Tuesday, September 4, 2012

The Best Ever Motorcycle Pick-Up Line?

Oldie But Goodie... This first ran on Twisted Roads 4 years ago.

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. 

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.

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 make me throb and pulsate?”

“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 extender.”

“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 revving 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

Who Reads Twisted Roads!

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.

 Happy Birthday Ben Sharp!
First Twisted Roads 
Reader Picture Drawing Winner

Above: Ben Sharp -- 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.

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 "Glider Rider."

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.

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?

Above: "The Ross" sold this F650GS Dakar for an R1200GS Adventure, with a better defroster. 

Where Are The Pictures Of The Yamaha's, 
Honda's, Suzukis, And Ducati's?

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.
Send your photo to: jack.riepe@gmail.com. Mark it: "Who Reads Twisted Roads" in the subject line.  

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.


Cy said...

"Is that a mirror in your pocket? Cause I can easily see myself in your pants tonight" will definitely leave a five fingered welt across your cheek. Don't ask me how I know.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Cy:

I cannot believe you thought you'd get your horn honked with a line like that. Do you remember Steve Martin in "My Blue Heaven?" He is in the supermarket and says to Carol Kane that it's dangerous for her to be in the frozen food aisle because, "She could melt all this stuff."

His line was better than yours.

Fondest regards,

Conchscooter said...

I usually mumble something about iguanas. Works quite well on beaten down middle aged farts.With or without facial hair.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Conch:

I recently read a story about the "Iguana Man" of Key West. This guy would pop in and put of bars on Duval Street, find a good looking woman, and offer to let her "pet the lizard." Suddenly, that story begins to make sense.

Fondest regards,
Twisted Roads

Unknown said...

Since this has turned into a tactics discussion, I'll keep it going. Historically, I've done what I always do - walk around and look confused. There are a lot of women out there who have big hearts and want to help a guy like that. Being somewhat slow (trainable, I think is what the IQ man called it) they enjoy the big smile their help produces. Harmless, they think. Easy, and it works. Of course, you have to be handsome. That helps too.

Now that I'm married, I try to look like I know what's going on. It keeps the women away, but it doesn't solve my earlier problem of being confused all the time.

Behind Bars - Motorcycles and Life

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Brady:

I've been married a few times. Looking disinterested or slightly displaced has no effect whatsoever on women who've decided they want what they want.

On the other hand, it always helps to have a strategy in reserve.

Thank you for reading Twisted Roads, and for weighing in with your opinion.

Fondest regards,

redlegsrides said...

I have no pickup lines to share with your readers Mr Riepe....the only one that comes to mind, and it would probably only work within the riding radii of the MacPac would be: "I'm with Jack, have a drink or two, he'll be along shortly...."


Redleg's Rides

Colorado Motorcycle Travel Examiner

Flimsky said...

The guy on the K1200 didn't get any bride. He got Patty Hearst. Good job, thankfully she left the machine gun at home.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Charlie6 (Dom):

You are so right! Bregstein often tells women he is me... Of course he rides an "R" bike and can't quite pull it off. You had the line that made me laugh the second hardest all week.

But I'm afraid the really funny comment followed yours tonight.

Fondest regards,
Twisted Roads

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Flimsky:

Sometimes, some one makes a hit and run comment on Twisted Roads that has the impact of an earthquake.

It is 1:17am, and I am up for the night writing. I slipped into Twisted Roads for a fast look see, and found two comments.

The first made me smile pretty broadly. Then I read your remark. The first shock rattled my ribs. The second one made my whole body tremble. And then I exploded into laughter.

You and I are probably the last two people in the world who remember Patty Hearst. And by the waty, I always thought Patty was as sexy as all get out.

Fondest regards.

Anonymous said...

I remember Patty's strawberry tattoo. She was maudlin, always whining some shit about needing a real man with something she called a "battered baby seal look." Never knew what the fuck she meant.
Rita Hayworth. Now there was a minx.

Vinnie D said...

Dear Jack:
The one time I told someone I was you the response was "You have the right to remain silent..."

As far as pick up lines go. I can't remember back that far, and I was falling down drunk, but I must have used a good one on Jane.

Canajun said...

The only pickup line I know that actually works is, "Use your legs, not your back." I've never gotten any women with it (they're all laughing at the bike on its side in the parking lot), but I have saved a few disks.

Jack Riepe said...

Dear Anonymous:

Rita Hayworth? You have to be a "R" bike rider.Didn't Rita Hayworth have an affair with President Grant?

Fondest Regards,

BeemerGirl said...

Who needs a damn pick up line when you actually own the hot bike that women don't mind straddling...sheesh. Break down and get the bike... ;)

Unknown said...


I wouldn't know what to do "after" the pickup line.

I was young and delivering prescriptions for the local drug store, using my bicycle. One day I delivered the package to a huge mansion and the lady was very nice. She actually asked me to come in and "have some milk & cookies" . I said no thank you maam, I have to get back to the store.

I can tell you now that if someone offered me "milk & cookies" knowing what I know now, I would have called in sick . . .

Riding the Wet Coast
My Flickr // My YouTube

WooleyBugger said...

"Why do I ride a Harley? It's all I could afford."

And hey Jack, if I wanted a cushion ride, well, I'd look up one of your ex's.

Conchscooter said...

I am impressed you weren't intimidated by the size of the snake. I once knew a belly dancer who kept a python in an aquarium at the end of the bed. I could not help but compare notes with it as I undressed. pythons have an innate sense of superiority, I learned.