGZmSWFXjnl-ZwgB9J46Vkc5YodTyPANLN9mupR2DPUL7XX-FONud9tZbx7Lu/s640/-2.jpg" width="640" /></a> </b><br />
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<b>Above: Jeremy Zielke (Wisconsin), a discerning Twisted Roads reader, sent this great shot of his classic Harley Davidson Road King, dramatically portrayed against the backdrop of Devil's Tombstone. Jeremy has owned a number of motorcycles and currently favors this iconic Milwaukee Iron. I have to honestly say the lines of those sidebags appeal to me greatly. The Harley Davidson remains the iconic motorcycle of all times. It is my hope to ride out to the Devil's Tower (Wyoming) next summer. </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXW9fTKvtLCGdKWUmO6282lS93GKX1kz_-hKfoXU7kRU5ncRGN9n144dgIMt_ZXI9sgFF9UU1VhLSivddrs-RRyGI_SD_tfgS8mbSKjGslTXLmS_O06rDn3jzw1mfTUWAbxfHXEhWHB9sS/s1600/Steve+At+Hermy%27s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXW9fTKvtLCGdKWUmO6282lS93GKX1kz_-hKfoXU7kRU5ncRGN9n144dgIMt_ZXI9sgFF9UU1VhLSivddrs-RRyGI_SD_tfgS8mbSKjGslTXLmS_O06rDn3jzw1mfTUWAbxfHXEhWHB9sS/s640/Steve+At+Hermy%27s.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
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<b>Above: Steve Diodati, Jr., on his BMW S1000RR, a nice bike for commuting to the stores or church on Sunday, if you need to get there at the speed of light. Steve waited a bit for this one. </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Send your picture into Twisted Roads... Readers who send in their pictures are automatically included in randowm drawings for cool stuff. Send your picture to: jack./riepe@gmail.com, with the words, "Rider Photo" in the subject line. </b></span></span><br />
<b><br /></b>Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-19701030581600341882012-10-03T17:27:00.000-04:002012-10-03T18:23:13.508-04:00The Unwritten Second Law Of Bikers...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There were two unwritten biker laws that needed no explanation in my native Jersey City of the mid-1970’s. The first was: “Never screw around with another guy’s motorcycle.” This specifically meant never taking somebody else’s machine for an unauthorized ride. The spirit of this law also included “never tampering with, sitting on, nor even breathing hard by someone else’s bike — unless it was to save if from pending theft or imminent destruction.” The second unwritten law was a bit more personal. It stated: “Stay away from another guy’s girl, even if she’s giving you that special look that says she’s open to suggestion.”<br />
<br />
I am amazed at how often this second immutable commandment was either stretched or rendered “subject to interpretation.” All of the guys I knew had one special woman (from time to time), who was regarded as the primary love interest (de jour), to be embraced, cherished, and elevated to a position of exclusivity — on the surface, at least. These same guys cheated relentlessly and never hesitated to pursue the velveteen invitation. The truth is that all men regard each other in a suspended state of nature that is barely removed from the status of rabid wolves. <br />
<br />
In the bar, it was considered bad form to hold it against some guy for getting into your girl’s pants, as she had to have the final say as to “yes” or “no.” If she said “yes,” it was merely an indication that your relationship was flawed and due for collapse anyway. Either that or you were a douche and the lady was bored... in which case, nature had taken its course. I had some firsthand experience dealing with radioactive burns on my soul when a buddy laid my serious love interest of some years. It was in the aftermath of this personal destruction that my friend and social mentor, Cretin (pronounced Creetin in Jersey City vernacular), said to me. “Do you think you would act any differently if you had a chance to nail a friend’s girlfriend?”<br />
<br />
I raised my eyebrows as high as my ethics and said, “I would never be guilty of that.” <br />
<br />
Cretin assured me that there was a gene in all men called the “pheromone orchid sniffer chromosome” that combined survival, curiosity, and sexual focus into a kind of reflex overdrive that did not recognize social parameters like friendship. “This is the chromosome that enables all men to say, ‘Fuck it. I can always get more friends. Hot, naked ass is something else,’” said Cretin.<br />
<br />
I can honestly assure the gentle Twisted Roads reader that when this very situation occurred; that when the love interest of a riding buddy cornered me in a remote location (after discovering this-lower-than-whale-shit guy had been cheating on her with a friend); that when this tortured woman quite openly stated her purpose was to discover if my bologna had a first name; I resisted her advances for the length of a hummingbird’s heartbeat. And I am proud to tell you this is ten times longer than the average guy would have held out. (I later discovered that this knockout of a babe called on five or six of this guy’s pals and made each the same offer. I was the first, however, if that means anything.)<br />
<br />
Think about this for a minute. This poor guy was sitting at the bar, bemoaning his fate that the romance has left his relationship, relying on his pals for commiseration, when his former girlfriend showed up to publicly describe the genitalia of his six closest friends. She began with, “You know Slick, you have the second biggest dick of these five guys at the bar.” (Later that night, one of the guys said to him, "Well, the news wasn't all bad.")<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red;">Finally... It's here! </span></b></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tVPzR7ahrfyqm4M9NWAZya5buRPPKjFh0BX5_PJ_BOnbnL0xkZo8Z0AUi0BtlaAPvT4eoOs4OV4FazhaTF3Y2GkfEXCssWnWKx-8NKX_ApEXDa7Aq38vC6hnw1ScDL174lB8gN3lNoKV/s1600/-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tVPzR7ahrfyqm4M9NWAZya5buRPPKjFh0BX5_PJ_BOnbnL0xkZo8Z0AUi0BtlaAPvT4eoOs4OV4FazhaTF3Y2GkfEXCssWnWKx-8NKX_ApEXDa7Aq38vC6hnw1ScDL174lB8gN3lNoKV/s640/-6.jpg" width="488" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The book the moto-world awaits ships this week. Some of you have it already! </b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Cretin was about to put me to a simple test. I’d been away from the bar for a week or two, and came riding in from my first international motorcycle run. (I crossed over into Canada at Niagara Falls, doing about 2,200 miles that week.) Cretin was listing against the mahogany bar top in the company of a woman I had never seen before. She was a cute blond with an enthusiastic look in her eyes, jeans tight against a round ass, and hooters that were vying to be recognized as a national monument. I had no idea what it was they were discussing, but her mouth was moving up and down almost faster than sound could register on the naked ear. Now I hadn’t been laid in about three months at this point and I found myself wondering how close my buddy might have been toward cutting this one loose.<br />
<br />
Remembering the second unwritten law, however, I merely nodded the barest acknowledgement in his direction and paid her no mind at all. Yet her conversation drew to a halt, and I noticed Cretin whispering in her ear. She seemed to be starring at me as if sunlight was shining out of my ass. It was then that Cretin gestured and introduced me to Julie. <br />
<br />
“You’re a writer?” Julie asked. She emphasized the word “writer” as if it meant “a man who wields a huge phallus.” <br />
<br />
I nodded and told her I did indeed have a penetrating obsession for writing.<br />
<br />
She had a tight respect for writers, apparently, and a warm appreciation for their efforts. I apparently inspired her. For every word I said, she responded with a thousand. Each of these words leapt upstream at me, like a spawning salmon. I’d only put $10 down on the bar, but was on my sixth rum and Coke. When I asked the bartender about it, he replied, “You’re drinking on Cretin.”<br />
<br />
It was then I noticed that Cretin had left. According to the bartender, he’d joined the French Foreign Legion.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Order Your Copy Today... Now taking gift orders for Christmas!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Nothing says, "You're special to me" like a personally inscribed, autographed book from an author former wives and lovers have publicly threatened to kill. For no extra charge, the author will write something nice about in-laws, divorce attorneys, and that new asshole your youngest daughter is running around with. The perfect gift... For yourself, or others. </span></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UHGg3yyCJ090sIheMAPQoRBkKPlzNCBJv1TycwqeWgQ7-AiSgCwecrivqYc5UiI6GB8-BtjED1WVzQ9wri9Lq2IISDckjk2XOXv4JLzwokFQvv6QRzi91KPK5PMrgDUakZxotUZ-uLeZ/s1600/-6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UHGg3yyCJ090sIheMAPQoRBkKPlzNCBJv1TycwqeWgQ7-AiSgCwecrivqYc5UiI6GB8-BtjED1WVzQ9wri9Lq2IISDckjk2XOXv4JLzwokFQvv6QRzi91KPK5PMrgDUakZxotUZ-uLeZ/s640/-6.jpg" width="488" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">$20 for 192 pages in a binding that is motorcycle glove leather soft. and the perfect saddlebag companion... $5 S&H. You can take this one to bed. It prefers to be handled with the light on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Truth and humor are never cheap. I publish in type large enough to see, but not big enough to read between the lines." -- Jack Riepe </span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">• For those looking for a book with a moral, this one does a good job of faking it. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">• For those looking for one hell of a funny story of misplaced adolescence and testosterone-fueled moto awakening, this one does the trick.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">• For men who wish they were 19 again, this is the next best thing. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">• For women who love guys who love bikes, this book may help. (Probably not.)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">• For those looking for a good 12-point motorcycle recovery program, give this one the pass. </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"> "A compelling read to match the lifestyles of those who like their bikes and lovers on the red line..." </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">Ordering details: Send your name and address to: </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">jack.riepe@ gmail.com. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">Place the designation "new book order" in the subject line. New orders received after Octiober 1, 2012 cannot be hand-numbered as part of the special collection. Sorry. </span></span></span><br />
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<br />
I stated that I’d ridden 400 miles earlier that day and wanted a shower. She counter stated that I really needed a hot shower and a massage... a hot massage... a massage that was hotter than the shower. She knew about massage. She’d met an old Asian massage master, Wong Fong, who taught her how to rub the magic out of things. She explained about nerve endings, blood flow, and the importance of massaging things so that the rubbing action turned the heart on. She had obviously been in here with Cretin, but he stepped out. It seemed like a shame to leave this lady to the common ravages of the bar. <br />
<br />
Julie climbed on the back of my 1975 Kawasaki H2, and mentioned it was the first time she’d ever been on a Japanese motorcycle, and how different it seemed from a British bike. Then she spoke about Japanese culture, her voice rising and falling with the revolutions of the engine and the background clatter of the traffic. She had just reached the height of the influence of the Jomon Period (13,000 - 300 B.C.), when we reached my house. The conversation had moved onto the economic and cultural significance of the silk worm, when she’d removed her brassiere, prior to following me into the shower.<br />
<br />
She soaped her body down in the shower, than soaped me down with hers. Throughout this experience, she explained the evolution of soap and the significance of its fragrance in establishing the “ka” of the bath. If she was a machine gun, her rate of fire would have been 950 words a minute.<br />
<br />
Twenty minutes later, she was straddling my ass, rubbing the endorphins out of my tortured back. The conversation had turned to the best way to rub spices into pork ribs for grilling. She’d been speaking non-stop for seven hours and could have been a filibuster on a flight to Los Angeles. Had we been on a mountaintop in the Alps, she might have used up a two-week allotment of oxygen in an hour. I started to doze off listening to her tell me what a great day she’d had... meeting a writer... having a madcap, stand-up naked fling in the shower... and rubbing inspiration into his limbs. Of course, it was a shame she had to break the heart of that other guy — the primitive weaver of ancient yarns — but he’d been bound by some obscure code between bikers and had to tell her about the writer. <br />
<br />
The “weaver of ancient yarns?” I couldn’t believe Cretin had told her he was a “hand loom artist,” who worked in primitive material. And what the hell was this obscure code?<br />
<br />
The naked Julie was going on about fate and destiny, and wasn’t it odd how things turned out? “What would the next day bring?” she asked. And then I fell asleep as she launched into the advantages of the Gregorian calendar over the Julian model.<br />
<br />
I dreamed I had been thrown from my motorcycle into a river populated by unattached mouthes, all of which were speaking at the same time. That dream became a striptease in which a flawless beauty slowly removed a gown of diaphanous silk, revealing a delicate orchid at the top of her legs, an orchid that slowly began to speak of the Jomon people of ancient Japan. <br />
<br />
“You’re awake,” said a voice in my ear. Then she told me about her dreams, which had entailed living in a cottage by a stream, with a writer who wrote her the most amazing little notes. <br />
<br />
“Were they suicide notes?” I wanted to ask. Then I slowly rose from the pillow, checking to see if I was bleeding from the ears. <br />
<br />
She started in with how perfect the day before had been, and how special today could be. She was imagining the surprise her friends would express when they discovered we were an item. “And you live close by.” she added. “I can be here in minutes, every day.” <br />
<br />
My blood ran cold. I didn’t fully understand how the Federal Witness Protection Program worked, but I knew I’d have to rat out someone to save my own life. <br />
<br />
It was then I realized I could do what that bastard Cretin did: invoke the secret clause of the second rule; that no biker should pursue the romantic object of a brother rider, who is head over heels in love, or infatuated, with a particular woman. According to the spirt of this clause, a brother rider should even do what he can to assist the love-struck pal. I had no recourse but to come clean with Julia, and tell her the truth.<br />
<br />
I looked her in the eye with the virtue of a future public relations executive and said, “There is another rider who’s been asking about you. One more worthy than me. An artist. A man who captures the essence of life in line and color. A man who sketches you in his mind from the edges of the crowd.” <br />
<br />
“Really,” she asked. “Someone more endearing than you? What’s his name?”<br />
<br />
I hesitated, looked away, and said, “Spider.” <br />
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Spider was one of those rare individuals who could capture a moment, or create one, by making a charcoal pencil dance over a sheet of craft paper. He could draw emotion from a glance, and infuse it to the surface of the paper. And I knew where he’d be an an hour. <br />
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Julia clung to my back as the Kawasaki buzzed down to the bar. Now all she could talk about was artists, and what it would like to be with an artist. She’d begun with the history of cave painting and was up to the Renaissance by the time I pulled up to the bar. All I could think of was that some unsuspecting dope, out riding his Triumph, headed to the bar to read the paper over lunch, would shortly be thrust into the breach, allowing a pal to scramble out of harm’s way. <br />
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Too bad.<br />
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Spider pulled up on his Triumph as if he was riding to a timetable. He came into the bar, saw I was with a woman he didn’t know, and shot me the kind of nod that passed as a greeting between the most casual of acquaintances. I rolled my eyes at him, ending the roll at Julia beside me. He smiled at no one in particular, and pulled a little sketch pad from his pocket. Without giving it a second thought, he started to sketch her with amazing detail. He’d give me the picture to give to her, thinking he’d be advancing my cause. The poor son of a bitch was signing his own death warrant.<br />
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I invited Spider to join us, introducing him as he presented the little portrait. An hour later, he sat enthralled listening to the secret life of Van Gogh’s severed ear, as I got up to take a piss. I stood at the saloon’s side door indicating to the bartender that Spider was on my tab. Then I watched love burst into bloom like plague in a Third World country, and went out to the Kawasaki. Spider would eventually ask the bartender where I’d gone, and Vinnie would tell him I’d been killed in a flaming Zeppelin disaster. <br />
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The Kawasaki carried me into neighboring Hoboken, where I found a familiar Norton parked in front of a waterfront gin mill. Cretin was at the bar, watching the door in the ornate mirror. He laughed as I came in, and said, “Are you alone?” <br />
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“You’ll have to speak up,” I said. “My eardrums are pounding.” <br />
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“Where is she?” <br />
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“I hooked her up with Spider.”<br />
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Cretin was really laughing hard now. “Your ethics turned to vapor as soon as I left you alone with that woman. You moved on the first whiff of quiff, which just proves my point.” <br />
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“You left a baited hook in my chowder.”<br />
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I didn’t see Spider for two more days, and then I found him trying to order a drink through sign language. He’d been deafened over the weekend. <br />
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“Where is Julie now?” I shouted.<br />
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Spider smiled. He’d left her alone for five minutes with a real artist, Todd Schmidt, a welder and a man who specialized in customized, straight pipes for Harley’s. He’d been deaf for years. Todd moved in on her as soon as Spider went to buy a pack of cigarettes, three towns away. At the time of this writing, Todd and Julie are still together as a graying couple. I last saw them at Cretin’s funeral. Todd said to me, “She’s a wonderful woman. She takes care of me. She has huge tits. And I can’t hear a word she says. I have no idea what she’s been saying for 44 years, but whatever the hell it is, she believes in it.” <br />
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Technically speaking, Cretin, Spider, and I all shared a romance over a four-day period, with the same woman. Technically speaking, we all showed our true lupine colors. And technically speaking, this made us pool table brothers-in-law. Yet in the final analysis, all’s well that ended well. <br />
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© Copyright Jack Riepe 2012<br />
