Wednesday, August 6, 2008

The Best Pick-Up Line For A Middle-Aged Man: “Wanna Ride On My Harley?”

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.

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 receed as your gut begins a definite downward droop. And even if you work out and play tennis, jog or pole vault, certain umistakable signs give your age away.

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 handelbar 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 50.

“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 friggin’ 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 leave.”

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 going home with him.

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 tattoes, earings, tans, 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.

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 Harleys is that they don’t give them away. (Harley's have other problems, but since no one rides one more than 60 miles at a time they are not important.) In fact, those who sell Harleys understand they are selling Milwaukee Iron manhood extendors and price them accordingly. Inductuction into the club requires more than a little jack.

Successful middle-aged men occasionally have this jack to spare. Since I collected wives in my youth (and college tuitions lately), 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 Harely Davidson magic to work for me.

In the far reaches of Pennsylvania, there is a gentlemens establishment that attracts a certain class of exotic woman. (The type who under normal curcumstances 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.

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.

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?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking away with staged indifference, thinking “Wow!”

“Does it throb?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Does it pulsate?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Do ya wanna take me for a throbbing, pulsating ride?”

“Yeah,” I stammered. “In about six hours, when this joint closes. Let's go in and figure out the route we should take.”

“Know what?” she asked. “You’re not gonna take me for a ride on this throbbing, pulsating, manhood extendor.”

“Well maybe not right away,” I stuttered... “If you’d like to come inside for a while, however...”

“Know why?"

I suspected the punch line was going to feel like a kick in the balls.

"Because this Harley is mine,” she said. And in an instant, she was on it and reving it to a prehistoric growl.

“Wanna ride on my Harley?” she shouted over the roar.

It’s still the best pickup line I have ever heard.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2004
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac-Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Delphi)
AKA The Chamberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)


Anonymous said...


Your stories always make me hungry for some reason. I think I might have to ride over and get some Chinese take out tonight.

I like pretty much everything you write, but I've really enjoyed the last few stories especially, and am looking forward to more.

Granny2Wheels said...

Love this one....especially the Sixth Sense ending -- wasn't expecting that!

Ride safe.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Steve:

Speaking from experience, watch how you load the Chinese food into the topcase.

I have not yet been able to ride the bike with any degree of strength yet. I an going to try again tomorrow, briefly. I want to do a run with some cruisers so I have some new material. All of the guys I ride with mount Beemers.

The knees have not responded to treatment like I thought they would. I've had two procedures done and the results are a marginal improvement.

Are you around over the weekend?

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Sammye:

I was delighted to get a comment from you on this damn blog so I could enter your name in the contest. I guess someone from the motorcycle views group needs to win so folks take me seriously.

I'm glad you liked this story.

Fondest regards,

Anonymous said...


Great story, even greater ending! Of course the beautiful Harley belonged to a woman...

Hope the knees respond better to those treatments. I feel your pain, I have had surgery and treatments and they still ache.

Jackie (aka bikermom)

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Jackie:

Thank you for you kind comment and for visiting my blog. I rode today for the first time in ten days and put 70 miles on my bike. My riding partner and I got up to 85 on a nice stretch of road. He was on a Harley Sportster.

My knees are not getting any better. Not right now. Maybe in a month or so. The orthopedic guy said the shots don't help everyone. I rode into the driveway tonight veiled in pain. Then again, it might lessen if I ride more often. I'm going to cover the same territory tomorrow and see what happens.

Thanks again. Your name has been entered into my dinner contest.

Fondest regards,

beach walker said...


you never disappoint. That was great.

I hope you enjoy your evening with my sister and awesome bro-in-law.

"Harley? Dinette set? Harley? Dinette set?

Best regards

Sojourner's Moto Tales said...

Loved this tale!! The second the woman appeared, I knew she would put a *hurtin* on you and that the bike belonged to her. Loved her exit!

As an aside, I'm probably just strange...but I've never ever understood the HD attraction. I get the image being sold and the mystique surroundng the bike but the line--assuming anyone would ever use it on me--would fall flat.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Beach Walker:

Thank you for you kind comment. The evening spent with Patty and Clyde was full of surprises. Patty taught us the best way to get the attention of Italian waiters. I felt like I was in one of the Godfather movies. Later back at the house, Clyde put on a cowboy suit and shot out the street lights while balancing a beer on his forehead.

