Monday, September 17, 2012

Kim's Hot Little Surprise...

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.

“Around what?” I asked.

“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.

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.

But this is part of the BMW mystique.

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.

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.

“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. “

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. 

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.

“Have you donated an organ?” she asked.

“Not lately,” I replied. “But I am working on it.”

Her name was Kim.

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.

“How far do you have to go?” I asked.

Her response was an astounding 18 miles.

“Can you get gas someplace,” I asked.

She shrugged and said, “Not tonight.”

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.”

“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.”

“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.’

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?”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“The cat,” I wheezed.

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.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you’d like Charlie. How long does this last?

“A couple of hours, if I get into a cat-free environment pronto,” I said.

“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.

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.

“I gotta go,” I wheezed.

“I guess so,” she said, suppressing a laugh.

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.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012

Who Reads Twisted Roads?

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 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, to get some.

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. 

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. 

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.)

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. 

Above: Alan Trask, AKA RedBeemer.

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Nikos said...


Be prepared! Carry anti-histamines alongside the preparation-h in your on-bike medicine kit.

Apparently this will be a mandatory requirement in France from November 1.

Kind regards as always from all of us over here, N

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Nikos:

Who the hell thought she'd have a friggin' cat? I am planning a dramatic riding recovery for next year. With my weight down, and exercise of my legs up, I'm hoping to gt another few years in the saddle.

Fondest regards,
Twisted Roads

RichardM said...

It seems that everyone without an allergy has a cat these days. Nice to hear that you are recuperating and feeling better. I am surprised to hear in this post that you are still considering anything else besides a K1200 for your next bike.

Unknown said...


I still think that your dream bike, the K1200LT is too heavy. It's the radiator that adds about 100lbs to the final weight, plus the anti-freeze and the water pump . . . all this weight comes at a cost. Perhaps you should give your legs a break and consider a model without all these additional parts. I know you will be much happier in the end

. . . just trying to help

Riding the Wet Coast
My Flickr // My YouTube

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Bobskoot:

While the K1200Lt is a beautiful piece of work, it isn't on my list of possible motorcycle choices. My book of choice is a K1200GT 2004 or the 2007 model. My preference is the 2004 as the most beautiful motorcycle ever built by BMW. Fast... Sleek... And sexy.

Many accomplished BMW riders want me to try an "R" bike though, as they are lighter, alleged to have lower centers of gravity, and easier to handle at lower speeds.

Good luck with your new rig.

Fondest regards,
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Rchard M:

Are you kind to inquire! Actually I have good days and bad days. My wreight loss continues, and I had to add two new holes to my belt. But I also had two days this week where I could hardly walk.

As I said to Bobskoot, I owe it to myself to try the "R" bike if not to just see if it might be a better ride for a man in my condition.

Thanks for reading my tripe and for writing in.

Fondest regards,

Flimsky said...

You're welcome to try my 2000 R1100RT if you want some comparison. Although we'd have to lower the seat a tad.

Anonymous said...

Mr. Riepe,
Wow! First a personal phone call to reassure I haven't been duped out of $25 for your second book, then to have my photos put up on your blog puffed up the ego quite nicely!
I have blocked most of next year to your pending trip out west for the off chance of meeting you in person and comparing your battered baby seal look to my bashful little boy stick.
R or K, still spelled BMW!
aka RedBeemer

Jack Riepe said...

Dear GEF:

It was very kind of you to offer to let me ride your beautiful "R" bike, before purchasing a "K" next spring. Most guys hide their bikes when I'm around. What do you think would be a good distance for me to ride your "R" bike to determine the type's suitability for me? How about from here to New Orleans?

Thanks for the offer. You'll be sorry. In truth, I regard it as unlucky to ride someone elses bike.
Thanks for reading Twisted Roads!

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Alan:

I was delighted to chat with you on the phone, as I have done with so many Twisted Roads readers. In your case, however, I wasso pleased that the feeling was mutual. The last call I made, the guy answered and yelled to his wife, "It's that son of a bitch who writes Twisted Roads..."

I am so hoping that my plans to ride again gel as expected, and that I do get the chance to hit the west coast. I want to ride along the coast, on a K1200, getting lost in the views. And I can't think of better way to wrap it up than to have you lead me through your favorite runs.