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<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">And then readers sent in their K75 Shots:</span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutObbZrDWNHk2C1c20Vrh99O6MB5bc4A_loXVdE-uk-aejTIjn2moG2RCdOOVEt57swxgN2uB6do__jf1YRYwWBKVjS5WeN6au_A_wXig1kxgdj_ak2dcYPq_eMXYWQWjV6u2l2wOHXvp/s1600/-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutObbZrDWNHk2C1c20Vrh99O6MB5bc4A_loXVdE-uk-aejTIjn2moG2RCdOOVEt57swxgN2uB6do__jf1YRYwWBKVjS5WeN6au_A_wXig1kxgdj_ak2dcYPq_eMXYWQWjV6u2l2wOHXvp/s640/-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Above: Rich Barnhart (Texas) sent us a shot of his recently acquired 1987 BMW K75S. From it's distinctive belly pan to the Darth Vader black accent pieces and bags, this is a classic example of the motorcycle-builder's craft. Cherries are red and this unit certainly has that cherry look about it. According to Rich, his interest in K75's was piqued by the occasional mention of the model in Twisted Roads. In a recent TR survey of BMW riders who get laid more than 4 times a weekend, the K75 is the best model ever to "Whine Out Of The Rhine."</span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7GySK5mdlIYh9hOgf1QpGAFeq_fR3WtxyBezKCCMZW68HkQhAMvoC4fOOsng-o7hX_bYuzVDGoJhwNbPz_ynF_6WBpu1WTVYvMxLZ20KLMP5vleLqw38yECeJj17wI-Va_eOkpX_OSLf/s1600/-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7GySK5mdlIYh9hOgf1QpGAFeq_fR3WtxyBezKCCMZW68HkQhAMvoC4fOOsng-o7hX_bYuzVDGoJhwNbPz_ynF_6WBpu1WTVYvMxLZ20KLMP5vleLqw38yECeJj17wI-Va_eOkpX_OSLf/s640/-2.jpg" width="640" /></a> </span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPDqxW4siVf1CHrOkH9w0jt51Ch2UZgarnWrjwTBz4r0aZjKIGJ-hqVhhtE7lRtngs91QomeQiZdLjiU3bK5XT8TWspj6MU2N3Tc19b-61rEgjc9vn_wi0TZJgw_s3IkAiOd0xmRhAmOo/s1600/-8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPDqxW4siVf1CHrOkH9w0jt51Ch2UZgarnWrjwTBz4r0aZjKIGJ-hqVhhtE7lRtngs91QomeQiZdLjiU3bK5XT8TWspj6MU2N3Tc19b-61rEgjc9vn_wi0TZJgw_s3IkAiOd0xmRhAmOo/s640/-8.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Above: Dedicated Twisted Roads reader Dan Quick (Great Britain/France) sent us these two shots of his recently acquired 1987 K75, equipped with a single headlamp Sprint Fairing. This venerable version of the highly desirable and tenaciously pursued Sprint Fairings has close to 94,000 miles on it. According to Dan, the bike has been ridden hard and given a difficult life in the traces. It isn't quite clear if his restorative plans include the full Monty, or just a touch-up with the garden hose. While the machine cleans up well, it is generally acknowledged that the K75 is barely broken in at 94,000 miles. I can tell you this much, I loved the ability to adjust the back brake with a twist of a wing nut as opposed to the relatively inflexible tension of the disc brake on the newer models. </b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">Above: Twisted Roads devotee Dan O'Connor (Washington) sent us these shots of two K75's in his recent past. Dan's note read, "Dug out some old photos of my Dakar yellow '94 K75S and some with my
brother-in-law's red '92. Mountains in photos are in the North Cascades --
my backyard here in Washington. I've got a couple other good ones I
remember but can't find, so I'll send 'em when I do."</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">I found it difficult to type looking at this yellow '94 Dakar, as I got a boner that drained all the blood from my head. This K75 is so effing beautiful that I called Dan to ask if he still had it. (He doesn't.) And he knew he'd hear from me. He knows where the bike went and I'd have to give this rig some serious thought, when the doctor tells me I can ride normally next April. I had a couple of thoughts about this rig. First of all, I don't like the concept of square headlights on motorcycles. But I envisioned this one with a dual, round headlamp Sprint Fairing. Even if that wasn't possible, this motorcycle is gorgeous. </span></b><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>All pictures sent in to Twisted Roads are eligible to win cool stuff in a random drawing. Where are the Harley riders? Where are the Susuki, Yamaha and Kawasaki riders? Send me your pictures! You too could win cool stuff. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Send Photos to jack.riepe@gmail.com. Mark them "Readers Photos" in the subject line. </b></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;">• Check Tomorrow For A Special Announcement Regarding the shipping of my new book — Conversations With A Motorcycle</span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span> </b></span></span></div>
Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-43541868706739674602012-09-25T09:44:00.000-04:002012-09-25T18:00:23.820-04:00The Last Of Anything...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is not always clear when you are about to experience the last of something. I used to savor the acquired taste of Liederkranz cheese and Ballantine’s India Pale Ale in McSorley’s Old Ale House (Seventh Street and Yale Place, New York City). Liederkranz is a semi-soft cheese, that when properly ripened, runs creamy when left at room temperature. It develops a soft edible crust, not unlike brie. It also smells like the first whiff of a dead Pharaoh when the tomb is opened after 4500 years. Liederkranz is best consumed in a tavern where the fixtures haven’t been dusted in 150 years (McSorley’s). It should be eaten with slices of a Bermuda onion on crisp saltines, accompanied by mustard so hot that it was used to gas troops in WWI. The original Ballantine India Pale Ale (which I considered to be the best of its kind anywhere in the world) was aged 1 year in oak barrels. It tasted like heaven. When Ballantine’s (Newark, NJ) went belly-up, Falstaff brewed it. <br />
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McSorely’s offered both of these. <br />
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Then one day, the cheese was gone. The company that made it threw in the towel. Apparently, Ihor Sypko and I were the last two people on earth who ate it. Ten years later, Ballantine India Pale was gone too. A woman who once loved me got the last case of it on the east coast, and we drank it together. America’s desire to remain fat while drinking light beer (pre-processed urine) eliminated the need for brewing an ale that was more expensive than the current price of aviation fuel. Had I known that either of these two national treasures would shortly become extinct, I would have stretched out those final moments.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZMqAkBcrSoz7_6BCwzBasLu00YCXHkbgFOPyTY7DncP-JQ5CIDuMGsLiz_rK-sUkSon2yTFe1URGPZs55zGVlQPMST8llg1iIAeW1z9MWvYxNYp7bltnbBTT4aj0o1Bp3jZT9Y-XS9Gs/s1600/800px-McSorley's_Old_Ale_House_001_crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZMqAkBcrSoz7_6BCwzBasLu00YCXHkbgFOPyTY7DncP-JQ5CIDuMGsLiz_rK-sUkSon2yTFe1URGPZs55zGVlQPMST8llg1iIAeW1z9MWvYxNYp7bltnbBTT4aj0o1Bp3jZT9Y-XS9Gs/s640/800px-McSorley's_Old_Ale_House_001_crop.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Above: McSorley's Old Ale House - 7th Street and Yale Place</b>. <b>One of the oldest saloons in New York City. Certainly the most colorful. Will liederkranz cheese return? </b><br />
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The same can be said for two women I’ve loved. One twisted my DNA into a Gordian knot that left my balls looking like a pretzel. The other untwisted them, and undid all of the damage done by the first. (I drove both of them crazy and each of these once-in-a-lifetime romances ended in a crash and burn that registered .9 on the Richter scale.) Sinking into the numbing quicksand of their kisses, it never occurred to me that these were finite. Nor did I realize how I’d miss these far more than the cheese and ale.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1x1I-V-KesaVxP_m78MVq15yfKTLtypVX4I8yGOsnKH-h_2L8WqADBts4_hCzaWJmLAMVoUq2VVO7uawlvE_PhsYDhSKZqc_HHGKIE-rMOPnosI36kyKvLVo9R7Pa30cuZ0hSoD9sTrCH/s1600/-5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1x1I-V-KesaVxP_m78MVq15yfKTLtypVX4I8yGOsnKH-h_2L8WqADBts4_hCzaWJmLAMVoUq2VVO7uawlvE_PhsYDhSKZqc_HHGKIE-rMOPnosI36kyKvLVo9R7Pa30cuZ0hSoD9sTrCH/s640/-5.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Above: The Atlantic Ocean off Cape May, NJ in the moonlight. Photo by Roy Groething. </b><br />
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The ocean haunts and taunts me with a persistence that has lasted for years. I am fascinated by the vastness of the sea, its moods and its color changes. I love the scent of the wind blowing in from the Atlantic or when the breeze carries the pungent salt aroma of the marshes. There are a thousand ways to experience the ocean. You can surf it, fish it, swim in it, and tan next to it. I prefer to ride alongside it, just out of reach. I just never realized that my last run through Cape May, NJ would be a kind of finale for disease-ridden legs. Otherwise, I’d have gotten into a lot more trouble.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBujorbfRsPQdSM9uU54_B3xS8NCQSRorXn6fb3ZfQmMGZ_Dp9tRp0Jfx6eoAxhDLrG45bSO1s7xDgcfc3iOBo0A4631dBDndwNqptIxcn4eAp8hCe9D3WnzQ4dspQXvBt-uniFfz3vf-/s1600/IMAG0250.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBujorbfRsPQdSM9uU54_B3xS8NCQSRorXn6fb3ZfQmMGZ_Dp9tRp0Jfx6eoAxhDLrG45bSO1s7xDgcfc3iOBo0A4631dBDndwNqptIxcn4eAp8hCe9D3WnzQ4dspQXvBt-uniFfz3vf-/s640/IMAG0250.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Above: The low dunes of North Cape May (Lower Township) over a calm Delaware Bay on a gray day, when the clouds dissolve into the water. </b><br />
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<b> Above: On a clear day, Delaware Bay is a kinder, gentler, littler Atlantic... from the low dunes of North Cape May (Lower Township). </b><br />
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I was straddling a 1995 BMW K75 fifty feet from where the Atlantic washes into Delaware Bay, in North Cape May. The day faded to gray and it was impossible to see the state of Delaware only 15 miles distant. The dunes, carefully preserved by a community that has its priorities right, are incredibly romantic. Just like my first sexual experience, I was there alone. But there is something about me that some women cannot resist. An elderly lady with a walker approached, fired off a flirtatious smile, and said, “Isn’t that cute. A man of your age riding a motorcycle.” <br />
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I respond by forcing a twinkle into my left eye and by smiling back. I am 58-years-old. I imagined what it would be like to watch a giant squid drag this old bitch into the water, wrapped in 50-foot-long tentacles. But there is never a giant squid around when you need one.<br />
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Delaware Bay has the docile nature of a seascape designed by Disney, unless there is a storm brewing. The bay is shallow and gets whipped up right quick. Huge ships rest at anchor in the channel while waiting for a pilot to guide them to the port of Philadelphia. The effect is that of gentler, littler Atlantic just off the pavement. The view from here is amazing. To the left (facing north), is a strand of beach unspoiled and uncluttered, offering a view that changes as the clouds cavort or just hang there. There are days when the gray haze is the same color of the water, and the bay ascends into heaven like an Escher painting. There are other days when the bay is pissed-off about something, and you’re glad to be on shore. The best place to view all this is from the saddle of a motorcycle. The second best place is from a joint called “Harpoon Henry’s,” a seasonal gin mill and seafood restaurant open until October 20th, 2012.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztLMqU_B_byOtBgBccTjxklH7xcmcNfdNOldgPGOEr3eBnFbbOyi7zmVID7OYgKgkAiTshQRaaDBAB_V9zGRgOu1PV3TqMJS3t3iyuFC4fMwwtqXn4u7uGrbMDIW9rsYTMpW-XeCcDGlp/s1600/IMAG0235.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztLMqU_B_byOtBgBccTjxklH7xcmcNfdNOldgPGOEr3eBnFbbOyi7zmVID7OYgKgkAiTshQRaaDBAB_V9zGRgOu1PV3TqMJS3t3iyuFC4fMwwtqXn4u7uGrbMDIW9rsYTMpW-XeCcDGlp/s640/IMAG0235.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Above: The higher dunes and scrub trees just outside the "Rotary Park."</b><br />
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I have written about the town of Cape May before. It is a community of preserved Victorian homes (many now Bed & Breakfasts) and hotels that date back to the Civil War. There are some cool places to eat and a boardwalk that terminates at “the cove.” This is one of the prettiest views of a lighthouse on the entire east coast of the US (including Cape Hatteras). The best time to see it is just before the summer season starts, or as it is about to end... like now. The place is mobbed in the summer-time. Yet this is one seaside community that is beautiful in the winter too. Especially if it is a mild winter, with temperatures barely in the 30’s. <br />
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There is a coffee house in town —<a href="http://www.highergroundscapemay.com/" target="_blank"> Higher Grounds</a> — where you can get a cup of great organic (free trade) coffee and a number of organic breakfasts and lunches, made to order. Get there in the afternoon, and you’ll meet the owner, Katie. Katie is the kind of beauty that makes most men wish they had something clever to say. I always have something clever to say. (I think Katie hates clever.) Give her a day or two notice, and she’ll bake you an organic chocolate or apple pie ($$$). She bakes phenomenal cookies. The place is a hangout for local musicians, artists, and writers. It is also the most comfortable source of WiFi in town. Tell her the gimp who wrote the cigar book sent you. <br />
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The best seafood place in town is the famous <a href="http://thelobsterhouse.com/" target="_blank">Lobster House</a> ($$++), right on the wharf. Get there early on an off-season weekday and try the Cape May Salts. These are local oysters (raw, on the half-shell) that more than compare with anything from Prince Edward Island. Raw oysters are an acquired taste and any raw seafood should be consumed with a hint of caution. Oysters on the half-shell are rumored to have a great side-effect on men. I ate 12 of them on my last visit but only the first nine had the desired effect. (In my opinion, the raw oyster looks like something Georgia O’Keeffe would have painted. I have no problem popping this stuff in my mouth.) These are some of the best oysters that I have ever tasted. I recommend a dozen oysters and a Negroni (Campari, gin, and sweet vermouth) while sitting at the bar. My only complaint about the Lobster House is that when the place is busy, it’s like eating in Newark Airport. On an off-season day, you can get an inside table right on the water. <br />
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The lobsters here do not come from Maine. They come from Point Pleasant, NJ, which supplies 10% of the nation’s lobster. New Jersey-caught lobster, as well as local scallops, oysters, and clams are premium products. They are second to none. But I digress. Had I known that this would be my last motorcycle ride for the next 18 months (hopefully), I would have been more purposefully melancholy. The trouble with the last of anything, be it kisses from a naked woman or great motorcycle rides, is that you don’t know if it will be the “last for a while,” or “the last forever.”<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21X92kLLJ_ZbQhUud11iNRVzb5U11sgRKtGl75gwWxnI3UB2r8JEgTamMri6t2I1RmT9HfMZXAQqmh2KqOSWDLARDHSwThPuFdcllyhELe2sfnS7Ij3B_fpbCRKb_03tXU9MF1efo5AJ2/s1600/IMAG0234.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21X92kLLJ_ZbQhUud11iNRVzb5U11sgRKtGl75gwWxnI3UB2r8JEgTamMri6t2I1RmT9HfMZXAQqmh2KqOSWDLARDHSwThPuFdcllyhELe2sfnS7Ij3B_fpbCRKb_03tXU9MF1efo5AJ2/s640/IMAG0234.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Above: The "New Jersey," the smallest of the Cape May - Lewis ferries arriving at dusk. Photo by the author. </b><br />
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There is a place called the “Rotary Park” in “Lower Township,” just on the north lip of the canal. I pulled in here and dropped the side stand, without dismounting. It was my thought to light up a cigar, watch the Cape May-Lewis ferry come in, and reflect on a life that was taking a dark and dirty turn. The view was appealing though the wind was getting up. Gusts were rocking the bike and it wouldn’t take much to dump it. I had the cigar in my hand when a local citizen cheerfully pointed to the sign restricting the use of tobacco products. I smiled back, wishing I had the supernatural powers of “Squid Man,” able to summon a giant squid with a whistle. The giant squid would grab the old bastard with one tentacle, and pull down this stupid sign with the other. <br />
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The cigar was a maduro robusto that had come to a bad end in my pocket. The wrapper was peeling and I had been chewing on it. My thought was to toss it (unlit) into a trash barrel. My aim was good but I was off on the windage. The bruised stogie arched sideways in the breeze, bounced off the rim of the can, and hit the pavement. Gulls scrambled for it. One tough customer snatched it up in his beak, and strode around looking like the late, great actor Edward G. Robinson. I could almost hear this bird say, “Mmmyeah... Shaddup... See... I’m the Big Boy now.” <br />
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I was about to go when I heard the growl of another motorcycle. A rider was approaching on a baby cruiser, which turned out to be a black Suzuki Boulevard S40. I’d never seen one of these before and was amazed by it’s compact lines. It was cool-looking for a 250cc machine. The rider parked it like it was a time-bomb with a pressure sensitive fuse. The rider was in jeans, a short leather jacket, and a black helmet with a tinted face-shield. Once settled on its side-stand, the rider pulled off thin biker gloves to reveal nicely polished finger nails. This neatly explained my initial interest in the rider’s ass. <br />
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“Nice bike,” I said, taking care not to actually say, “Nice ass.” <br />
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“Thanks,” she said. “Is the BMW logo on your bike from the same company that makes cars? I didn’t know BMW made bikes.”<br />
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“This is a prototype from 1995,” I replied. “It’s the only one. They never made another motorcycle.” <br />
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Now I can’t explain why I took this tack. She was nice enough and in her mid-forties. She explained she was a new rider and this was her first bike. Fresh out of the safety course, she was still on her first tank of gas. It would have been the work of a second to offer to ride with her for a bit.<br />
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“Take care and good luck with the Suzuki,” I said, pulling out. Not knowing the back roads, I took US-9 to Route 47, which parallels the coast but not on the water. “That was stupid,” I thought. “What the hell did that gain me?” It would have been nothing to be chummy with that rider. I recalled the days when I was a kid, about 8-years-old, when my grandfather would buy me a huge ice cream sundae. It would always seem endless with the first few spoonfuls, but you could tell when the end was coming. I never thought about there being a day without ice cream. It never occurred to me that there could be a day without my grandfather. <br />
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Most of Route 47 north of Cape May is nondescript. Yet it has it moments, and its secrets. The firmament to the left is a kind of illusion. It is a band of land of varying width between the road and salt marshes that line the bay. I made a left turn (west) at a sign that read “Reeds” beach. About two miles later, this road crossed in a sea of reeds. The salt marshes are endless tracts of cattails, rank with the aroma of aging fish stuff, with occasional glimpses of open water. In the distance, I saw houses buried in the tree line. Some of these were original bungalows and little more than shacks. Others were classic shore houses, but on less of a scale than beachfront property. Living on the edge of these marshes seemed the height of seclusion. Of course, the bugs would be murder in the summer. <br />
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Reeds Beach is one of the coolest New Jersey towns I have ever visited. The community is as wide as the width of one narrow road, with the bay-side houses on piles and barely out of the water. The marsh-side houses are almost in the cattails. You cannot pass a car on the road (if you are in a cage). The houses fall into two categories: a handful that are probably valued at $1.2 million or more, and some that were old travel trailers (one welded to a former school bus). I cannot imagine the building code that grandfathered this style of living, but I love its originality. The bay-side houses were too close together for my tastes, but had an incredible view of the water. One or two of the more original dwellings out here were for listed sale — with a real estate company known for handling very expensive and exclusive properties.<br />
