Above: In one year, the rising Atlantic Ocean will claim another .13" of this doomed New Jersey Beach. Photo by the author.
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.)
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.
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.”)
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).
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).
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
I've heard it said BMW designed their famous reciprocating-piston flat-cylinder engines to trap and crush riders testes I order to keep BMW owners docile and aloof at motorcycle gatherings. Can you comment?
Ernest "Dick" Pussifactor
Jawa Owners Club
Roaring Two Stroke Chapter
Dear Ernest Dick:
The iconic reciprocating-piston flat-cylinder engine is called a "Boxer."
If you have encountered docile and aloof BMW riders at some sort of meeting, I think you will discover you were attending a bylaws committee event for a rural chapter. The riders you describe are not aloof, they are in a coma. While the BMW "R' bike Boxer engine has seen many improvements since it was introduced during the reign of Imohotep, Pharaoh of all Egypt, in 4600 BC, the newest boxer motors would have to be 36,000 ccs to put a dent in a BMW rider's cashews.
I recently attend a regional BMW Rally where registration was free if you could hang upside down and light your cigar from a bonfire — while doing 80 mph on a "K" bike. Nine hundred and eighty riders attended. Fifty two percent were women. Only three paid (because the registration officials ran out of maduro cigars. What's the point if it's not a maduro?)
Thank you for reading Twisted Roads, a primary source of great moto info.
Great to have you back Jack...I no longer feel i have to "go it alone" in the moto world, even though I ride an R bike!
The "R" bike is spiritual and iconic.
Every "K" bike ever built is so ugly that dogs won't piss on it. You can leave one parked at the curb, with the keys in it, and nobody will steal it.
The "K" bike can never be spiritual... Just purely sexual.
It was great hearing from you.
Enjoy being iconic.
You wrote: Scientists have concluded there is a significant link between testicle size and motorcycle horsepower. So the less horsepower, the bigger the testicles....I'm afraid you K Bike riders are thus left "on the smaller" side by Ural Riders everywhere since I don't believe there's another brand with less HP in their main offering!
As to the .13" of beach loss projected, I think your ever-descending testicles are safe.....though if climate change proves real then come to the great state of Colorado, we're a mile higher (and sadly, legally much higher in the PRB (people's republic of Boulder) and most of downtown Denver presently designated as hipster habitats.
Good to see you blogging again Sir.
Nice Blog. Look forward to seeing the next edition in 2017.
Once again I am stunned at the fluidity of your prose, the absolute vulgarity of the subject and that all of this has caused me to laugh literally in a senseless manner and to recall how many times you have made me laugh in the past.
Jack, there's really nobody like you in the literary world, or even in the illiterary world.
I, too, am acquainted with boxer engines, but not of the same type of which you speak. I have to admit, though, since being relegated to the riding of my "boxer", I have not had to experience similar testicular issues, there's simply too many letters in Subaru.
Of sea level rise I've no particular care or interest. It's connection with the small state of New Jersey makes it even less of a concern. Talk to me when the waves lick at Trenton. I'll write a letter to my congressman then that while one problem has been solved the Liberty Bell may have to be moved.
Testicles, or balls as they're called in Passiac, are a more fascinating subject particularly in regard to their service as meat-based bellwethers of all things moto. The big BMW balls that drive spikes are one of the more peculiar aspects of riding those sewing machine sounding bikes of which the ensuing embarrassment of such conveyances has shown in laboratory situations to cause the secretion of large amounts of feminine hormones causing the freakish enlargement of said rider testes. While further testing is necessary to unravel the whole story around the big balls early data suggests a direct correlation between time on a BMW and the occurrence of Tuperware and other functional kitchen products purchased by BMW riders.
It's a sad state of affairs. If BMW ownership goes on too long gray matter from the brain migrates to the balls and eventually riders find themselves purchasing white shoes and belts to go along with their lime green polyester pants and pastel shirts.
I am glad to see that you are in some sort of kindly remission from your own junkie times with a K bike. You're a lot like Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones with everyone wondering how you're still alive considering that evil oil head nighmare...
Scooter in the Sticks
So good to see your mumblings again.
As I sit hear listening to Eric Church's recent single, "Like a Wrecking Ball" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gnoMAocnbs", I now realize it now has new meaning. You will heretofore be be known as "Wrecking Ball". Well played, well played indeed.
Dear Charlie 6 (Dom):
It is always a pleasure to hear from you. However, you got the equation for huge balls = 10x moto horsepower wrong. Your URAL was designed in a period of global hardship, at a time when balls would hide in the bushes when the shells started to fall. Consequently, the 15 horsepower URAL (mb) lawn tractor is at the bottom of the inverted pyramid. The (mb) in the bike's title means "mouse balls." Do you know why mice have such tiny balls? Because very few of them know how to dance.
It was even more of a pleasure to meet you in Macungie, PA this summer, and to get a look at your URAL up close. I will never forget your kind offer to let me ride it. For the record, I thought your blog on the Silverton and Durango Railroad was the best. I love trains. Today marks the official resurrection of Twisted Roads. I can't believe how good I felt publishing this piece. I am going to write a piece on our meeting too.
Check again in a week.