I am thrilled that you sent your pictures in. I hope to eventually run shots from every Twisted Roads reader.

Thanks for reading my tripe... Thanks for writing in... And thanks for buying my book. They are shipping at the end of this week.

Fondest regards,

Anonymous said...

Read the blog today... funny stuff as usual.. and, Thanks for the posting of my pic on my Sexy FJR1300... Louie in TN.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Louie:

The pleasure was all mine. Thanks for reading Twisted Roads and for writing in.

Fondest regards,

MattPie said...

Jack, I hope to see you riding again soon. I miss seeing your unique 'Gangsta Lean' leading thru the twisties.

I'll echo some of the comments about the K-bike weight though. A 2004 K1200GT with fluids is going to weigh 700 lbs before you fill up the bags. That's a lot of bike. It's unfortunate that it is so very sexy though. For reference, A R1150RT weighs the same as a 2007 K1200GT at around 625 with fluids. My R1150R is 525 lbs, which is why it's such a track weapon. The post-2005 bikes went on a serious diet, but only the R1200R is lighter than your K75.

I'm not sure I buy the 'low center of gravity' many people talk about. My Honda GL500 and my BMW are similar in weight, but the Honda is way less of a handful to move around in the garage. I think the airheads could claim low CG, but as the oilheads got wider with their semi-overhead cam heads, BMW moved the engine up in the frame to preserve cornering clearance.

Anonymous said...

Dear Jack, cat allergy is the worst excuse for chickening out of getting laid. Vespa Club of America riders never chicken out. Maybe you should join us and forget all this talk of BMW?
Rupert Hide-Bound
Rec Sec VCA

Curt said...


You're back! And once again, you've given me a reason to smile. IMHO, this is not just story-telling, this is writing. Nice piece, really enjoyed this one.'re allergic to pussy. That explains a lot. Among other endless dissappointing putsuits, you haven't been overweight, you've just been all swollen up this whole time Poor thing, might want to carry an Epi-Pen for the next time you try crawling up the same place you came out of. Funny how us guys spend 5 seconds coming out head first and the rest of our lives try to grasp and claw our way back in head first.

BTW, since you posted my pictureon your blog with my bike at Tahoe (and, oh, please inform the TR Editorial Board thhat the only color options on the Rallye 2 Pro suit were black/grey or blue/grey, so I hate to image their comment had worn blue with my blue bike), I've been getting phone calls from strange women. Usually that would be sort of cool, but they all seem to have low, gravelly voices and names likee Pat, Kelly, Bobby, and one with a distinct lisp named Kennth.

Keep up the great writing, and can't wait to get 'The Book'!,

Best Always, Curt

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Curt:

Thank you kindly for the note of support. I had an epiphany over the summer. A person whom I greatly respect, a writer much better than myself, explained a more modern technique that I should be employing. (She is my kid.) So you are reading the same Riepe humor and bizarre in a new format. The book was executed in this style and I am pleased that you like it.

Regarding the extent of my allergy,I'd be a rich man for each time I choked at the finish line. But it just makes the ultimate score so much more exciting.

There is only one thing worse than getting calls from strange women after your picture appears on Twisted Roads... That's getting no calls at all. Of course, I've never worn color-coordinated riding gear before, and your experience may be different than mine.

Thanks for being a loyal Twisted Roads reader, and for ordering my book.

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Rupert Hide-Bound;

I have only three VESPA-riding friends, and only one would feel compelled to write under such an obviously bogus name. I never chicken out of getting laid... But I do have a warning instinct that is occasionally triggered by something that compels me to flee. Like most of my "I-almost-got-laid" stories, this one is absolutely true.

"Kim" was blond, sweet, pretty, and smart. And she had a fucking cat. She's have had my kids if she'd host a Labrador retriever instead.

I only legitimately balked in the bedroom a couple of times, and never because the lady wasn't pretty. In fact, I do have a "dark secret," that is addressed in my book.

Two out of the three VESPA riders I know bought books, and I am assuming you are one of them. Thanks a bunch.

Thanks for reading Twisted Roads and for writing in.