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There was an old black motorcycle (read “rat bike”), bearing distinctive, though battered, BMW side bags, parked in a driveway. I was amazed to see this rig was actually an old Honda, under a bizarre arrangement of non-Honda gear. I retraced my steps out to Route 47 and continued north. There are two or three places where the road edges open water or thousands of acres of salt marshes. Regrettably, you have about three seconds to take in the view and I do not recommend pulling over. In the town of Belleplain, NJ, there is a 100-foot high steel firetower on the right. I thought this was some kind of a museum and was surprised to learn it is a working firetower.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDECDUCWIDoQQ8PKyJ0jo4fxLWaNiT90-YID3qrFoI8oTj29klTha-FUGa3WE9gpmro5thSqWxCh_pqGiNc3hJlWxgKplr775FZh7tvlZWNE4DPw3XZyH_H-WsSajqv-E5aKDJlaW9_d8D/s1600/IMAG0275.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDECDUCWIDoQQ8PKyJ0jo4fxLWaNiT90-YID3qrFoI8oTj29klTha-FUGa3WE9gpmro5thSqWxCh_pqGiNc3hJlWxgKplr775FZh7tvlZWNE4DPw3XZyH_H-WsSajqv-E5aKDJlaW9_d8D/s640/IMAG0275.jpg" width="640" /></b></a><br />
<b>Above: The salt marshes of New Jersey are alive with wildlife and are hauntingly beautiful.</b><br />
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Route 47 takes a 90º left at NJ Route 347, and I banked left to pick-up a charming country road to Heislerville. This was a nice run at about 30 miles per hour. Heislerville is straight out of 1910, and not in the tourist sense. It is another absolutely original New Jersey community. Going straight, the road passes through some great stands of trees and dense forest, and then you are in the marshes again. This time there is only the asphalt and cattails. The beauty of this place makes even the muted sound of a prototype BMW seem like an intrusion. Then you find the lighthouse.<br />
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<b>Above: The extent of the salt marshes is astounding. They are vast in places, and invite exploration by canoe.</b><br />
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<b>Above: East Point Light House has an incredible charm...</b> <b>Photo by the author.</b><br />
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The lighthouse looks like a schoolhouse that got ambitious. The second oldest lighthouse in New Jersey, East Point Light was built in 1849 on the east bank of the Maurice River. The charm of this structure is overwhelming. It is located on one of the most dramatic views of Delaware Bay. You can look down the length of the bay right into the Atlantic. The wind was blowing at 40 miles per hour... yet aside from its whine, it was uncannily silent. The road continues to a community of ten, or so, houses right on the water. One is in bad shape. The others are intriguing. Towering high on piles, the houses have an unusual degree of architectural incongruity. I loved all of them. <br />
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But on the other side of the lighthouse was a private lane of bungalows that were built to accommodate hobbits. Some were tidy and miniature versions of traditional shore houses. Others seemed to be seasonal party houses. The lane wasn’t eight feet wide and barricaded. This is the New Jersey I know and love. This is where the artists, the musicians, and the people who eat Sabrett hotdogs for breakfast live. <br />
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I retraced my steps to Heislerville, and noticed signs for a nature preserve. Following one, it led me to a road that wound through the marshes to an elevated viewing platform — in a community of nesting ospreys. Ospreys are beautiful, sleek, short-tempered sea eagles. Their nests are made in platforms provided by the State of New Jersey. The birds weave sticks and branches into nests about six feet in diameter. Some of these were right close to the road, as were signs that said “Do Not Stop.” Ospreys are easily pissed, it seems. I stopped at a safe distance to view them from my binoculars (a gift from one of the two women whose kisses ran out), and saw the movement of a fuzzy little head in the nest. That fuzzy little head was probably ripping the guts out of a 10-pound sea bass.<br />
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<b>Above: The osprey, a sea eagle, surveys its territory from a nest high in dead tree on the salt marsh. Photo by the author. </b><br />
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<b>Above: A nesting osprey in a New Jersey supplied nesting frame. This is the nest in which I saw the baby. </b><br />
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I never got off the bike at any of these places. The pain in my legs was considerable and they seemed to sweating a bit. I turned the K75 around to head back, and my left leg buckled. That was new. I had taken my share of Celebrex and Tramadol for the day, so it was just a case of gritting my teeth. Except, I really was gritting my teeth. There is always an inspiring phase one can mutter to keep up appearances and I mouthed mine. “Fuck this shit,” I said in the purest New Jersey vernacular. I snicked the bike into gear and headed back to Cape May. <br />
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I had a sudden yen for forbidden ice cream, and I needed a few other things, so I hit the local supermarket. Parking the bike in the lot, I noticed my pants legs were soaked clean through, like I’d ridden through a puddle. “What the fuck,” I thought. I got what I wanted in the store, and grabbed a box of rock-hard Dove bars. My riding buddies would killed me if they thought I was eating ice cream. But it was less damaging that a bottle of whiskey, or so I reasoned. There was a 12-year-old car parked next to my bike in a sea of open spaces. “Stupid asshole,” I thought. I hate when anyone crowds my bike in a parking lot. I put my stuff in the side bags, and got ready for the last 5-minute ride back to the house. <br />
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That was when the driver of the car showed up — with her little boy in tow. He broke free from her grip and came skipping up to me.”I’m gonna get a red motorcycle too,” he said. <br />
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My first impulse was to say, “Don’t fucking skip if you get a BMW. It’s hard enough getting laid on this thing.” <br />
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But that’s not what came out of my mouth. “Would you like to sit on this one?” I said. And for the benefit of my shallow readers, I said this before noting that his mom was very pretty. The kid was impressed when I showed him the cool stuff on the K75. (You “R” bike guys can piss and moan in the comments section. The K75 is cool.) I got on behind him and switched on the key. Everything lit up and the kid was delighted. Then I let him press the starter. “Fireballs,” the legendary K75, started with the whine of Valhalla in two seconds, and sent the needle skipping across the tach. I let the kid jazz the throttle and blow the horn. His name was Billy. He needed a haircut. So did I. <br />
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Billy’s mom thanked me and said they had to be getting home for dinner. Billy had a thing for macaroni and cheese. I could see several boxes of it in the bag his mom carried. “And tomorrow, we’re gonna get ice cream,” said Billy.<br />
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There were rust spots on the otherwise clean car. Billy’s mom wore no jewelry, and that included any rings. She was about 34, and just like I like ‘em: brunette, slight, and with the kind of eyes that can cut glass at 300 yards. She gave the kid a resigned smile and took him by the hand again. <br />
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The image of Dick Bregstein (my legendary riding partner) materialized. Actually, it was just his head, like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Dick smiled and said, “You need a box of Dove ice cream bars like an elephant needs three asses. You already have the three asses. But that bike is going to need three seats at your current rate of butt spread.” <br />
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I pulled the ice cream out of the side bag and handed it to Billy’s mom. She refused it at first, but I told her she’d be doing me a favor. <br />
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“Do you live around here,” she asked. “My mom likes motorcycle’s too.” <br />
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Bregstein’s head started to laugh uncontrollably. “Her mom likes motorcycles too,” he said. “Her mom. You are such a presumptuous asshole.” <br />
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“Nope,” I replied to her. “Just passing through.”<br />
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I pulled up to the house 5 minutes later and poured myself four fingers of Irish whiskey. I swallowed a mouthful then dumped the glass in the sink. The last taste of ice cream... the last mouthful of whiskey... the last time I rode through the marshes or anyplace... the last time I kissed a woman who numbed me to reality... the last time I pushed a bike to 100 mph... the last time I walked without a cane... the last time my legs worked. I could only remember some of these last times... mostly the ones I didn’t want to remember.<br />
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I suddenly couldn’t recall when I had last spoken with a close friend, so I called Bregstein.<br />
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“Hello,” oiled Dick, the consummate riding buddy. “How are you, Jack?” <br />
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“Kiss my ass,” I said. "You can ride her mother." Then I hung up. <br />
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I’ll be dipped in shit if I have a last time for anything. I read that <a href="http://www.hefticreek.com/Limburger_and_Liederkranz_s/1818.htm?gclid=CJOe1Krk0LICFcdxOgodlHsAZg" target="_blank">Liederkranz</a> cheese is now available again after a 25-year absence. Someone will commercially brew India pale ale in oak casks again. And somewhere out there is a “K” bike that is going to carry me to the west coast, at fantastic speeds, to unbelievable adventures and to the arms of a future former love interest, who is going leave me gasping on a beach where the suns sets in the water. I may never again have the legs of a pole vaulter, but I am going to have the legs of a pole dancer. You can count on it, and you’ll read about it here. <br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012<br />
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<b>Above: This is Rick Giroux (California) and his 2008 BMW GS1200R. The sexiest GS12005 that I have ever seen, this bike boasts Jesse Bags, Akropovic Titanum & Carbon Fiber Exhaust system, Bear Trap pegs, Garmin Nuvi GPS w/WCC mount, Corbin Custom made heated seat, Gerbings hook-ups, Custom Lasered extra battery mount in top bag,
Buchannons Black Wheels (2 sets, one w/spikes), Custom 3" risers, and a Full Custom Hot Dog paint job. You would think that Rick would wash it occasionally. Said Rick, "I ride it like a GS. It's not a museum piece." </b><br />
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<b>Above: This is Bill Singleton (Kosovo, currently) and his 2009 Buell Ulysses. Bill loved the Ulysses, but traded it for a 2010 K1300GT when Buell ceased operations. (Bill waited 6 weeks for a part.) Bill claims he reads Twisted Roads for its philosophical purity and serious approach to riding. </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Do you read Twisted Roads? Send us a picture of your bike and tell us why you read Twisted Roads! Do you ride a Harley or a Moto Guzzi? We have two special issues of Twisted Roads coming up and we'd love to hear from you. Twisted Roads readers who send in their pictures are eligible for random drawings for cool prizes. This month, we are giving away a Cycle Pump! Send your photos to jack.riepe@gmail.com(.) Mark the subject line "Readers Photos." </b></span></span><br />
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Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-90265486612414997622012-09-17T10:46:00.000-04:002012-09-17T10:48:49.409-04:00Kim's Hot Little Surprise...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The party was on the periphery of a fashionable southern city, where women spoke in soft accents that made one think of bourbon and mint, and the scent of roses hanging in the evening air. I arrived on a German motorcycle, preoccupied by the smoke trailing from the starboard engine of a relationship that was locked in an irreversible death spiral. Friends thought the atmosphere of a party, with the potential of meeting one or two women (who had yet to get the memo on me), might be the very thing to bring me around. <br />
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“Around what?” I asked.<br />
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“Around the fact that haven’t been laid in so long that a hooker would need cables to get you jump-started,” was their response. <br />
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I declined and opted to go on a motorcycle ride instead. However, I took a set of cables off the garage wall and tucked them in a side bag. There is no point in venturing out the door without considering every possibility. The gentle reader will not be surprised to find out that my route was s series of scenic loops with the party in the geographic center. While not a biker party, many guests did show up on two wheels. The chrome and leather crop was coming in thick, and the Squidabusa representation was fairly strong as well. This only made my K75 stand out all the more. In fact, it stood out like a llama in a herd of racehorses. <br />
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But this is part of the BMW mystique.<br />
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Every woman at this party was a blond. All had blue eyes. And each one was clairvoyant in that they seemed to sense they would never sleep with me in their lifetime. Not that this was the first question I asked them... but my facial expression lent itself to the “DSBUS” category — Deadly Sperm Build-Up Syndrome — common to death row prisoners and reporters afraid to leave political candidates in the event they may say something noteworthy. I was there for two hours, and I must confess my heart was not in working the room. If there is one thing a BMW rider must be prepared to face, it is rejection by the socially perfect. I was not in the mood for rejection.Yet it is the face of overwhelming adversity that Beemer riders come into their own. <br />
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In a distant corner of this party, three school teachers were engaged in conversation that nearly qualified as an oil thread on a riding club list. They were discussing the challenges of teaching the basics of written communication to the vapid youth of today. Specifically, they targeted rogue third-graders who had already learned to text each other for cigarettes and pictures of naked classmates, in a kind of code that used English only for three vowels and six consonants. <br />
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“Forgive me,” I said. “But I could’t help overhearing your conversation. I have developed a process that combines the outline and the first draft of a basic composition, in a concept called the ‘Magic 16.’ If a kid can chew gum, breathe, or eat paste out of a jar, than they can write a basic composition in less than a half-hour. “<br />
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I cut my teeth as a public relations writer crafting press releases for corporate leaders easily mistaken for cardboard cutouts or dead bodies seeking reanimation. Some of them had the attention span and vision of third graders. I was more than qualified to address this subject. One of these ladies had a mood ring that was set to detect DSBUS, and she slipped away when it turned red and started to beep. Another caught a pass from a guy with a tattoo of a dragon eating a kid. But the remaining one, the prettiest one, was interested in what I had to say. <br />
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I explained that it is necessary to focus a third-grader’s attention, and that nothing works like starting up a chainsaw and carving through the class’s hamster habitat. She asked me to recommend a chainsaw and a source of stuffed hamsters. She noted that my jeans had a lot of seams in them, and I explained they were Kevlar® lined protection for riding a motorcycle. She was fascinated that I rode a BMW for its incredibly reliability, for the occasions when riding all night was required to donate an organ. <br />
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“Have you donated an organ?” she asked.<br />
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“Not lately,” I replied. “But I am working on it.”<br />
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Her name was Kim.<br />
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We left the party together but not with the intent of hooking up. Getting into her car, she discovered it was nearly out of gas. The gauge was solidly nailed on “E.” Now my K75 had a full 5 gallons in the tank, and I had a gas siphon in my top case.<br />
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“How far do you have to go?” I asked. <br />
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Her response was an astounding 18 miles. <br />
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“Can you get gas someplace,” I asked.<br />
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She shrugged and said, “Not tonight.”<br />
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My first thought was to give her a gallon or two on the spot, but she said, “This happens to me all the time. I’ll be all right.”<br />
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“I have a thing about women and empty gas tanks,” I said. “I’l never be able to sleep tonight wondering if you’re stuck on the road someplace. Why not take the gas? You don’t even have to get out of the car.” <br />
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“I’m too tired and I don’t want to screw with it,” said Kim. “If you’re really worried then follow me home if you want. It isn’t far.’<br />
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I did want. Kim ran along some of the darkest, most desolate roads I’d ever traveled at night. I took a mileage reading as we left the party, and her car began to sputter at 16 miles on the clock. It rolled another 100 yards and stopped. I pulled up alongside her door, to tell her I’d give her the gas, when she said, “I live right up the road and I am exhausted. I’ll just leave my car here, Can you run me up to the house?” <br />
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She climbed on behind me and pointed down the road. Her house was less than a mile and half away. “Thanks,” she said, giving me a little squeeze. “Come in.” <br />
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Her house was a country cottage, nicely appointed in a homey sort of way. It wasn’t cluttered, despite its compact size, but it definitely had that lived-in look. Kim offered me coffee, or something else. It was after 1am, so I just said, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” She poured two glasses of wine, and went upstairs “to change.” The bottle was nearly full, and she set it out next to the glasses. I was suddenly hopeful at the direction this adventure had taken.<br />
<br />
She was 42 and well-toned. There was a porch to this cottage and it housed a stationary bike, a road bicycle, and six pairs of running shoes by the door. Each was about a ladies’ size eight. Five different baseball-style caps hung on the wall. Kim wasn’t tanned, but had a subtle skin tone that went with every mood. Most of my moods anyway... certainly the current one. She’d told me earlier that she was divorced and found a lot of the guys she’d met to be on a par with the third graders she taught. From that moment on, I’d aspired to keep things on a fifth grade level. (I’d told her that I’d been married twice before, to cousins of Lucretia Borgia, but neglected to detail my current status, which would lowered by batting average to substandard levels. <br />