Great to hear from you,
Thanks for your great note of encouragement! I do the best I can with what I have to work with. This past week, I found myself juggling a number of flaming editorial balls and two of them were mine. So I just wrote about that. Everything in nature is beautiful, but I do push the envelope, don't I?
Nevertheless, I was delighted to learn that I made you laugh. Amazingly enough, riders are looking to meet me on National Ball Drop Day at the Jersey Shore. I am always surprised that anyone reads my stuff.
I was sorry to see you rang down the curtain on your blog. But I understand it. I have been away from this one for two years. It sounds like you are well and I hope you will stay in touch.
It was great hearing from you.
Dear Steve Williams:
I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but if all the ice in Greenland finds its way into cocktails like martinis, then the oceans will rise 700 feet over a weekend. Don't you live close to the town of Jersey Shore, PA? Well, that will be the Jersey Shore. I do not profess to have all the answers regarding testicles and the moto mystique, including the German conundrum... But several women have come forth to help carry mine around. Huge dropping moto testicles beat VESPA ennui every day of the week.
By the way, those who have white hair and white shoes are called Q-Tips in New Jersey.
When are we going to run into each other again? May I suggest the Four Winds Rally next year? It will be their 50th anniversary.
It will be great to see you again under any circumstances. And I ill not make fun of the prescription windscreen on your VESPA.
It is great to hear from you.
Two people I know said they enjoy your writing style. They think you should write an autobiographical book about creating modern-day eunuchs through voluntary transsexual nutectomys for K Nike riders.
I think those "Branded Testicles" would be a big hit at the Testicle Festival in Montana!
Personally I'm counting on sea level rise wiping out places like Miami or the Jersey shore so that Alaska becomes the new Florida…
Good to see you blogging again!
You have the right idea. By this time next year, the surf will be .13 higher in Itchktuk (home of the "Fish Chewers"), and the smell of French fry oil will permeate an atmosphere laden with the sounds of boardwalk games and rides. Nice to hear from you agaim.
They get me a much higher level of respect among biker women, which fades when I fail to let them brand the other one. I also got an offer from a commercial sponsor who wants to brand "Sweeney's Absolutely Fresh Oysters" on the left one.
Thank you for reading my stuff, Dan... And for making practical suggestions.
Nice to hear from you.
Dear BWM Dick (Bregstein),
You are so getting slammed in my next column. See you at breakfast on Sunday?
Thank you for reading my blog today and for giving me the cool name. I will mention this in my BMW magazine column. You are the first reader to give me a cool name that wasn't "Fatass, Douchebag," or "Ass Face." And I got those from former girlfriends.
Nice to see you back Jack.
We missed you.
The pleasure is all mine.
OMG!!! I thought you were dead! Dick told me so. Glad to hear and read Dick and I were wrong. Jack I miss your stuff please try to stay current it will be good for you and it will be great for US! Com on over when you can I need your help fixing the bikes...
Hey!! Glad to see you are back up to your old stuff! I had been wondering what might have happened with ya. BTW, my K75 has encountered some damage having put one of YOUR rats on stilts in contact with his maker. I consider myself as lucky as you in that I didn't even fall off. But she (Kbike) will need some fiberglass work and some cure for whatever filled my boot with antifreeze while scootin the rest of the way home before she gave me the hot lite. Keep up the good? work. RCL
Sorry to be among the missing so long. I owe you and Jimmy Robinson a call. I had a summer filled with highs and lows that set my head spinning. Will I see you at the November breakfast?
Dear Michigan KBiker:
My "Rats On Stiltz?" Was the crash in New Jersey. I hate fucking deer. They are so fucking stupid. Glad you didn't spend a week in the hospital, or worse. Are you riding the KBike tourer? Damage to a Sprint Fairing can be heartbreaking. The Parabellum "Scout" can be replaced. I imagine BMW could set you up with the bike's original fairing, but I didn't think there was that much money left in the world.
How many miles did you go before the hot light came on?
As one who tore his nut sack on the headstock of a bicycle at the tender age of 30, your blog caused me quevos to shrivel from walnuts to raisins at the thought of turning 60. Seriously, Jack, it brightens my eyes to see you writing again, although it did take my wife's searching to find you. "Conversations with a Motorcycle" is still my favorite book to take on the road.
What a pleasure it is to link to here from my rag now. Before I was a mild mannered Catholic school teacher who feared that perhaps leading my students and their stick-up-the-ass parents to Mr. Riepe's writings would cost me some ugly frowns at least or as a worst case scenario, the loss of my job. It's so relaxing to be out of the public eye. Well, perhaps not out of it, but not giving a shit about who sees what.
- Joe at Scootin' da Valley
Nice. Now hitch up the balls, get out of the hospital and try something (gag) healthy.
Miss the words.
Great entry, I love to come back here and read new articles, write more, best regards!
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Wow, ciekawy wpis. Opisana przez Ciebie wyprawa wygląda niczym w filmach, pierwszy raz się spotykam z czymś takim. Imponujące miejsce, szkoda tylko że tak daleko, to dość utrudnia wyprawę. Mimo to przekonałeś mnie tym wpisem totalnie. Może w przyszłym roku uda mi się tam wybrać, mam taką nadzieję. Pozdrawiam :)
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