Patty wants to know if you are planning on signing onto my movie as "The Brunette."

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Sharon:

You just gave me another idea for my next blog. That's two this week.

Fondest regards,

somepinkflowers said...

i did not know
you were over


thanks for popping into my place
and i will come back to yours
when not racing the clock...

{{ am passing you on
to my biking friends

some DO ride
so be warned.

that is all i'm saying at this juncture...}}

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Some Pink Flowers:

You were very kind to drop by and leave a note. Many of the guys I ride with have Ducatis. Along with Triumphs, they are regarded as exotics -- like the BMW. Thank you for referring me to your friends.

As you can see, compared to your work, my blog is like an oil spill in a mountain stream. Still, it is my appointed task.

Fondest regards,

Bloom said...

Dearest Jack,
I agree that Clyde certainly has a forehead capable of balancing a beer upon, but I will go to my grave denying any wrong doing with the mafioso. That being said, feel free to take artistic liberty with our visit... just as long as I get a cut, or I will break both of useless knees. How's that for a pick up line?
Ciao, Patty

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Cupcake:

You are really intent on winning this dinner.

Fondest regards.

BMW-Dick said...

Dear Jack:
What story?
Enter me in the free dinner contest.

Anonymous said...

I have seen middle age. It is not for the faint of heart.

I always thought your best pickup line was that length of climbing rope you keep in the trunk. I've only seen it work once or twice though, and that was many years ago. Maybe you have new skills I'm not familiar with.

Middle age does have its benefits though, if you're in the right place at the right time that is!

In Rehab, ADK

Jack Riepe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Jack Riepe said...

Dear ADK:

I only caught the blond from Lake Placid with the climbing rope. And after sleeping with her for that spring and summer, I thought about using it to hang myself.

Are you referring to your current episode as the "rehab" for middle age? Or has you ass hit the pavement already? The fun police are generally only a few feet behind.

Fondest regards,

Anonymous said...

Not so much the fun police as Black Ops. Lines remain open however.


redlegsrides said...


Discovered your blog today courtesy of the "Kiss my Haggis" article on BMW ON magazine. That was a great article by the way.

I hope to see more of your work in the magazine and will definitely make your blog a part of my regular blog reading.



Redleg's Rides

Jack Riepe said...

Dear ADK:

Getting a note from you is like finding a broken tablet in a tomb. Whatever the hell your getting either your star is on the wane or you're on the verge of ducking buckshot.

You and I need to get a ride in. Can you and a buddy get down here for a couple of insane days on Sept. 13th and 14th at the Jersey Shore. Don't bring the "Strumpet" as we're riding about 300 miles over three states. But do bring the other "strumpet." That could be fun.

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Dom:

It is absolutely refreshing to hear from folks like you, who shout encouragement, as opposed to Dick Bregstein, Chris Wolfe, Steve Assan, and Clyde Jacobs, who mock my gains and scorn my losses. Even Granny TwoWheels sees me as a sexual object without a name or soul.

The "Kiss My Haggis" story was a tale of one man's triumph over Scottish culinary challenges. There is a reason why Scottish cookbooks were burned by the Spanish Inquisition. Yet it was also the story of a fellowship. The fellowship that Tolkien refused to write about. And it was all true!

It's hard not to write the truth when you hang with my friends. For one thing, they never see it until it's in the magazine. The BMW MOA's "ON" has at least two more pieces of mine. Each focuses on another highly technical aspect of riding.

Thank you for your kind note.


Anonymous said...

Sep 13th and 14th might work if my plan for new wheels comes through. Email me your # at Yahoo.

Neither strumpet I'm afraid, one is due for a service, and the other is due for a service. The work is being done elsewhere however.

Unknown said...

Great story Jack, unfortunately the middle age stuff smacks me right in the forehead. :) Women don't laugh in my face though, nope, not that I can hear anyway. Lalalalalla...

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Dave:

Women have been laughing in my face for years. It generally starts when I take off my pants.

Thank you for posting.