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The only sour note was the wine. I never developed a taste for it and I sipped mine only as a prelude to watching Kim sip hers. She came down the stairs wearing shorts and tee shirt. She had athletic legs that would keep me from screaming, if they were wrapped around my head. And in her arms was the biggest, fucking Persian cat I have ever seen. <br />
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My transformation was almost instantaneous. My face inflated like a life raft and my breath came in short gasps. I have a cat allergy that works like pulling a plastic bag over my head. It would have been far more merciful if Kim had just shot me. Within seconds, my eyes felt like they had sand in them and I started to sneeze. <br />
<br />
“Oh my,” said Kim. “What’s happening to you?” She had a look on her face like a woman who’s date turned into a creature as the moon rose. <br />
<br />
“The cat,” I wheezed.<br />
<br />
A look of understanding flickered in her eyes and she ran back upstairs, presumably to sequester the cat in a bedroom that would be all but radioactive to me. She found me on the porch a minute or so later, rubbing my eyes raw. <br />
<br />
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you’d like Charlie. How long does this last? <br />
<br />
“A couple of hours, if I get into a cat-free environment pronto,” I said. <br />
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“I put him in the guest room,” said Kim. But the irony of the situation had her smiling already. Boy meets girl. Boy makes nice unintentional impression on girl. Girl begins to respond, then unleashes highly toxic environment to watch boy turn purple and die. It happens all the time. <br />
<br />
Motorcycle riders can have gunshot wounds, knife scars, and prison tattoos. They can have whorehouse clap too. What they cannot have is a cat allergy. It’s like having Aunt Pitty Pat’s vapors. <br />
<br />
“I gotta go,” I wheezed. <br />
<br />
“I guess so,” she said, suppressing a laugh. <br />
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The instrument cluster glowed with vitality when I turned the key. And in the split second before I thumbed the starter, I heard the motorcycle gods laugh. <br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Who Reads Twisted Roads?</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7ocjrcGAuW2x_mF-Qc859X8p4fjf55Vw_W8cu62sty03tF2P5TEME439aramXun6_TA3zkXXdzbNn7sbmEQuOxwCmOjXK2GccHh9vkBRS1sWtIZcPp_IBxPCq81JiG58uNemcl2aY1p0/s1600/-16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7ocjrcGAuW2x_mF-Qc859X8p4fjf55Vw_W8cu62sty03tF2P5TEME439aramXun6_TA3zkXXdzbNn7sbmEQuOxwCmOjXK2GccHh9vkBRS1sWtIZcPp_IBxPCq81JiG58uNemcl2aY1p0/s640/-16.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Above: Daniel O’Connor (Washington) doesn’t doubt his BMW F800’s reliability, but he always packs a spare. The bicycle rack is the product of <a href="http://2x2cycles.com/">2x2cycles.com</a>, a company that also manufactures golf bag carriers for Harley riders. O’Connor is an avid cyclist (of the pedal type), who was broadsided by a pickup truck in 2004. While recovering in the hospital, he envisioned a campaign of bumper stickers urging stronger motorcyclist/bicyclist awareness. He makes the bumper stickers available to riders at cost. Note the stickers on the side bag. Zap his website <a href="http://seebicycles.com/">SeeBicycles.com</a>, to get some.</b><br />
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<b>Above: David Hardgrove (Pennsylvania) of the Mac-Pac Eating and Wrenching Society is pleased to announce his most recent acquisition of Triumph Bonneville. In exquisite blue paint with sinister black engine accents, this Bonneville is a knockout. David Hardgrove was mentioned in my last blog post. In addition to being a by-the-book motorcycle rider, he speaks Dutch fluently. David reads Twisted Roads for the technical riding tips and excellent boudoir advice. </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSHuBZZY8fZsfPvKMavswV75kMUwI2oSnwbv1PmAgPNpYX63UZlVxepT-i3V2bOv0MeJCD3Obmk122964eEE9KLASaUdz7DOrBtJBacUJFB8B9FHagoEP-Y-28IVHOS89pgytem0WNjwi/s1600/-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSHuBZZY8fZsfPvKMavswV75kMUwI2oSnwbv1PmAgPNpYX63UZlVxepT-i3V2bOv0MeJCD3Obmk122964eEE9KLASaUdz7DOrBtJBacUJFB8B9FHagoEP-Y-28IVHOS89pgytem0WNjwi/s640/-4.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
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<b>Above: D.H. Louie Wendland (the South) has been reading Twisted Roads for years. This is his current ride, a 2006 Yamaha FJR 1300. Louie’s put 1,500 miles on it since September. </b><br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQalmhPVsRETBherjikPlbSpv2XxFbrAuWWjR-zdIBDReMmtoRmnDnMm-TGf429qMioV40JhxrRQaDN-tnDj1LMoAn7YUWLdS8XTUVKA-WDPX5fnhgYgh29aJcKdthvjri4J2F_nb4AC1/s1600/-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQalmhPVsRETBherjikPlbSpv2XxFbrAuWWjR-zdIBDReMmtoRmnDnMm-TGf429qMioV40JhxrRQaDN-tnDj1LMoAn7YUWLdS8XTUVKA-WDPX5fnhgYgh29aJcKdthvjri4J2F_nb4AC1/s640/-4.jpg" width="640" /></a> </b><br />
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<b>Alan Trask (Oregon), also known as RedBeemer, sent us several shots. The first is of his R1150RT. This is the modern version of the whale-oil cooled BMW “R” bike. (There may be one in my future.) </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieOlcItrVDPKVkaw7r_97Z7dSrBw9SzkTHP8A29lbHVRgui1pNcCtvaZMUVoRjvqqsGePzzPeC2UW77lOUp_VSXna3e4Xw8TPzcUQJcFu5OQj_ZBLYS6JAif7NR8MgmzcKFKeOx0hMHdRa/s1600/-16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieOlcItrVDPKVkaw7r_97Z7dSrBw9SzkTHP8A29lbHVRgui1pNcCtvaZMUVoRjvqqsGePzzPeC2UW77lOUp_VSXna3e4Xw8TPzcUQJcFu5OQj_ZBLYS6JAif7NR8MgmzcKFKeOx0hMHdRa/s640/-16.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>The second shot is of Trask’s 1973 R75/5 “Toaster,” in lime-green. He swears that’s the original paint. This machine is the iconic and timeless BMW bike. </b><br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhON7YDnuf2iOg0Ch9_Wne_ur1g-3qS8piErfnscpjArjQUex_nCXYUBM9U3K0WanIyg9wnpeQnt3SLb6rYJd5LBmVdZ5iDPYJ6czripQL3xgxeTW68w15-S4JLQBPY8pvBSTub6JJ926/s1600/-15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhON7YDnuf2iOg0Ch9_Wne_ur1g-3qS8piErfnscpjArjQUex_nCXYUBM9U3K0WanIyg9wnpeQnt3SLb6rYJd5LBmVdZ5iDPYJ6czripQL3xgxeTW68w15-S4JLQBPY8pvBSTub6JJ926/s640/-15.jpg" width="640" /></a> </b><br />
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<b>Above: Alan Trask, AKA RedBeemer. </b><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Are You A Twisted Roads Reader? </b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Send Us A Picture Of You And Your Bike!</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Readers who send in their pictures are eligible for valuable prizes in random monthly drawings. October’s prize is a pip! September’s winner was Harley rider Ben Sharp!</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Send your photos to: jack.riepe@gmail.com (Please put “Reader Photos” in the subject line.)</b></span></span>Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-5583982644873106162012-09-13T15:22:00.002-04:002012-09-13T20:04:14.193-04:00Signals From Dick Breed Confusion...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The fog hung down to the road like a curtain, masking oncoming traffic, the hidden nature of curves, and the sinister Amish countryside. It added significant challenge to the second longest day of my career as a re-entry rider —360 miles. (This was in 2006.) The run was from West Chester, Pennsylvania to Summit Point, West Virginia, where a legendary BMW mechanic (and a member of my riding club, the Mac-Pac) was racing. (I would mention his name but he has threatened to beat the shit out of me if he is ever identified on Twisted Roads.) <br />
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My bike was a 1986 BMW K75 (with the rare Sprint fairing), known to my readers as “Blueballs.” I had posted my intention to make this ride and was joined by two highly experienced riders, David Hardgrove and Jim Sterling. Hardgrove mounted a BMW F650 (thumper), while Sterling sported the iconic BMW “R” bike. (Technically speaking, this was an all BMW run, with all three food groups represented, an “F,” a “K,” snd an "R." This kind of ride is called a F*#K*R.) As the rider with the least experience, none recently in the fog, I was placed in the center of the line. Hardgrove led with his flashers on while Sterling brought up the rear, giving me a demonstration of how a headlight modulator worked. My own four-ways carved a reassuring niche in the mist. <br />
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Fog is one of those things that requires a degree of discretion. It can be as dense as Congress in one second as as wispy as lace in another. I closed on the bike ahead of me, and maintained a slower speed when visibility dropped. Even so, there were times when all I saw were orange blurs in the mist. Our route was the old Lincoln Highway (US-30) through Lancaster, PA, which is only one lane in each direction for some stretches. This was only my second experience with riding with multiple bikes, since I’d joined the club. I’d read all the data, however, and maintained my position in the staggered riding formation. <br />
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I don’t agree with the general consensus on the staggered riding formation when it comes to a personal preference. It may have been the correct thing to do for the immediate weather conditions, but the late, great moto-safety guru — Larry Grodsky — made a good case for the single-line formation. Horrific motorcycle crashes in recent years, in which groups of bikes went down like kingpins, support his conclusions. But I was very confident that day, mimicking technique from two accomplished riders. And as predicted, the fog broke giving us dry, clear conditions, with near unlimited visibility.<br />
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Hardgrove was a “by-the-book” technical rider, who adhered to posted speed limits. As the pupil on this run, I wanted to impress him by following his every direction. So I broke left when he extended his hand left arm and pointed in that direction. Jim Sterling took up his position on the staggered right. Two minutes later, Hardgrove bent his left arm to the right, and I changed position again. Jim Sterling swung back to the left. I could see him shrug in the mirror. Soon thereafter, Hardgrove raised his left arm and waved me forward. I cracked the throttle and cut the distance between our bikes by half. Jim Sterling was right there with me. And then Hardgrove reached back and scratched his ass. <br />
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What the hell did that mean?<br />
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I decided to just fall back and wait for better instructions. At a gas stop, Hardgrove explained he was just stretching his left arm, although scratching one’s ass means “you get the check for lunch” in BMW riding circles. <br />
<br />
Hand signals between riders are generally self-explanatory. Tapping the top of your helmet signifies the proximity of police or a speed trap. Pointing at the gas tank indicates the need to stop for fuel. Spinning one’s hand in the air usually means “start them up” or “We have to turn around.” Extending the middle finger on one’s hand is the international symbol for “Welcome to New Jersey.” <br />
<br />
Yet some signals can be easily misinterpreted by those other than the riders, which may lead to widespread misunderstanding and general misconceptions about BMW bikers. I was participating in a spirited run to a remote part of West Virginia (one of my favorite destinations) with Dick Bregstein and Clyde Jacobs. By “spirited,” I mean insanely fast. We maintained a conga line in which we routinely traded positions, with one or the other taking the lead from time to time. <br />
<br />
The legendary “Blueballs” had long since succumbed to a wreck (left-turning car) and I was on “Fire Balls,” a babe magnet of a red K75. <br />
<br />
We were charging down a slab that had us in close proximity with herds of cagers (traffic), bunched up as they tend to get. It was in one of these stretches that we were briefly joined by a hot cookie on a Squidabusa. She was in black leather that rivaled Michelle Pfieffer’s costume as Catwoman for raw sensuality on a Japanese street screamer that probably had 7,000 horsepower. Her rear tire was twice as fat as my ass. <br />
<br />
So here we were, attempting to squeeze through traffic, like toothpaste escaping the tube, with a hot tamale in our midst, when Bregstein indicated to Clyde that he had to take a piss. The signal for this was to aggressively point to his groin, moving the pointing hand up and down to suggest urgency. Clyde responded by pointing at the sign to a rest area, and nodding in exaggerated biker fashion. <br />
<br />
This communication was noted by the occupants of five cars, who looked on with open-mouthed shock. They saw some guy point to his dick and another rider take the bait. A Volvo on my left was piloted by two blue-haired ladies, undoubtedly on their way to the LeBrea tar pits for a final dip. After the performance by Clyde and Dick, they looked at me with critical appraisal. <br />
<br />
I didn’t hesitate. I pointed at the ass of the beauty on the bike in front of me, and nodded my head vigorously. I then twisted the throttle wide open and went straight, when Dick and Clyde pulled off. Two miles down the road, the beauty saw me on her tail. She must have been confused about her location, as she welcomed me to New Jersey and took off. <br />
<br />
©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012<br />
All Rights Reserved<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Thank You For Your Patience...</b></span><br />
<b>My new book is crawling through production and will ship shortly. This has been one hell of a summer. </b><br />
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The prenumbered, advanced order list will cut off September 17, 2012. This weekend is your last chance to pre-order a hand-numbered, autographed, inscribed book. For details, <a href="http://jackriepe.blogspot.com/2012/07/your-chance-to-own-literary-history.html" target="_blank">click here. </a><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Who Reads Twisted Roads?</b></span><br />
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<b>Above: I got a nice note from Bud Meade trumpeting the benefits of the BMW “R” bike. He wrote, “You will notice that I ride a ‘real’ Beemer, one that has two cylinders and they stick out on the sides. Somehow, some other kinds of Beemers have hit the streets that certainly are an abomination and disgrace for the Knights of the Roundel. Is nothing sacred?”</b><br />
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<b>Above: Bud Meade. Well, Bud... The new “R” bikes are out and they have a liquid-cooled engine now, and the liquid is no longer whale oil. That’s all I have to say. </b><br />
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<b><br /></b><b>Above: Dan McKenzie. Dan (Minnesota) sent me a great picture of his rig on a run through the great American west. He wrote: “Here is a shot of me, Dan Mckenzie, a faithful Twisted Roads reader. I ride a BMW F800ST. This is from last months trip to Bear Tooth Pass, in Montana.</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hot Flash From A Twisted Roads Reader:</b></span><br />
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<b>Above: Last week we posted a picture of Bob Leong (Canada) and his Vstrom 650. The word on the street is that Bob is planning a run from the west coast to Maine and he just bought a “Beemer” to pull it off. He wrote: “I am now the proud owner of a real BMW, not one of those fake ‘K’ models. It has ABS, traction control, computer, factory alarm, engine guards, bar risers, side cases, cheese-maker, heated towel rack, sock presser, and zeppelin mooring cleat. It also came with a two-year supply of whale oil. The whole package was $5 (USD) more than the best house in my neighborhood. Did I get screwed?" </b><br />
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<b>Above: See what happens when you drink the Kool-Aid, Bob? Bought any accessories yet? Here’s a technical hint: bring your checkbook and be prepared to write a few chapters. There should be a full account on Bob’s blog Wet Coast Scooting. </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="color: red;">Are You A Twisted Roads Reader? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="color: red;">Send Us A Picture Of You And Your Bike!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: red;"><br />Readers who send in their pictures are eligible for valuable prizes in random monthly drawings. October’s prize is a pip! September’s winner was Harley rider Ben Sharp!<br />Send your photos to: jack.riepe@gmail.com (Please put “Reader Photos” in the subject line.)</b></span>Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-18690022081272636652012-09-10T02:47:00.000-04:002012-09-10T10:57:04.765-04:00Three Things Every Biker Should Know Before Spending The Night In A Cathouse<br />
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All back roads look alike to me after a day in the saddle. The charm of the small farm, the lure of the bucolic stream, and the spell of the remote valley all begin to blur as the pain in my joints and the numbness of my butt make themselves known. (I have had the pain in my knees extend all the way to my teeth.) The whine of the BMW K75 starts to remind me of dialogues I’ve had with former wives, and calling it a day becomes pressing.<br />
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My perfect end-of-the-day destination is a 1950’s-style motel, where you can park the bike 7 feet from the door of your room; where the most important amenity is an air conditioner (the size of a harpsichord); where the television gets at least one good weather station; where a comforting country tavern is on the far side of the parking lot. <br />
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At the end of the day, I want a nice clean bed, in a decent room, where the temperature is zero degrees (Kelvin). I want a hot shower, a clean towel, and a sweat-free body for at least ten hours after the ride. I never worry about crawly things living in the motel closet. After I hang my riding gear in there ( and close the door), nothing could remain alive. <br />
<br />
But man does not live by air-conditioned motel rooms alone. There is the question of sustenance. A country diner, where the cook is a somebody’s mother, is hard to beat. To enjoy the meal, however, means washing away the accumulated salt (from sweat), fumage (from trucks), insect residue (self explanatory), sintered horse shit (Amish country), and whatever else is in the atmosphere. So if the country diner is a few miles away, it means putting on the riding jacket from hell again, as well as the helmet that smells like mice have been nesting in it. Worse is trying to get my ass back on the saddle. It’s as if the seat and my butt have become magnetized and the polarity of each prevents them from touching. This is why my first preference is for a 1950’s style motel, with a bar at the far end of the parking lot. I love a good saloon with an interesting bar menu. <br />
<br />
I had been more than six hours in the saddle on this particular run, a weekend in 2006, riding solo through a range of mountains that once played host to four-star hotels and a classy clientele. But those days turned to smoke in the mid-1960’s. The big hotels went into a death spiral and the small motels clung to a hellish survival depending on hunters, fisherman, foliage watchers, and bikers riding through the area. Each of these seasonal categories of guest accounted for minimal revenue. The few remaining open 1950’s-style hotels that meet my criteria are in bad shape. <br />
<br />
The K75’s gas light came on for the second time that day and the pain in my knees was such that I just wanted off the bike. I felt like I had one more dismount in me. The gas light was designed with a Teutonic commitment to dealing with the bad news far in advance. I still had 90 miles left in reserve and I opted to take the first motel that came into view. I’d worry about gas the next day. The motel loomed on the left and I dropped a gear to take it in. <br />