Fondest regards,
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Matt:

What a delight to find a letter from you in the old Twisted Roads comments section today! One of my greatest difficulties stems from my inability to reconcile certain realities (like those regarding my health) with what I remember and miss.

I love the BMW "K" bikes. I love the way they sound and the way that at least one of them looks. I also love the way they go like hell too. However, they are heavy and a bitch to move around in the garage. The K75 got to be a handful as my knees got worse.

However, I am hearing from a lot of "R" bike riders that the iconic motorcycle is not only a satisfying machine to ride, but one that may be less demanding than the "K" models.

And the fact is that riding a motorcycle beats the shit out of not riding a motorcycle. But you know, I never found 75 pounds to make all that much different. The K75 weighed 580 pounds in the driveway, but nothing on the go.

Yet you have to get off the damn thing sooner or later... And then they get heavy.

Thanks for reading Twisted Roads and for writing in. And thanks for ordering a book. Your wait is nearly over.

Fondest regards,

Unknown said...


you owe it to yourself to actually sit on an R1200r with the low seat option. You won't believe how low it is. You can swing your leg over easily. It only weights 492 lbs wet

we'll get you to buy a proper BMW if it's the last thing we do.

Riding the Wet Coast
My Flickr // My YouTube

mq01 said...

i have a cat... and a cat allergy :) lol!

how are you jack? envisioning a cross continent ride next year?

Classic Velocity said...

Dear Jack,

Even Superman had his Kryptonite, but a kitty cat ?!!

Classic Velocity

Bluekat said...

Foiled by a long haired cat when all was going so well. :(

I have no cats and no cat allergy. Have a little dog though and a rather cranky bird.

I totally need a bicycle rack for my Ninja! Then I need a nice green bicycle to match the Ninja. Something in carbon fiber I think!

Thanks for a good read this evening!

Jack Riepe said...

Dear BlueKat:

After enjoying so many of your adventures, I am delighted that you found some pleasure in one of mine. My origin title for this story was "The Trojan Cat." This was the first time in a long career of romantic misadventures that I got shut out by a cat.

The bike rack on the F800 is pretty cool too, huh? Bobskoot will have one in another week.

Thanks for reading and writing in.

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Classic Velocity Blog:

A fucking cat! And was covered with so much hair that it looked like a giant fur ball with eyes. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

He Wayne, have you ever thought of writing for a living? Your blog is better than most magazines.

Thanks for reading Twisted Roads, and for writing in.

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Ms. mq01:

The diagnosis by the medical team responsible for my potential suicide is less than cheery. I have been told that riding a motorcycle may be in my past. I have advised these people that if I wanted to surround myself with professionals whose first response is to always say, "No," I'd get a team of Congressmen.

My plan is to make a better than full recovery, acquire a BMW K1200 GT, and ride from Cape May, NJ to Cresent City, CA next summer. I will be thin, fast, dressed in ballistic gear, and fucking cool.

I am going to publish my bucket list for 2014 as my next blog.

Thanks for reading Twisted Roads and for writing in.

Fondest regards,

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Bobskoot:

I can't believe you've been a BMW owner for about a week and you're trying to sell me on the brand. LOL.

I will look at an "R" bike before I buy my next Beemer... But I get a boner whenever I see a 2004 K1200GT.

Bob, I write for their monthly magazine.

Fondest regards.

BeemerGirl said...

Dear Jack,

I'm finally catching up on my required reading. :)

Great post. You say the women at this party had DSBU radar. And you think Kim didn't? What do you think Charlie was really down there for??

trophydan said...

I have ridden K's and R's (and F's) going back a long time, and I reckon the K's have the edge, hearing, or a feeling, a 75 (or a 100) "on-song" is, well, kinda orgasmic really. Makes you grin in a child-like way, just the way bikes should be!

I have to say the only bike that came close to the same buzz for me was the (second gen) Triumph Trophy 900 triple I had for some 90,000 miles, was top heavy, but, oh so grunty , and the noise and vibe (on standard pipes)!

I loved my air-cooled twins in the past (R80RT, with tweaks was my fave), but, well, once I rode the "right" K (had an early RS :-(, had an early RT:-)) I was addicted. Some magic there ;-)