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This place had originally been a mini-resort, offering motel rooms and cabins around a pool. A clothes line and trash cans indicated one cabin was occupied as a residence while the others were in tumbledown condition. The pool was filled with pea soup. It’s algae-stained sides leeched a greenish tint into water flavored by leaves, bugs, cigarette butts, and the detritus of summers past. But the 20-room motel unit seemed open. The structure had that down-at-the-heels look made popular by the “Bates Motel” in the Hitchcock movie classic “Psycho.” It sagged with the tired look of a property that was beyond the false hope of new paint. At parking lot level was a covered porch dry rotted in places. Yet there were chairs and tables on it that showed current use. There were a handful of cars in the parking lot though the buzzing neon sign said neither “open” nor “no vacancy. Painted on the sign was the faded enticement, “Color TV in Every Room.” <br />
<br />
What appealed to me most about this place was the adjoining saloon.<br />
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The gin mill had a cabin look to it and an incongruous Japanese name. Two square windows, illuminated by neon beer signs, flanked a screen door that was at odds with its hinges. It was a cabin in the front with clapboarding on the sides, and a commercial vent that spewed a delightful aroma of French fries and broiled steak. A battered sign proclaimed live music and dancers. This was the Riviera as far as I was concerned, and I banked left into a parking lot that was about 20 percent asphalt and 70 percent cinders. <br />
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The office was a converted guest room in the strategic center of the place. Faded decals of accepted credit cards colored a yellowed glass pane in the door, under a hanging sign that said “No Smoking.” The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the unmistakable aroma of cigarettes. The desk clerk was an affable example of local inbreeding who seemed surprised that I had stopped. I explained that I was passing through the area and that my needs were basic. He advised me that the place was almost fully booked and got very noisy on the weekends, as the party invariably spilled over from the bar into the motel.<br />
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“Fully booked,” I thought. “This place is a shit hole.” It was then I noticed that the room keys were hanging on a peg board, where each room had a number, and the name of a flower. Number twelve, “Rose,” was marked as “available.”<br />
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The clerk advised me there was another place 40 miles up the road, next to a MacDonald’s and a gas station, that might be more to my liking. But I had a growing urge for a rum and Coke, so I told him I’d take “Rose.” He handed me a towel, a tiny bar of soap, and my key. <br />
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There was so much movement in the lock on the room’s door that the key was a mere formality. I pulled the bags off the bike and stepped in a hotel room that was a time capsule for worn out and dated artifacts of cheap living. The curtains were filmy, and may have been a rust tint or colored by cigarette smoke. The bedspread was threadbare and the headboard was tufted vinyl. There was one lamp in the room and television was unplugged. The air conditioner hung in the window and looked like a diesel model from the Soviet Union. I switched it to “max” and the compressor lumbered into life. It was louder than my bike. <br />
<br />
The bathroom door was closed. I opened it and discovered two things in the tub: an inch of water and a huge fucking snake. I took a step backward, pulling the door shut like it was a hatch on a submarine. I’d left the room door ajar and it swung open to reveal the second surprise of the day: a woman in her mid-twenties, wearing a form-defining “Danskin” and leg warmers. Her deep red hair was in a pony tail.<br />
<br />
“Excuse me,” she said. “I thought this room was empty and I left my snake in the bathroom.”<br />
<br />
She was the “headline” entertainer for the bar that night and the snake, whose name was “Leonard,” was an essential part of the act. She was warming up for the night’s performance while Leonard was cooling down. Her name was Angela. Not every bathroom had a working shower and another dancer was using hers. Leonard’s part in the show required him to move a bit more slowly than he would in normally swallowing a pig, or something, and this entailed cooling him off in the tub. <br />
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“Don’t give it a second thought,” I said, noting that this dancer oozed sensuality. “Does Leonard have a key to this room?” <br />
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“No silly,” laughed Angela. “Where would he carry it? He has no pockets.” <br />
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She retrieved the snake and walked out wearing it like a fashion statement. My knowledge of snake dancers was limited at that point, though I was reasonably certain there were no rats in the bathroom. My shower was little more than a lukewarm trickle but I didn’t give a damn. This ride was already going to be one of my better ones. Wearing a stench-free change of clothes, I headed over to the bar at dusk. <br />
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The joint was jumping. The beer was cold. The steak wasn’t bad. The music was loud. And the dancers were steamy. Some actually knew a few dance moves but there was no need to be picky. I had dinner sitting at the bar. The barmaid was thin, blond, and pretty in a sassy way. And there was something else about her that I found absolutely riveting — she had an accent like mine.<br />
<br />
“What part of Hudson County are you from?” I asked.<br />
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“Who said I was from Hudson County?” she replied. <br />
<br />
“That accent.”<br />
<br />
“It lies,” she said.<br />
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“It’s the same as mine,” I said.<br />
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“Where are you from?” she asked.<br />
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“Paris... 13th Arrondissement... France.”<br />
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“See,” she said. “We’re almost neighbors.” <br />
<br />
The main event came on around 9pm, when Angela took the stage. She sashayed out in a flesh-toned Danskin that was far more erotic than if she’d been naked. Her pony tail had turned into a crimson cascade of swinging flame. Leonard seemed to take it all in stride, his head moving from side-to-side, with that tongue flicking in a sinister way. I would have traded places with the snake in a second. At one point, he looped around her waist, with his head emerging between her legs. <br />
<br />
“I can do that,” I said to the guy drinking next to me.” <br />
<br />
“Yeah, but the snake wouldn’t look nearly so good on you.”<br />
<br />
The two of us laughed like hell.<br />
<br />
The leg warmers were part of her costume. It never ceases to amaze me how a woman can wear more to help a man imagine what she looks like wearing less. The leg warmers drew your eyes to her calves, which were sculpted. <br />
<br />
This was my kind of joint. There were other bikers, hot rodders, barflies, local color, and a few skin-headed guys that could only be off-duty cops circulating through the bar. There were also a number of very good looking women in this place too. They kept leaving with guys periodically. That’s when it dawned on me this beat-up motel was getting it’s last hurrah as a cathouse. Many of the women in this place were hookers. <br />
<br />
“Do you have gumbo on the menu?” I asked the barmaid, whose name was Melanie.<br />
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“Nope. Why?”<br />
<br />
“Because New Orleans has nothing on this place.” <br />
<br />
“Not everything is on the menu,” she said. <br />
<br />
It was close to midnight when I staggered back to my room. Music, voices, laughter, and a curious pounding reverberated through the old motel’s walls. I slept the sleep of the rum-soaked damned, until about 4am, when an insistent knocking at the door dragged me into consciousness. A charming brunette from room #11, named Ivy, wanted to know if I had any extra condoms. (She thought I was Rose.) I had one in my wallet. It was my lucky Trojan from high school, with it’s foil packet intact. At 5am, Angela knocked, and asked if she could leave Leonard in my tub for a while. <br />
<br />
What could I say? She was standing there in her underwear and leg warmers, holding this frigging serpent. I told her “okay,” as long as the bathroom door was closed. <br />
<br />
I was again disturbed at 6am by a drunk looking for “Rose.” She was the love of his life and he wanted to marry her. He was taken aback by my presence, and did not buy my story that Rose wasn’t there. Finally, I told him she was hiding in the bathroom. I shoved him into the tiny room and held the door shut on my side, listening to his screams. It got quiet after a bit and I assumed he either passed out or got swallowed. <br />
<br />
I wrapped up in the threadbare blanket and dozed off again to the rhythmic jackhammer beat of the air conditioner. Angela woke me 4 hours later to reclaim her snake. I told her it had a new friend. The problem was that the friend had passed out on the floor in there, preventing us from opening the door. We could only get the door to budge a few inches, and I suggested she just call the snake through the opening. <br />
<br />
“It’s a snake, not a Labrador retriever,” she said. <br />
<br />
We ended up leaving the door open as far as we could get it. I switched off the air conditioning and left the room’s door open as well. My thought was that a higher temperature might set the snake to exploring. Angela invited me to breakfast with the ladies. They had a kind of buffet brunch on the porch. <br />
<br />
There were six of them, plus Angela. There is a certain reality in this profession that comes to the surface at dawn, or what passes for the dawn of midmorning. Each was pretty in their own way, and each had an edge to them. Three were wearing robes. Two were in jeans and tee shirts. One was in boxer shorts and a work-out bra. They all looked tired. Brunch was bagels, cream cheese, donuts, eggs, bacon, biscuits, coffee and orange juice. I picked up the coffee and went to pour myself some, then realized three of the ladies had empty cups. I filled theirs first. <br />
<br />
I wanted nothing more than to join them, to hear their stories of the night before, and to discover what it was they’d talk about among themselves. But I was an outsider and a man. My interest in their stories would be from the wrong perspective. I opted to go, carrying my coffee back to the room. The snake had left the bathroom and was poking among my side bags. “Angela,” I yelled. “Leonard is looking for you.” <br />
<br />
The snake moved around my gear with slow purpose. The damn thing was about ten feet long and had that malevolent look so common among predatory reptiles and divorce lawyers. But Angela wasn’t afraid of it, and she was little slip of a thing. Snakes move in coils. One minute the majority of them is in one place, and then suddenly, most of them is in another. Leonard was taking an interest in my boots and was almost on them, when I yelled:<br />
<br />
“Angela... Get in here and get this damn snake.” <br />
<br />
Her voice came from the doorway, as smooth as silk;<br />
<br />
“That’s not Leonard.”<br />
<br />
I moved backward in a reflex action that carried the table and the lamp next to the bed, landing on the floor, at the feet of the dancer. <br />
<br />
“Just kidding,” she said, looking down at me with a smile. <br />
<br />
I wondered if the snake was a metaphor for sin, or bad intentions, or even just temptation. Angela was sultry, and I wondered if she was just a dancer or something else. It is impossible for a man to look at a woman like Angela and not see something of a snake in himself. Yet she’d held the snake in her hands, molding it around her, bending it to her purpose. <br />
<br />
She picked up Leonard; handling him with respect and affection; with confidence from experience. I wondered how broad that experience was. She left and I went about packing my gear. Banging the door into the corpse on the bathroom floor got a grunt. Some days a grunt is as good as a pulse and I had no regrets about leaving him.<br />
<br />
“I’m taking Rose with me,” I said to the semi-conscious form. <br />
<br />
“Rose,” he muttered. <br />
<br />
The fuel warning light came on as soon as I turned the key, but the bike started up as if the gas situation was a rumor. The weather looked good, and I was sorry it wasn’t raining. That would have given me the excuse to spend another night. I wanted to begin this blog, “There are three things every biker should know before spending the night in a cathouse...” But I really don’t know what they are. <br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Who Reads Twisted Roads?</b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0H0glnn0tvuhNsRXZpdqkgvlWDrsXWvSiQHSDo5R33l_JTkOE2EUXv74-I1myWRz-rRyy1toGus-9qETfHzvg7bfCdyQEGnQwjvccug2SzFFFx8msnFjr9-dUyTv2-N2Tt4ST_U9FtNz/s1600/-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0H0glnn0tvuhNsRXZpdqkgvlWDrsXWvSiQHSDo5R33l_JTkOE2EUXv74-I1myWRz-rRyy1toGus-9qETfHzvg7bfCdyQEGnQwjvccug2SzFFFx8msnFjr9-dUyTv2-N2Tt4ST_U9FtNz/s640/-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Above: Bob Leong (Bob Scoot) of Wet Coast Skooting on his classic V-Strom. This was taken a</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">t </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Riding Lolo Pass,
Idaho last year when Bob met up with Domingo Chang in Montana. </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYZFt6rj8mfbJ-tAX9rMPoLNTVspHBUKaYSJEIuLwSd4ys7F46i2fHqbr7xVY4oOZ5sePeMlzlgNdpIgLQ-122BIKe8DM8-3vM24m_U86hyphenhyphen9aPLXF_sGVk6xynvZ5vnioP8OcJpPTrDPI/s1600/-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYZFt6rj8mfbJ-tAX9rMPoLNTVspHBUKaYSJEIuLwSd4ys7F46i2fHqbr7xVY4oOZ5sePeMlzlgNdpIgLQ-122BIKe8DM8-3vM24m_U86hyphenhyphen9aPLXF_sGVk6xynvZ5vnioP8OcJpPTrDPI/s640/-4.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Above: Bob spent so much money equipping this bike that he could only afford one boot. Actually, he was cutting up rough in a Canadian neighborhood known for its tough characters, when a miniature poodle, named Francoise L’Eclaire, ran out and ripped his right boot to shreds. Bob sent us two pictures so we would know the first one wasn’t a fluke. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">This was taken in Baker City, Oregon.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUD0b3qb-73mkUSCcJUkKjPIf4BqVcqR1C2uT-3pRIICD3NwNZVV5XEVlkdqfvz9BH7WTsD2fdOjklMbZIz0yydx8E4J6wccLjdXKdLnRZxuIqZoe3kRODSrrmBEZ17-njOdj-bUG3xbbY/s1600/Derek+Sadko%27s+GS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUD0b3qb-73mkUSCcJUkKjPIf4BqVcqR1C2uT-3pRIICD3NwNZVV5XEVlkdqfvz9BH7WTsD2fdOjklMbZIz0yydx8E4J6wccLjdXKdLnRZxuIqZoe3kRODSrrmBEZ17-njOdj-bUG3xbbY/s640/Derek+Sadko%27s+GS.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Above: Derek Sadko reads Twisted Roads, not only for its technical content but for its redeeming social value as well. Sadko relies on the BMW GS for its ability to navigate boulevards, bogs, and lava flows with elan and panache. Here is waiting for the ferry at Hudson, Quebec.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHI8rcquz6HsrHekOT4Xx71g3Ce3NCd1N-IQDTe52TgQJwLNM0Z2ibWiwkMBUhTxTCZmQcHHQPvxSvdmtphK5s6xNFU7uZh8JzqLS0oY3QvIPncbWDzKvywdlg1qIx9npbRacg0_qhQOXV/s1600/Derek+Sadko.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHI8rcquz6HsrHekOT4Xx71g3Ce3NCd1N-IQDTe52TgQJwLNM0Z2ibWiwkMBUhTxTCZmQcHHQPvxSvdmtphK5s6xNFU7uZh8JzqLS0oY3QvIPncbWDzKvywdlg1qIx9npbRacg0_qhQOXV/s640/Derek+Sadko.jpg" width="640" /></a> </div>
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Above: A native of Canada, Derek is an advocate of the two language system. The two languages he advocates are Gaelic and Sanskrit, however. <b><span style="color: blue;"> </span></b><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">Here he is on the ferry at Quebec, Hudson. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXAl3iAOVfj_4xsu7iRTGZGd-EtsKdC2r88Z82VFyogE9WJ3r_iS7i10-nwP2UogAjasTH3Du8lv3Y21dcmgsRg6YwZpDXJX-blbJ6Nxby5dGOZn_5wlF5PPbW8o4WnjuQ0AbbajMt0RI/s1600/-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXAl3iAOVfj_4xsu7iRTGZGd-EtsKdC2r88Z82VFyogE9WJ3r_iS7i10-nwP2UogAjasTH3Du8lv3Y21dcmgsRg6YwZpDXJX-blbJ6Nxby5dGOZn_5wlF5PPbW8o4WnjuQ0AbbajMt0RI/s640/-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Above: Morgan Frechie loves Italian style and wanted her first motorcycle to be a bit different from the other metric bikes. She got a paper route, babysat kids that other baby-sitters detested, and did pre-campaign analysis for a major political party. Now she’s the only kid in seventh grade to ride an MV Agusta Tamborini. She reads Twisted Roads for her daily horoscope and for make-up tips. <br />
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<b style="background-color: yellow; color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Are you a Twisted Roads reader? Send in a picture of you and your bike! Readers who send in Pictures are eligible for drawings for valuable prizes. We like Harleys, BMWs, Kawasakis, Suzukis, Ducatis, Moto Guzzis, Yamahas, Triumphs, Vincents, Aprilla’s, Vespa’s and Vintage. Void where prohibited. Drawings are random. </span></b><br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-6835296291295865502012-09-04T23:33:00.001-04:002012-09-04T23:36:55.003-04:00The Best Ever Motorcycle Pick-Up Line? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Oldie But Goodie... This first ran on Twisted Roads 4 years ago. </div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">There was a time when I didn't own a BMW
K75, or any bike, as money was tight... But I still wanted to enjoy the
benefits of riding — like hot women. This story is from that time. It also ran four years ago on Twisted Roads. I found it tonight and it made me laugh again. </span><br />
<br />
Middle-age
creeps up on a man like a bad hangover. In your 20’s, it’s a rumor. In
your 30’s, it’s like the land you think you can see when staring at the
ocean’s horizon. But it begins to make its presence known in your 40’s.
You don’t look as good in jeans as you used to, and your hairline may
start to recede as your gut begins a definite downward droop. And even
if you work out and play tennis, jog or pole vault, certain unmistakable
signs give your age away.<br />
<br />
I know a guy who does everything but
pack himself in nitrogen every night in a futile effort to keep his
stud appeal. He had a handlebar mustache like a moose’s antlers. It gave
his face a distinctive character. And while he’s managed to stay fairly
thin and keep a respectable head of hair, his signature mustache turned
snowy white when he hit 56.<br />
<br />
“I had to shave it off,” he said to
me, crying into a low carb, invisible calorie, no-taste beer one night.
“I tried everything. Shoe polish... Grecian Formula... Dye...
Everything looked stupid. And without coloring it, I looked like Captain Kangeroo. No matter what I used, it would leave black marks
all over the lips, neck, and bodies of cooperative, passionate women.
They’d laugh in my face and kick me out.”<br />
<br />
Since shaving off his
mustache, however, he’s cut out the middle man. Without that distinctive
mustache, women now laugh in his face and leave without
him.<br />
<br />
This guy — and a lot of others — make the mistake of trying
to appear sexy and youthful by clinging onto props that can only
weather and wither. They get tattoos, earrings, fake tan dips, and hair implants.
And for what? They still look like scarecrows or fatties trying to be
high school football stars. I have discovered the best approach to
looking sexy and virtually immortal is to be identified with a symbol
that is timeless: like a Harley Davidson motorcycle.<br />
<br />
The Harley
is timeless. Once the icon of lawless nomads, it has come to signify
enduring youth with an undeniable sense of individualism and coolness.
Nothing sounds like a Harley, and nothing generates the throbbing,
pulsating power of sexual rhythm (if you catch my drift) like a Harley
Davidson motorcycle. The main problem with Harley Davidsons is that they don’t
give them away. Those
who sell Harleys understand they are selling Milwaukee Iron manhood
extenders and price them accordingly. Induction into the club
requires more than a little jack.<br />
<br />
Successful middle-aged men
occasionally have this jack to spare. Since I collected wives in my
youth, the only jack I have is under the
bumper of a rusting truck in the driveway. And yet I have developed a
strategy that puts the Harly Davidson magic to work for me.<br />
<br />
In
the far reaches of Pennsylvania, there is a gentleman's establishment
that attracts a certain class of exotic woman. (The type who under
normal circumstances wouldn’t look at me twice. One, because I have that
middle-aged beaten look; and two, because I am a middle-aged beaten
man.) I put on my best pair of stressed jeans (accented with an oil
stain and a few threadbare patches), tuck them into a pair of biker
boots, and throw on a weathered leather jacket. I carry a Viking helmet
(horns and all) under my arm and head out to this particular watering
hole.<br />
<br />
If you get there at just the right time, the crowd is
inside and the bikes are largely unattended outside. I just stand around
next to an unusual-looking one. Sooner or later, a passing hot tamale
assumes the Harley is mine and makes a comment, which is generally an
invitation to get to know her better. When the bar closes six hours
later and the bikes have all left, I claim my Harley was stolen and we
head over to my place to commiserate.<br />
<br />
Last week, things took a
different turn. The lady in question was as hot as lava from the source.
Tanned, long blonde hair, and eyes the color of conspiracy, she asked,
“That your Harley?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” I said, looking away with staged indifference, thinking “Wow!”<br />
<br />
“Does it throb?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” I said.<br />
<br />
“Does it pulsate?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” I said.<br />
<br />
“Do ya wanna make me throb and pulsate?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” I stammered. “In about six hours, when this joint closes. Let's go in and figure out the route we should take.”<br />
<br />
“Know what?” she asked. “You’re not gonna take me for a ride on this throbbing, pulsating, manhood extender.”<br />
<br />
“Well maybe not right away,” I stuttered... “If you’d like to come inside for a while, however...”<br />
<br />
“Know why?"<br />
<br />
I suspected the punch line was going to feel like a kick in the balls. <br />
<br />
"Because this Harley is mine,” she said. And in an instant, she was on it and revving it to a prehistoric growl.<br />
<br />
“Wanna ride on my Harley?” she shouted over the roar.<br />
<br />
It’s still the best pickup line I have ever heard.<br />
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2004<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Who Reads Twisted Roads! </span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This story was brought to you tonight by a special Twisted Roads sponsor, Esther Sharp of Upstate New York, whose husband Ben is celebrating his birthday this week.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Happy Birthday Ben Sharp!</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">First Twisted Roads </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Reader Picture Drawing Winner </b></span></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8wHPryx_8ss-qYTzxf_BO0u-oW9RqpCsrByJHUZa5GCoZ16hTkOhCN9xYhgn1bQzIDQ5Ntfh9HOBj2D53NHAKY0qOvnu-AIdRkXHkuZonujbQrYlpTW1wf83E792RsuopZ2BfBskA9eR/s1600/-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8wHPryx_8ss-qYTzxf_BO0u-oW9RqpCsrByJHUZa5GCoZ16hTkOhCN9xYhgn1bQzIDQ5Ntfh9HOBj2D53NHAKY0qOvnu-AIdRkXHkuZonujbQrYlpTW1wf83E792RsuopZ2BfBskA9eR/s640/-4.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Above: Ben Sharp -- </b></span><b><span style="font-size: small;">Ben and Esther Sharp have had a love affair with Harley's spanning 31 years. Their stable includes a 1981 Sportster, a 1982 Low Rider, and a 1999 Ultra Classic. They recently took a run through Nova Scotia and attended a wedding in neighboring Vermont on two of these classic bikes. "To hell with pillion," said Esther. "The Sportster is mine." (I had a delightful conversation with Esther, to tell her that Ben was the first winner of the "Reader's Picture Drawing," on Twisted Roads, and has won a signed, hand-numbered copy of "Conversations With A Motorcycle," compliments of Shango Rider, the premier purveyor of Gerbings Heated Gear. Shango Rider is the sponsor who makes this blog possible month after month. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPphpuToDWInLreqryKp0HUyEEFHiUunexkvoQKknlv30C2PO7BWyuhTbdJ04QlE2TnlRvzF9G36GXptl_Yer3dkXh4ETivf0Q1lG5xnxmmXwOCJ0VFvNSW4echskDFQH2fxyiYn3eIlSN/s1600/Dianna+Stover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPphpuToDWInLreqryKp0HUyEEFHiUunexkvoQKknlv30C2PO7BWyuhTbdJ04QlE2TnlRvzF9G36GXptl_Yer3dkXh4ETivf0Q1lG5xnxmmXwOCJ0VFvNSW4echskDFQH2fxyiYn3eIlSN/s640/Dianna+Stover.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Diana Stover — Lady Rides -A-Lot — graced us with a shot of her newly acquired 2004 Harley Davidson Fat Boy. This is one slick ride. That backdrop suggests the Blue Ridge Parkway to me. Lady "R," as she is known in certain literary circles, published a blog called <a href="http://ladyridesalot.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">"Glider Rider." </a></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTo4RyVMuo9ScVeFdTj8G5GM3MrLusa1BoxduBgjryTcJou7Z8kKBvaJ6vUPjQdcRkes4JE0bh0Myoxk-q9xekzczCbm7aR1mPV9QA4Dn-X4Svf1wZSt13sWmDQuIZILw51nH-r88x8fX/s1600/-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTo4RyVMuo9ScVeFdTj8G5GM3MrLusa1BoxduBgjryTcJou7Z8kKBvaJ6vUPjQdcRkes4JE0bh0Myoxk-q9xekzczCbm7aR1mPV9QA4Dn-X4Svf1wZSt13sWmDQuIZILw51nH-r88x8fX/s640/-3.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Above: Reader participation is a fickle thing. You ask folks for pictures and they send nothing... Or they send three. Christopher Ross, of Texas, send us three dramatic action shots entailing fine-looking German motorcycles, otherwise known as BMW's. Ross used a distinctive K1200 for running about town, and picked up a wife one day. Luckily, he was dressed for the occasion. This K1200 was flattened by a soccer mom who backed over it thinking the "screaming obstruction sensors" in the van were wrong.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmShgu4QQsfJDz_RkITtjJRTMsiPanDcfvBor3GZwrf4uc4kgTj7J9honG3wGbcBXg5movvdKRhz8MptaVMhtv9qozxS11oyRK7N6QObNNAs6tI1HnEOvmSUmYRM90CVuopEBSIlm-wNj/s1600/-5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmShgu4QQsfJDz_RkITtjJRTMsiPanDcfvBor3GZwrf4uc4kgTj7J9honG3wGbcBXg5movvdKRhz8MptaVMhtv9qozxS11oyRK7N6QObNNAs6tI1HnEOvmSUmYRM90CVuopEBSIlm-wNj/s640/-5.jpg" width="640" /></a><b> </b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Above: This "RT" which Ross vowed never to sell as it was a great two-up bike, was sold to pave the way for a K1200RS. Now that he's married, who needs a two-up bike?</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4Hmh7cYDjaNYmxvm-LX9GewL0jgBP_k1O_I3pm58MeEuxYLvFQN87qFa7lmHXWKCvdvQnyu7ZFmLX9Gp6raMB_NiaotE8nMEXFu9Nn8s2eyI8SptUaLklXvl4UHZrBXxXY-4G_pChz3q/s1600/-6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4Hmh7cYDjaNYmxvm-LX9GewL0jgBP_k1O_I3pm58MeEuxYLvFQN87qFa7lmHXWKCvdvQnyu7ZFmLX9Gp6raMB_NiaotE8nMEXFu9Nn8s2eyI8SptUaLklXvl4UHZrBXxXY-4G_pChz3q/s640/-6.jpg" width="640" /></a><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></b><br />
<br />
<b>Above: "The Ross" sold this F650GS Dakar for an R1200GS Adventure, with a better defroster. </b><br />
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<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Where Are The Pictures Of The Yamaha's, </b></span></div>
<div style="color: blue; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Honda's, Suzukis, And Ducati's?</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<b><span style="color: blue;">Do you read Twisted Roads? Send us a picture of you and your bike! Readers who send in pictures are eligible for drawings for cool stuff. Once a month, a winner is selected at random.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: blue;">Send your photo to: jack.riepe@gmail.com. Mark it: "Who Reads Twisted Roads" in the subject line. </span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Got a great motorcycle pick-up line? Send in the best biker pick-up line you ever delivered or caught... And send it with your picture. Pictures of hot women receive no extra consideration. </b></span></div>
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<br />Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-76898808156855392252012-09-01T22:49:00.003-04:002012-09-01T22:53:44.398-04:00Three Pigs...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The decision to leave the three women sunning themselves by the side of the pool while we took the bikes through the back roads of rural Pennsylvania (June 1975) was an easy one to make, as they were the ones who made it. Each of the ladies, ranging in age from 19 to 21, looked like an ad for French fried derriere, as they stretched out in a buffet line of feminine perfection. They were equipped with books, magazines, baby oil, lotion, fruity rum drinks and sunglasses, ready to tackle the challenges of laying motionless in pursuit of the seamless tan. <br />
<br />
We had a more aggressive agenda. Our host, Stitches, had uncovered a map dating to the 1860’s and thought it would be cool to locate some of the original roads that ran through the valleys surrounding the upper Delaware River. Obscure roads reveal the character of a place through the architecture and artifacts that mark the lives of those who choose the anonymity of the path less beaten. By comparing the old map with a new one, we established that two or three of these old byways were now major thoroughfares connecting communities that not only survived the test of time, but thrived. Yet some roads disappeared entirely, as did the communities they once served.<br />
<br />
One of these was a settlement marked “Landjager.” Landjager looked promising to five Hessian families fleeing the endless pleasures of life under Landgrave Frederick II of Hesse-Kasse, whose primary occupation was supplying mercenaries to the British Crown. (If he were alive today, Frederick II would be supplying lobbyists to the special interests trade.) These Hessian deserters were people of long-term vision. They realized that a tavern and a cider press would be very profitable when a road came through. The dirt road followed 125 years after the tavern went broke. The legacy of the place was alleged to be a few tumbledown foundations on the old Landjager-Oberst Road. <br />
<br />
We decided to follow the most obscure roads we could find in search of Landjager, always heading away from familiar or popular destinations. Our goal was to discover the most run-down saloon or backwoods tavern, with the last bottles from failed distilleries still on the top shelf. My pal Stitches led on a Ducati 860 GT, accompanied by Fast Freddie on a Norton Commando, followed by myself on a Kawasaki H2. The first road was a nicely paved two-lane thoroughfare with a double yellow line. Fast Freddie referred to it as the “yellow double-dare” line. This led to a paved road that was about a lane and a half-wide, that had received less tar and more cow dung in the past year. <br />
<br />
There were dairy farms along this road that went from highly manicured picture postcard bovine spas to far more casual cow flophouses. There were once gracious country houses that needed paint, then some that yearned for clapboarding, and others that craved both, plus roofing. I cautiously banked down a gravel road, following the other two riders. The first two houses we passed were long since abandoned, with saplings sprouting from the porches. We went by a small house that had a car parked next to it, but the barn roof had collapsed. Many of these places had ponds, some with tumbledown docks no longer connected to shore, and others choked by weeds. The house had collapsed on one old farm and it was obvious someone was living in the barn. There were four rusting Studebaker Larks parked outside, in addition to the hulking remains of an old fire truck. <br />
<br />
Landjager-Oberst Road was barely the width of the tractor that had last traversed it, judging by the tire tracks. Even the gravel was spotty and overgrown with weeds. It seemed the perfect hide-out for Hessians on the lam, though it may have had an alternate charm in the 1770’s. <br />
<br />
“You’d have to be pretty desperate for a drink of cider to find your way in here,” said Stitches, who’d paused for the refreshing gasp of a cigarette. “Maybe the tavern had live entertainment in the way of women.” <br />
<br />
We speculated for a bit on the charms of Hessian women, and decided they were somewhere on a scale between the wives of Sparta and Amish pole dancers. If there were any standing ruins dating back to a Hessian enclave, we didn’t see them. There was evidence of someone carving out an existence from the land, however, as a tumbledown post and rail fence began to make a half-hearted appearance along the sides of the road. <br />
<br />
The fence yielded to a traditional stone wall in spots and then to mad tangles of hedgerows. The right-of-way was less than 8 feet wide in some places, giving the impressions we’d turned down a private lane. The hardwoods were dense and tall, with branches arching overhead. It was here, at the narrowest part of the road that we discovered three large pigs rooting in the duff. <br />
<br />
There is something about finding a pig going about its private business on a public road that brings peals of laughter to city punks on motorcycles. The fact there were three pigs only intensified the situation.<br />
<br />
“It looks like the Hessians left the ladies behind,” said Fast Freddie. “There appears to be one for each of us.”<br />
<br />
“This is the kind of menage a trois that calls for barbecue sauce,” said Stitches. <br />
<br />
“Are pigs vicious?” I asked. “Can we squeeze by?” <br />
<br />
Stitches snicked the Ducati into gear and tapped the horn. Freddie followed suit. The pigs snorted and squealed, then turned tail and started down the lane. We pursued them, jazzing the motors and hitting our horns. This was hysterical. And then we came upon a crumbling house with a broken gate on the lane. The pigs charged through the gate, climbed the steps to the porch, and bumped the front door. It opened, and the pigs went inside.<br />
<br />
We were laughing to the point of speechlessness, and Stitches yelled after them, “I’ll huff and I’ll puff... And I’ll blow your house down.” <br />
<br />
Then we took off, finding our way back to the ladies about three hours later. They were tanned, hot and pissed, demanding we take them out for dinner. And that is very nearly the end of this tale. Fifteen years later, I was a public relations practitioner working on a local land issue in Pennsylvania. Stitches and his family extended to me the exalted status of an invitation to hunt deer on their land (almost never given to anyone outside the family). They even hired a guide for me. The guide knew his stuff, and with ten minutes left to go on opening day, I shot a 6-point buck. My first. <br />
<br />
I was elated. The guide knew tons about the behavior of White Tail deer. I asked him where he lived and if he raised animals. <br />
<br />
“I live about 30 miles away on Landjager-Oberst Road,” he said. “I just have cattle now, but I used to raise pigs. Those pigs could escape from any enclosure I built for them. I came home one day and they were in the house. They crapped in every room.”<br />
<br />
<b style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Who Reads Twisted Roads? </span></b><br />
<b style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Who's really in charge on this iconic BMW "R" Bike? </span></span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8aAsPpm302dHg_6AzU4aaAP270WG8ZeHbZKxj9cw6FA2hAo0Iz7wyEqIyP0QKJPqe13izlmYCq4he4lI5G5Cci5ojd_rQP1qEx4kxGxHucArY6zncs-mqhF_wgRwAC9FeUy1v1hea1xe/s1600/Rich+Barnhart+and+Trinity.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8aAsPpm302dHg_6AzU4aaAP270WG8ZeHbZKxj9cw6FA2hAo0Iz7wyEqIyP0QKJPqe13izlmYCq4he4lI5G5Cci5ojd_rQP1qEx4kxGxHucArY6zncs-mqhF_wgRwAC9FeUy1v1hea1xe/s640/Rich+Barnhart+and+Trinity.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
Above: Richard Barnhart of Texas with his favorite pillion rider, grandaughter Trinity, on a beautiful black R1100RT. Trinity tells him when to shift, and when the steam pressure is low. I wrote a perfectly clean blog tonight so Trinity could read this and show it to her friends. It nearly killed me.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;"><b>From The Man Who Has Everything... </b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEBHUdDlIHFJd5mRJnqnEEayxBpPQl0DS_fIm2DUN1xM9a9RRSme5umO0LV7CR3bIpNWOcsw9TY-zOjYh1rB8g4SuDCWKnLlc7kleX1e1zM2EGo0alG0q5NLVhvo8vIpW-GkELb3b9fAr/s1600/Ken+Johnson.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEBHUdDlIHFJd5mRJnqnEEayxBpPQl0DS_fIm2DUN1xM9a9RRSme5umO0LV7CR3bIpNWOcsw9TY-zOjYh1rB8g4SuDCWKnLlc7kleX1e1zM2EGo0alG0q5NLVhvo8vIpW-GkELb3b9fAr/s640/Ken+Johnson.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Ken Johnson of Pensylvania balks at doing his own work on the heavily armored BMW GS in the foreground. "The complexity of today's motorcycles call for skills not always at hand for the average man," said Johnson. He is resting his hand on a flawless Glassair III, that he built himself, from scratch, in 1995. The aircraft is capable of speeds of 400 miles per hour. Johnson made headlines and raised eyebrows by flying the aircraft around the world. He has also taken the GS up to Prudhoe Bay. Johnson has offered a flight to Twisted Roads editor Jack Riepe, as soon as he completes his next project, which is rumored to be a zeppelin.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: blue;">Top Dog from Top Gun Riding School Snatches Quote For Rally Shirt.... </b><br />
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<br />
Skip Harrison, the top dog from the Top Gun Biker School in Louisiana, shows off his special commemorative BMW MOA rally shirt from Sedalia. The shirt proudly display's a failed slogan for the Sedalia rally: "Come for the onions!" Harrison heard Twisted Roads Publisher Jack Riepe respond to the question, "Why are you coming to Sedalia," with the answer, "For the onions," and had two shirts made. (The onions are actually grown in Vidalia, Georgia. Riepe got something wrong. Imagine that.) Harrison had a shirt made for Riepe, which is now being used as the outfield tarp for Yankee Stadium. When Riepe last spoke with Harrison, Skip and his family was gearing up for Hurricane Isaac, which swept through the area 7 years to the day of Hurricane Katrina. Let us know how your doing, Skip!<br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Got a picture of you and your bike? </b></span></div>
Send it in. Readers who contribute pictures are eligible for special drawings for valuable prizes. Tonight we got three Beemer Riders. Twisted Roads is not Beemer centric. Where are the Harley riders and the guys on the Hondas, Kawasakis, Suzukis and Yamahas? Guys who send in pictures of their hot girlfriends, wearing next to nothing, on equally hot motorcycles, receive no special consideration for prizes. It just works out that way. Void where prohibited. (Who would prohibit a hot woman on a hot motorcycle?)<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Next episode: The Special Tour Cape May County Story... Monday Night: September 3, 2012. Lots of "Never seen before pictures!" And one that has been around. </b></span><br />
©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-2796407757778094142012-08-18T15:50:00.000-04:002012-08-18T18:07:21.869-04:00The Sunday Harley Ritual... <br />
<br />
The detritus of a middle-aged coupled lined the garage like exhibits of an abandoned museum. Boxes of stuff (books, china, clothes, and faded pictures) joined old lamps, rolls of carpeting, and left-over lumber jammed against the four walls. A disused canoe, covered with dust, had been hanging undisturbed for years. A set of shelves, once precisely organized, now held a random selection of garden chemicals, misplaced tools, partially-filled paint cans, jars of loose hardware, and Christmas lights that hadn’t made it onto the house in 10 years. Each layer of past living was like the ring on a redwood tree, accumulating to the point where it was no longer possible to park the car inside. <br />
<br />
Standing in the bay’s last remaining cavity was a 1990 Harley Davidson Fat Boy FLSTF 1338. The motorcycle dully gleamed in the subdued light that filtered in through mostly blocked garage windows. And while stuff was piled all over, nothing came close to touching this two-wheeled crown jewel. <br />
<br />
He stood in the doorway connecting the garage to the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. It was impossible for him to look at the bike without remembering long runs to horizon, wild weekends with fallen friends, flights from the police, and nights lost to the arms of limber lovers. The last of those lovers dozed upstairs, making the most of this Sunday morning’s quiet hours. Yet it was these quiet hours that he liked to spend with the bike, thinking of they great open spaces they’s roamed together. Now the two of them were alone in the last open space of a cluttered garage in an equally cluttered life. <br />
<br />
He triggered the button that raised the creaking bay door and the early sun’s rays ricocheted off flawless chrome pipes and accessories. Despite the 95,000 miles on the Harley’s clock, there wasn’t a scratch, a dent or a blemish in the silvery finish of this semi-precious motorcycle. The advance of arthritis and other assorted aches and pains kept him from the wild rides of his youth, but this bike was no garage queen. He was still up for a few hundred miles here and there, blowing past the younger wolves who tended to gather in short-run packs. Sometimes the squeeze came too. More often than not she preferred to hang back with the grandkids.<br />
<br />
Grandkids... He never thought he’s be sharing his bed with a grandmother. She’d been coloring her hair for years, but he recalled the shock of watching her shower (one of life’s timeless pleasures) and catching a glimpse of gray pubic hair. His chest hair and piss-python pelt had been going gray for years, and he never gave it a second thought. It was something else though to see his age reflected in the woman he loved. He thought of an old television series, “Highlander,” in which an immortal found himself loving women who aged before his eyes. He sometimes felt that way when astride the Harley... That he was immortal and the ride was ageless. Then he’d get the joint pain. <br />
<br />
Who was he kidding? It was easier these days to throw a leg over the Harley’s 25-inch high seat than it would be to mount the pole dancers that were the delight of his youth. <br />
<br />
Pushing some crap around on a shelf, he put the coffee cup down and picked up a can of chrome polish. A rag, well mired in the sweet chemical mix of solvent and buffing agents, was just under the cap. He began the familiar ritual of smearing the polish on the pipes and rubbing it in with with short, circular, methodical strokes. Then with a super-soft chamois, he’d buff it to an ingot-pure shine. He once figured out that there was 640 cubic inches of chrome to the bike’s 80-cubic inch engine. “Eight inches of shine to every inch of muscle,” he thought. “About the perfect proportion.” It would take the better part of three hours to get the Harley shining to his expectation, but it would be time well spent. “A man needs time to collect his thoughts as to where he’s been and where past events have led him,” he thought. His past had led him to comfort of one woman, two kids, three grandkids, and this bike. <br />
<br />
Still, he was too easily lost in his daydreams, while she found comfort in friends he found alien and sometimes trivial. He’s gladly relive each day of his youth over again, with the same result. He wasn’t sure she would. <br />
<br />
The aroma of the chrome polish slowly permeated the open garage as the chemical began to coat the skin on his hands. He realized he should probably be wearing gloves as stuff that breathed life into chrome couldn’t possibly benefit anything that breathed to live. Yet he’d grown accustomed to the softening effect the polish had on his hands. “And the stuff washed off easily enough,” he thought, massaging it into the curved section of the bikes pipes. He polished the chrome gently, firmly, and with tender purpose. <br />
<br />
“I remember when you used to touch me like that,” said a soft voice from behind. The lingering emphasis was on the word “me.” <br />
<br />
He paused, thinking, “She’s up.” And while he would be glad to see her, he wasn’t ready to pull himself away from the mind-soothing reverie of polishing the Harley. Turning, he saw a slender, silver-blond, standing in the doorway, holding her robe around her. <br />
<br />
“And I remember when you used to walk around with your tits out,” he replied. <br />
<br />
She looked at him with the defiant challenge that had been her signature expression as a teenager, and slowly opened the robe. Her breasts reflected the years with grace and still sparked a reaction from his DNA. He stood and turned, glanced at the nipples that once drove him to distraction, then locked his focus on her eyes. He wrapped his left arm around her waist and began to gently rub her breasts in circular strokes with the chrome-polish scented chamois. <br />
<br />
“You bastard,” she shrieked, squirming from his grasp. She stepped back, and slammed the door shut. A minute later, he heard the shower run. It had been his intention to join her, but discovered the door was locked. <br />
<br />
“Oh well,” he thought. The next layer of polish went on as smooth as the first coat. The Harley was timeless and a talisman of youth. <br />
<br />
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<div style="color: red; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Moto World Is Talking About</span></div>
<div style="color: red; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jack Riepe's Hot New Book:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUPNa9uPHTxCApfT06nFackaS0rLYHfiwIfzGbtD5DRPcFIRugD91dIXKTw_qzMSH1kEvTs4QILfDecGHryv2kBaSgPOG_5TL9A4d951UtYmHjOpL6VRzz37xqPkZSS0fMgyzmOA9-znc/s1600/-2+21-56-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUPNa9uPHTxCApfT06nFackaS0rLYHfiwIfzGbtD5DRPcFIRugD91dIXKTw_qzMSH1kEvTs4QILfDecGHryv2kBaSgPOG_5TL9A4d951UtYmHjOpL6VRzz37xqPkZSS0fMgyzmOA9-znc/s640/-2+21-56-03.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There is still time to order your hand-numbered, personally autographed, and inscribed copy of Jack Riepe’s new book — Conversations With A Motorcycle. Absolutely limited to one thousand hand-numbered copies, the list will be cut off as the books are delivered. This means you may end up with a book in a much smaller collection (Though all the lower numbers are gone.) The hand-numbered books are being offered by subscription only, with delivery expected in two weeks. To order your copy, simply send your name and address, with the phrase, “Advance Book Order,” in the subject line to. jack.riepe@gmail.com, </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Conversations With A Motorcycle is part autobiography... Part philosophy... And part novel. It is written in a dramatically different style for this author, though remains all humor. Riepe is unbelievably candid about certain details in his life, providing the back-story for decisions that sparked his love affair with motorcycles. Those who purchased his previous work, “Politically Correct Cigar Smoking For Social Terrorists” will be delighted with the new book. Unlike the cigar book, the chapters in the moto-work are interrelated and read like a novel. <br /><br />Dedicated Twisted Roads readers will be familiar with some of the characters and the scenarios in this book, though the added details and details and dialogues have never been before revealed. Accredited book reviewers are advised to contact the author directly for advance copies.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>For more details, click <a href="http://jackriepe.blogspot.com/2012/07/your-chance-to-own-literary-history.html" target="_blank">here. </a> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"> Twisted Roads Readers Respond... </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Curt Yeager....</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Twisted Road Reader Curtis Yeager sent us this shot from the shores of Lake Tahoe this morning. He asks the question, "Who could find fault with the iconic lines of the BMW 'R' bike?" The Twisted Roads editorial review board in turn asks the question, "Is it a coincidence that Curt's riding gear sort of matches the paint job on his bike?" (We think not.) Curt stands 9'7" tall. That puts the seat of this rig at about 5 feet in the air. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Each month Twisted Roads readers who send in a picture of themselves and their machine will be eligible for a free prize drawing. Where are the Harley riders and their hot girlfriends? </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Letter From A Twisted Roads Harley Rider/Reader:</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Dear Twisted Roads: </span></b></span><br />
<b>I didn't realized how much dick you likely sucked until I
noticed all you wrote about were BMW motorcycles. From what I have
heard, the difference between BMW-riding men and women is that the women
tend to have much larger dicks. There was a time when you alternated
your focus between metric bikes and the American-made, internationally
acclaimed, universally desired, and galactically acknowledged (as the
sex bike of the century) — Harley Davidsons. </b><br />
<br />
<b>What the hell happened to
you? Did you drink the Kaiser's Kool-Aid or did you just wake up one
morning with a wiener schnitzel sticking out of your ass? Could your
Harley-riding readers kindly find a relevant, relationship-building
story where the motorcycle plays a significant role in the entwined
lives of a man and a woman? If not, go fuck yourself. </b><br />
<br />
<b>Sincerely,<br />
Maximus "Snake Eyes" Magnamala<br />
Anal Park, IA</b><br />
<br />
<b><i>Dear "Snake Eyes," <br />
I am shocked. As a moto-journalist dedicated to accurate coverage of
the facts, I was compelled to re-examine my blog's editorial policy.
Lately, I have done nothing but write about the Teutonic side of life,
the joys of Bavarian biking, and the thrill of precision Prussian sex.
Anyone who has ever made love to the strains of an "Om-Pah" band can
understand how easily one can fall into this trap. (Nothing brings out
the passion in a woman like blowing in her tuba.) But I would like to apologize to my
readers for this unintended prejudicial coverage and present today's
story, which meets the criteria expressed by Maximus "Snake Eyes"
Magnamala.</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">JR</span></b></span><br />
<br />
©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-18450430756661932232012-08-05T18:43:00.000-04:002012-08-06T20:26:51.808-04:00Dispatches From The Front...<div style="color: red;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Twisted Roads will routinely publish readers' comments or respond to questions seeking advice about technical riding, maintenance, relationships, sexual dysfunction, or motorcycle accessories. While advice is given freely, you get what you pay for. You might be better off with the services of a professional bartender or a truck stop sexual surrogate. </b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: black;">
Dear Jack: </div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
I've been reading your blog and articles in BMW's ON for a while
now. Thanks for the many chuckles. You and I are similar in many ways: born in '57 here, and my bike of choice in my late teens/early 20's was
also an "uncool" steed — a 1977 BMW R75/7 with the huge barn door
Luftmesiter fairing and the black briefcase styled saddlebags. Sexy
quotient: 0 percent. But I loved it anyway. I rode it like is was a crotch
rocket of course. And being that age, I was indestructible with no sense or
fear. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibV3cLF8q-hAOestlXSyybbhVBRNkLwuo7xJy_E0ymc4Wcv5RAXBPDbi5Y4o3PbgRogVJBYdAUIF_FSsuVpZVPXwtSXCKpuKHDfnPzPl1M4CazmCn_YRAly6ML3U8C-5KSIkZi0Rpui-c9/s1600/-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibV3cLF8q-hAOestlXSyybbhVBRNkLwuo7xJy_E0ymc4Wcv5RAXBPDbi5Y4o3PbgRogVJBYdAUIF_FSsuVpZVPXwtSXCKpuKHDfnPzPl1M4CazmCn_YRAly6ML3U8C-5KSIkZi0Rpui-c9/s640/-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: Jim Surgent with his classically beautiful BMW K75RT. More riders have gotten laid on BMW K75's than any other motorcycle in history. In fact, the K75 was known as the "Condom Sales King" of Motorcycles. </b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Back then the "R" bike foot pegs did not have the spring hinge to
fold up like your K75. They were solid, so as not to allow the cylinder
heads to touch on hard leans. I wore them down far enough to do just
that. Sliding around corners on the cylinder head became my favorite
game. I finally gave it up when I met a VW Rabbit head on in a corner
on a one way road in a city park in Pittsburgh. I was going the right
way. He wasn't, not that it would have mattered. We missed each other
by a fraction of an inch, and my riding has been much tamer ever since.
But I digress...<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlE2RNGKmWksCQi-bhq-iB7Jh00bw5CxmJ_9AAYMvD9Zl2znFaQwJrWz9-JDktduArE0RmhJZ-rlon3EXts2kKJph00ltEo_z1XuJrlkaG4Tf00rUGeX0wpgk-LxGdoIxJlvKBJmTZxVY/s1600/-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlE2RNGKmWksCQi-bhq-iB7Jh00bw5CxmJ_9AAYMvD9Zl2znFaQwJrWz9-JDktduArE0RmhJZ-rlon3EXts2kKJph00ltEo_z1XuJrlkaG4Tf00rUGeX0wpgk-LxGdoIxJlvKBJmTZxVY/s640/-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Above: Jim Surgent with his flawless BMW R1200RT. Contrary to public opinion, "R" bike riders are not required to carry a commercial zeppelin pilot's license in on Federal roadways. The "R" bike is the iconic BMW machine. </b></td></tr>
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</div>
<div>
The first new bike I ever owned was a
2011 BMW R1200RT. I had a K75RT for 7 years. I bought it used with 21K
miles on it and parted it out after getting rear ended in a low speed
wreck in rush hour, with 125K miles on it. I first rode the
R1200RT in 2006. I was torn between the "R" and the K1200GT, and the
local BMW dealer had an open house where I was able to ride both. I rode
the "K" first. It was fast as hell, stopped on a dime and gave you 9
cents change. It was even smoother than the K75, and was as comfy as a
stock BMW seat gets. But it had no soul. </div>
<div>
<br />
"Then I
rode the "R."<br />
<br />
It was slower, vibrated more, seemed heavier, but it spoke
to me. My old R75 bit the dust in the early 80's and while the new "R"
was much different, it still had the same soul. The analogy that will
resonate with you is this: Remember that one girl you had the crush on
in high school? Well imagine that you ran into her 30 years later, and
she was even hotter and more attractive now that she was in school.
Even better, now she liked YOU! That's how I felt about the new RT.
Life got in the way though, so it took a few years until I got it. In
any case, the reason I tell this last tale is to prime you for what's to
come. Imagine if you will, that YOU got to meet YOUR high school crush
(the Kaw H2) 30 years later, and she's hotter than hell, and
finally...SEXY. I'm not involved with the project in any way, just ran
across it and knew it would catch your eye. I'll expect a blog about it
soon :)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYWipzE_7PzcbeIVX9hBVZnpSAdyb8rCrMhyYg45rFxcMDtqmVlkAI1WMvWFwN8TCdmrCxeal2RrOcf79iBsixOB1OPRDHOvJdGbeKFthryilsRBsG80MOXpMioRmGmgKlIM1zcvmb9li/s1600/-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYWipzE_7PzcbeIVX9hBVZnpSAdyb8rCrMhyYg45rFxcMDtqmVlkAI1WMvWFwN8TCdmrCxeal2RrOcf79iBsixOB1OPRDHOvJdGbeKFthryilsRBsG80MOXpMioRmGmgKlIM1zcvmb9li/s400/-11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This photo was forwarded to me by Jim Surgent from http://www.asphaltandrubber.com/bikes/kwikasfaki/, where it was reportedly built by a rider named "Cabbie." It clearly demonstrates a hot new application for a screaming two-stroke engine. Please go to the above site to read this fascinating story, and to leave a comment. </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sincerely:<br />
Jim Surgent<br />
Cumming, GA. 30041<br />
<br />
<i>Dear Jim:<br /><br />You are the fourth rider who has advised me that my life is incomplete if I just go out and get another “K” bike without first test-riding an “R.” I am impressed by the passion and devotion of “R” bike riders when they describe their motorcycles. To be sure, they qualify what it is they like about these machines, and never cite overwhelming mechanical prowess — like in an unfavorable comparison with a “K” bike — as if such a thing could happen. But while the “K” bikes are acknowledged to combine speed, brute force, and raw sensuality, the “R” machines are said to have pure soul and untainted character. <br /><br />Mark Frump ran me through the fine points (and options) of an R1200RT on the showroom floor of Hermy’s — the legendary BMW and Triumph dealer on Route 61 in Port Clinton, PA — and I was astounded with the fervor in which this accomplished rider described this machine. Like yourself, he mentioned the lower center of gravity, the lower weight factor, the less frenetic output of the engine, and the ease with which one of these bikes can be flown at 100 mph+, all day. And the options list included just about everything you’d find on a “K” bike. </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dc8Nj6tvmhb5xnXaW47v5GEfX_vWnA6hksEmrP9QqZ2kOJI7zduRq9jOGgRiIMTm2-6SZBM5SaMmb_I6rllKOrNz3GgeALfsMcrRBwNpuX89WIWHt-2eeQMl-MUQAWdfjcx_YCIiYRiU/s1600/mail-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dc8Nj6tvmhb5xnXaW47v5GEfX_vWnA6hksEmrP9QqZ2kOJI7zduRq9jOGgRiIMTm2-6SZBM5SaMmb_I6rllKOrNz3GgeALfsMcrRBwNpuX89WIWHt-2eeQMl-MUQAWdfjcx_YCIiYRiU/s640/mail-5.jpeg" width="530" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"R1200RT" devotee Mark Frunp at Hermy's BMW and Triumph, Port Clinton, PA</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>I tend to listen when riders like you and Mark give a machine high marks. I have heard similar stories from others, but just assumed they were trying to suck me in to their part of the tar pit. I do intend to get another bike for next spring, but it has to be that ca be lowered. I don’t know if the “R” machines will fit that bill.<br /><br />Your letter was of interest to me for three other reasons.<br /><br />Reason One:<br />You used an analogy of finding the hot girl I might have had a crush on in high school, somany years ago, and discovering that she is even hotter now. Below you will find a picture of the hot girl I had a crush on in high school. She was a sizzler then and she is just as hot now. In your scenario, you mentioned things would be perfect if I could imagine that she liked me even more now. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmF6AHN8KRIl4fnaRCSyFeOS0TN6JypoJDJjelJFzClex5WwdyxOgITNDSaBAd-5w_A_OMDgLO-XqIoIzfbhg1Mbex7yhwZsXWQrcHw-1lYsIXCxRJootBhiv7tfkGjIdY6fhI3s-4yXo/s1600/-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmF6AHN8KRIl4fnaRCSyFeOS0TN6JypoJDJjelJFzClex5WwdyxOgITNDSaBAd-5w_A_OMDgLO-XqIoIzfbhg1Mbex7yhwZsXWQrcHw-1lYsIXCxRJootBhiv7tfkGjIdY6fhI3s-4yXo/s400/-9.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The girl I had a crush on in high school. She is still hot... Pouty lips and all... And still thinks I'm a douche.</b> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<i>She thought I was a douche in high school and she thinks I must be an even bigger douche now. I recently asked her of three things that came to mind whenever my name is mentioned. She replied: The Johnstown Flood; syphilis; and legalized euthanasia. My chances of impressing her have not improved. <br /><br />Reason Two:<br />That is one hot motorcycle built around that Kawasaki engine. I loved the Kawasaki H2, despite its faults, which were legion. It is gratifying to see it has become a cult bike. </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_7PqjBjJTsYxLuNW6E1v_WxeCfP983xHoZr6agbTTVIGRQBrw_RCtDdQSsChpuc_UBrDTwF0EYnyczJTTOhR3YOPRLr7J5yQMP6PbjuD3zwCEfUmUcV6-JhKkmK-2yYlfa9M0xGS7DgN/s1600/-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_7PqjBjJTsYxLuNW6E1v_WxeCfP983xHoZr6agbTTVIGRQBrw_RCtDdQSsChpuc_UBrDTwF0EYnyczJTTOhR3YOPRLr7J5yQMP6PbjuD3zwCEfUmUcV6-JhKkmK-2yYlfa9M0xGS7DgN/s640/-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The 1975 Kawasaki H2... The bike that spoke to me. It thought I was a douche too.</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>Reason Three:<br />You wrote: “Then I rode the ‘R.’ It was slower, vibrated more, seemed heavier, but it spoke to me.” I understand that. I have just written my first book about motorcycles, titled “Conversations With A Motorcycle.” Not only did my Kawasaki H2 speak to me, but I quoted it a lot. I have a great respect for riders who can hear the philosophy of their motorcycles. And by the way, thanks for ordering two copies of this book. </i><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h3Ux0DkTqwJBoKPudpIfKGNF8U7RN60VHVq5TGeJv54mEm84pY8oVXE3AytsSkkTU80yLgiz5FH_-hsFfJHNu7088WuyTf10_epMROECxZ7ycDgKnxP7lJ09IGMJpmyAGau3UhK43mtW/s1600/-2+21-56-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h3Ux0DkTqwJBoKPudpIfKGNF8U7RN60VHVq5TGeJv54mEm84pY8oVXE3AytsSkkTU80yLgiz5FH_-hsFfJHNu7088WuyTf10_epMROECxZ7ycDgKnxP7lJ09IGMJpmyAGau3UhK43mtW/s400/-2+21-56-03.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The book for those who believe their motorcycle speaks to them. </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Sincerely,<br />Jack Riepe</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Twisted Roads:<br />
<br />
It is about time that someone exposed the BMW “R” bike for what it really is — a cursed time machine that only moves in one direction, savagely aging the rider by three or four years for every mile traveled. Here at the Wilmington Institute of Holistic Dry Cleaning And Higher Awareness (WIHDCHA), we surreptitiously followed a BMW “R” bike rider over a run of 400 miles and watched him age before our very eyes. The rider initially appeared to be about 60-years-old at the start of the ride, and could have passed for one of the original signers of the Declaration of Independence when he dismounted at the end of the day. <br />
<br />
In the interest of maintaining scientific integrity, the subject was unnamed, but given the fictitious moniker of Breg Dickstein. Our researchers indicated the subject’s profile most likely would reveal he is a liberal, in favor of restricting unwarranted criticism of federal leaders, and an enthusiastic supporter of art films favoring woman-on-woman romance. In picture #1, he rode a 2001 BMW R1150R a distance of 125 miles. He dismounted relatively happy, consumed a laxative, and oozed enthusiasm for the rest of the ride.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7hq8QLj_plkGdnUx_0UjQxc3KT4VQPyc5O3573iMQMefMGYelHC54yako-W_73vcZkKZFlx23T8ckBlBguX5GYIhelVcY0rYC-cpRYCb_pBSt4Tm13S9FuZ4xAr8gqtN8rBho6X8Mvi2W/s1600/DSCN0715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7hq8QLj_plkGdnUx_0UjQxc3KT4VQPyc5O3573iMQMefMGYelHC54yako-W_73vcZkKZFlx23T8ckBlBguX5GYIhelVcY0rYC-cpRYCb_pBSt4Tm13S9FuZ4xAr8gqtN8rBho6X8Mvi2W/s640/DSCN0715.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Photo #1 — Breg Dickstein relatively unchanged after 125 miles on a BMW "R1150R"</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yet in picture #2, taken after only traveling 250 miles, the subject has aged 20 years, grown a beard, and now has the kind of look in his eyes usually found in turnpike toll collectors after 60 years of constant service. He was noticeably less social and communicated through a series of grunts and whistles.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wbznrM-OkR30ktarm_Ja5bBeUGXHprNkmLpSaustPrDZBEiIByOx5svpIGcfzRXc66LlBTHxuhYFHX5CCqugwpobLekiOWbScDaYSQcU1cRZZCSf3S38xWmQ75CJtLRhqSh0wOMMi006/s1600/image10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wbznrM-OkR30ktarm_Ja5bBeUGXHprNkmLpSaustPrDZBEiIByOx5svpIGcfzRXc66LlBTHxuhYFHX5CCqugwpobLekiOWbScDaYSQcU1cRZZCSf3S38xWmQ75CJtLRhqSh0wOMMi006/s640/image10.jpeg" width="456" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Photo #2 — After a total of 250 miles on a BMW "R1150R", "Breg" Dickstein has gown a beard and his eyes have gone "Asian."</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3CnWMXawtyS63UhxPf216ZFWysD7_6crami6c3snsETIST4AuAFJIDF37KyVdRWrXjdxrIB-I80_0l39p2Q1KDKshRj3RdCvzeIiTyXnBOQ4g9hLD5C2s_1n5wrc3Bw7pCMbuww3fMjS/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3CnWMXawtyS63UhxPf216ZFWysD7_6crami6c3snsETIST4AuAFJIDF37KyVdRWrXjdxrIB-I80_0l39p2Q1KDKshRj3RdCvzeIiTyXnBOQ4g9hLD5C2s_1n5wrc3Bw7pCMbuww3fMjS/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Photo 3 — Rider Dickstein showing the aging effect of the "R1150R, after 400 miles. </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Picture #3 clearly indicates a major transition has taken place. The rider dismounted and discharged a CO2 fire extinguisher onto the seat of his riding pants. His only comment was, “I’m tired of waiting for that fat fuck to catch up.” The rider seemed to be talking to himself, and answering back in a different voice. <br />
<br />
<br />
Please feel free to publish this information in your blog as it may serve to prevent injury or inconvenience to BMW “R” bike riders. <br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Doctor Albert Hissingaz, PhD, NJ, and FU<br />
Wilimington Institute <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Dear Dr. Hissingaz, PhD, NJ and FU<br /><br />Once again, the biker community has only to thank the Wilmington Institute For Holistic Dry Cleaning and Higher Awareness for its impeccable research and irrefutable conclusions. The transformation of “Breg Dickstein” has probably gone unnoticed for so long as most BMW riders with factory seats seem to dismount looking like the individual in photo #3. <br /><br />Fondest regards,<br />The Twisted Roads Team</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Want To Win A Numbered Edition Of </b></span><br />
<div style="color: red;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Three lucky winners will receive hand-numbered, autographed, and personally inscribed copies of </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: blue;">Conversations With A Motorcycle</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;">Plus find themselves published in </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;">Twisted Roads...</span></span></b></div>
<b>How to Win: Submit your funniest, or most tragic, or best story regarding a motorcycle intercom or bike-to-bike communications system to jack.riepe@gmail.com, by September 15, 2012. Please limit stories to 300 words or less. Please mark the subject line: Bike-To-Bike Communications Contest. </b><b style="color: blue;">All decisions of the judges are final. Void where prohibited. Three numbers on the list have been reserved for the contest. </b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And remember...</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>And tell Dan (Shango Rider) that you appreciate his customer support! He never let's you down.</b></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Dan Allen Advertises On Twisted Roads...</b></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">To guarantee getting a numbered copy of Riepe's new book, buy one. Click on the thumbnail cover in the column to the right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-size: x-small;">©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012 </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6428154721977251894.post-34260805632404105052012-07-23T19:49:00.003-04:002012-08-03T07:13:19.748-04:00One Blond... One Swerve... One Ride... One Day<span style="font-size: large;">I used to think that there was no greater pleasure than to be standing alongside a gurgling trout stream as the first gray light of dawn filtered through the woods. Then I discovered what it was like to lay alongside a naked blond as dawn gently illuminated the details of her lithe body. While these two activities still remain high on the list, nothing compares with riding into the first glimmer of a new day on a screaming motorcycle. There is a coolness to the dawn air that transcends temperature. The atmosphere is still heavy with the mystery of the night, which slowly dissolves into an opaque reality, that gradually overpowers the bike’s headlight. It is like attending a religious service in which the benediction is read on the tachometer.<br /><br />This time of the day is so special, that it is easy to understand why the concept of “60 miles” before breakfast is embraced by so many riders. What better way to start the day than to race the dawn and celebrate the daylight with a plateful of fragrant eggs, bacon, and home fries? And so I found myself rocketing along an interstate (binding rural New York State to Pennsylvania) in the sacred hour before daylight is established. My bike was a 1986 BMW K75 (with the rare Sprint Fairing). The needles on the tach and speedo were parallel in 5th gear, indicating a smooth, steady pace slightly above 80 miles per hour. The sky behind me was brightening as the gray, pre-dawn darkness before me gathered in pockets to make a last stand.<br /><br />Technically this ride had begun after loading my gear onto the motorcycle in front of a chain hotel at 4:30am; but I was on my way home after ten days on the road and the scent of a woman was tightening my DNA. It wasn’t the actual aroma of a delicate perfume warmed by the heat of her body, but something much stronger: the memory of the last night we’d scorched that perfume together. A motorcycle is the ultimate escape vehicle, freeing a rider from the constricting bonds of daily life. Yet there comes a time when the ultimate escape is in the arms of a tanned, flaxen-haired blond, standing in that same driveway that launched the adventure in the first place. And it is the motorcycle that takes you there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Advance Sales Of Riepe's New Book</b></span></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Conversations With A Motorcycle</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Are Going Like Smoke!!!!</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: red;">• Lower Numbers Are Already Gone!</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: red;">To reserve your copy, email your name, address, and phone number to
jack.riepe@gmail.com, Mark the subject line: “Signed Moto Book Offer.”
You’ll receive an invoice in the mail. Your book(s) will be shipped
shortly after August 19, 2012. At present, book orders are limited to
10, which the author will gladly inscribe as individual gifts, as per
your instructions. </b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>To hear the author speak about his new book</b></span><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Conversations With A Motorcycle,</span></b></span></i><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Click <a href="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/58113354/Jack.m4v" target="_blank">Here: </a></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I found myself wide awake an hour before first light, in a chain hotel, barely 200 miles from home, dealing with a hunger originating from a point below my stomach. “Time to go,” I thought, though there would be nothing to dull these pangs within 60 miles. <br /><br />The three-cylinder engine on the BMW K75 is known for more of whine than growl when the throttle is twisted. That is the sound of the Valkyrie winding up for the pitch. It is the sound of an engine that will run at 95 miles per hour all day, without burning an ounce of oil. I didn’t need all day to get to where I wanted to be. At a comfortable 95 miles per hour, I would be home in two hours and ten minutes, barring intervention from the authorities. <br /><br />Nowhere in eastern New York nor Pennsylvania is it possible to run at 95 miles per hour (for any great length of time, much less two hours) without getting arrested. But I have pushed the envelope more often than is ever wise. I love going like hell on smooth pavement in light traffic and letting the motorcycle hit its performance specs. Virtually vibration-free to start with, the K75 reaches its top cruising speed without the venom of a pavement predator and takes the sweepers as smoothly as a politician tells a lie. I can truthfully say “rare was the ride I didn’t take either of my two K75’s into triple digits,” but I can also make the claim that 85 to 90 miles per hour is my most comfortable gait (circumstances permitting). <br /><br />Traffic was light to the point of non-existent, despite the fact that it was a weekday morning, and I was east of Scranton. The K75’s whine was more on the throaty side and I toyed with the idea of kicking things up a notch. While the temperature on a July pre-dawn run in eastern Pennsylvania might be a civilized 68º to 72º (F), the humidity can easily make things clammier than cooler. This was the case on this particular morning and pockets of mist lined sections of the road, clinging to the inside of some curves. The fun of running at 95 mph or better was spoiled by the thought of a stupid deer stepping out of some hidden glade, causing me to test the adhesion limits of my new Metzler front tire.<br /><br />Have you ever noticed that some mornings start out with a burst of energy and a burning desire to get on with things, only to evolve into the conclusion that three hours and forty-five minutes’ sleep just isn’t enough to bankroll the day’s activities? I had barely been in the saddle 45 minutes when my eyes got that blurry feeling that accompanies a fleeting sense of regret that a perfectly good, and now empty, hotel room was in my immediate past. The right eye was worse than the left. It was focusing on a strange, dark, ill-defined mass in the right lane of Interstate 80 (I-80), which appeared to be doubling in size with every second. <br /><br />The rider’s eye is quick to identify various threats such as oncoming locomotives, ships lost in the fog, flaming zeppelins, stupid deer, and mobs of flesh-eating zombies. The merest hint of these will send the bike and rider into an evasive swerve that will not only demonstrate a masterful handling of the machine, but conclusively prove it’s possible to cling to the seat by a clenched sphincter (which has contracted to the size of a buttonhole). But add a bit of mist or ground fog to something, robbing the image of a discernible shape, and the slightly fatigued rider might waste valuable nano-seconds trying to guess what the hell that thing might be.<br /><br />I saw a shapeless, black mass looming out of the mist before me, and thought, “How odd is that?” It seemed to have corners for a second or two, and then not. It then seemed to have depth, and then not. To be perfectly frank with the gentle reader, I was also thinking of eggs and bacon, sizzling on a griddle, tended by my tanned, blond girlfriend, who would be surprised by my return, and agreeably padding around bare-assed in the kitchen. Thoughts like these get their talons in me and are not easily shaken, especially as the chances of this actually happening were about zip to none. (Stuff like this used to happen in my thirties and forties. I have been unsuccessful in perpetrating this scam in my fifties, but I’m working on it.)<br /><br />I was 10 car-lengths away from the dark, shapeless mass (about a second and a half), when the full light of dawn bloomed like an orchid, clearly illuminating the threat in the road. I screamed so loudly into my Nolan helmet that I briefly succeeded in fogging the interior shield (judged to be impossible). <br /><br />Spanning the full lane in front of me, like the white-trash swimming pool from hell, was the bed-liner out of some piece-of-shit pickup truck. Light plastic to be sure and a black hole for any motorcycle headlight, this unexpected debris would have swallowed the K75 in a heartbeat. My reaction was a vicious half-swerve to the left. A full swerve might have bought me into the side of the bed-liner. I was past it in a flash, with my thoughts on survival, as I chopped the throttle to half and let the dynamic braking slow the bike. <br /><br />I thought of pulling over on the shoulder, yet to what purpose? This happened in the blink of a dull eye. (I was 5 football fields away when the full impact of the situation hit me.) I wondered what would have happened if I had hit the bed-liner dead on? Would the bike have just slammed through it? Would I have panicked and dropped the rig in the bed-liner? In which case, would I have slammed through the bed-liner with the bike on its side or just slid down the road inside the bed-liner?<br /><br />I suspect I’d have slammed through the bed-liner, dropped the bike on its side, and come to rest in a ditch, ten feet away from a mob of flesh-eating zombies. Yet it is these sudden obstacles that add to the challenge of riding, and which make us appreciate our hidden skills. For example, I never knew I could say, “Mutherfucker” in 17 languages, until I swerved around that bed-liner. <br /><br />I arrived home three and a half hours later. My blond lover was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sipping a cup of herbal tea. It was the second day of her period... The worst day for cramps. <br /><br />“I’m just going to spend the day on the sofa,” she said meekly, with the smile that drove me mad. “I’m reading this book called The Red Tent. What are you going to do?”<br /><br />“I might take a ride with Bregstein later,” I said. “Want anything from the diner?” </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Next Blog Episode:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"An Adoring Reader Gives </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jack Riepe The Keys </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">To A 1952 Vincent Black Shadow</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">In Exchange For Sexual Favors...." </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(But not from him...)</span></span></b></div>
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©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012Jack Riepehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531160098262862027noreply@blogger.com28