One Of The Best Biker Books Ever Written...

Leanings
The Best Of Pete Egan From Cycle World Magazine
(MotorBooks, 316 Pages, $19.95)
22 Feature-length Stories
27 Column-length articles



Riepe rates this book 5 Stars (Out of 5 Stars)

If Mark Twain had ridden a motorcycle instead of piloting a steamboat, the iconic American novel Tom Sawyer would have turned out differently — and biker sage, writer, and wit Peter Egan might have had some serious competition. As it stands now, Egan remains untouchable and in a class all his own when it comes to two-wheeled story-telling. He is a master at weaving the anecdotal into warm, folksy prose, rich with imagery, history, and a genuine sense of, “What the heck...” that compels the reader to savor every line.

Many writers (including myself) muck around in the beginning of a story, trying to gain a little traction. Eagan is a master of the subtle beginning, relying on a couple of highly sophisticated techniques to lure the reader into the text. One of these is the patented “Egan Smokescreen,” where he points at one thing, and starts talking about something else. The reader smiles and nods, not willing to admit momentary confusion, then finds himself sinking into the soothing quicksand of a masterfully-written short story that is perfectly plausible from every perspective.

A good example of this literary device occurs in the first line, of the first story, in Section One of Leanings, a compilation of his best work from the pages of Cycle World Magazine. The story is titled, “Dateline Missoula,” and harkens back to 1977, the Middle Ages of modern motorcycle evolution. The line reads:

“I guess it’s better to bend a valve in Missoula than to lose your mind in Bozeman,” my wife said, patting my hand as if to console me.”

Who could argue with logic like that? Yet taken by itself, the statement is as significant as the Cheshire cat’s smile, if one had come upon it simply hanging in the air without knowing it should be attached to a cat in the first place. What follows next is a descriptive paragraph that appears to list the primary characters of a scene in a Fillini movie. It then becomes apparent that the author and his spouse are traveling on a bus. The hook is set firmly in the reader’s protruding bass-like lip with the qualifying paragraph:

“We were riding back to Madison, Wisconsin, via Greyhound, returning to a city full of prophets honored in their own time. Everyone had told me not to ride my old British twin to Seattle.”

There it is. The reader now knows a valve was bent.. That a British twin, described as old in 1977 and probably built around the signing of the Magna Carta, blew up... And that the circumstances about to be revealed in painful detail were spawned by the author’s hubris, in the face of advice to the contrary. Yet it is not possible at this point for anyone who has ever ridden an old British twin from the ‘50s or ‘60s, or who dreamed of riding across two thirds of the country on poor but whimsical judgement, or who just wanted to stretch the bonds of matrimony to the Greyhound Bus limit, to put this book down.

A second technique of Egan’s is just to drop the reader in the deep end of the pool. For example, in the piece titled, “To Ride A Vincent,” he begins: “It was the fastest bike in the world the year I was born, 1948, introduced just two weeks after my birth.” Not only is this a compelling way to start a short story, but this statement leaves one wondering if there is not some definite link between Egan’s birth the launch of the Vincent. The author makes no effort to dispel this notion and it remains something of an open question.

Egan’s stories contain a generous measure of personal experience with legendary bikes that have almost passed into mechanical mythology. He writes of Triumphs, Ducatis, Nortons, and the occasional Vincent like they were cousins who just lived down the road a piece. And when he writes about them, the reference is never about a museum where they are enshrined, but a garage, a living room, or an alley where the current owner was in the process of restoring the machine when Egan stumbled upon it. His position as an editor for Cycle World never worked against him either, as the man seems to get an unbelievably high number of invitations to ride these one of a kind bikes.

A number of Egan’s stories are thinly veiled ride reports — or details about assignments covering developments on Yamaha’s test track in Japan and Cycle Week on the Isle of Man — that are a sheer delight to read. Whether he is touring Ireland or just following the banks of the Mississippi, he weaves the color, the flavor, and the people of each locale into a narrative that sometimes wanders, but which never loses sight of the objective: to take you with him. And to make you feel a fraction of what he felt at the time.

This is my favorite passage from his motorcycle tour of Ireland:

“In the morning, Barb and I packed our luggage, which consisted of a tank bag and two soft saddlebags, and said goodbye to the O’Donovans. On our way out of Dublin we stopped to see the Book of Kells, housed in the long room of the Trinity Library. The book is a richly illustrated manuscript of the four Gospels, believed to have been written in year 800 A.D. in a monastery scriptorium. A woman ahead of me in line peered through the glass at the elaborate insular Celtic Script, intertwined with snakes and tendrils and flowers, and said in a New York accent, ‘I wundah what it says?’

“Her husband snapped back, ‘How should I know?’

“I suppressed an urge to read it for them and make it up as I went along:

“‘Gloria entered the room, flushed from her tennis lesson...’”

Yet you really get a surge of his feeling for motorcycles. His short stories depict the rapture of riding his first mini-bike, the wonder of riding Jay Leno’s Vincent Rapide, and the joy of taking a Ducati 900SS through the Alps — in terms that make it seem like all of this could just as easily have happened to you . Leanings, The Best Of Peter Egan from Cycle World Magazine (MotorBooks, 316 pages, $19.99) is a “must read” for any literate biker.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2010
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chanberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)

Breakfast In The Bed Of Hell... And A Glimpse Of The Future!

Just as the full moon will pull the tide across the beach or turn werewolves into accountants and lawyers, the third Sunday of every month draws the cream from Pennsylvania’s motorcycling riding elite to the Pottstown Family Diner, as the Mac Pac (the state's premier chartered BMW riding Club) convenes for breakfast. Thirty riders from towns and hamlets covering 1400 square miles of the “Keystone” state converged on this legendary greasy spoon on February 21st, to suck up eggs, bacon, ham, and hash — all floating in small puddles of liquified lard.

Like bears periodically coming out of a cave to piss or scratch during a forced hibernation, it was evident the winter had been hard on this group of primarily Teutonic two-wheeled aces. Growls and roars were exchanged as these veteran riders slammed their empty coffee cups on the chipped formica tables, shooting the beleaguered waitresses looks that demanded sustenance, such as it was. The diner’s owner, a man of experience and action, dragged in a trough from out back and filled it with the customary breakfast slops.

Hot coffee was sprayed over the group with a garden hose.

During the brief lull in which nothing could be heard but slurps of contentment, Mac Pac Gruppen-meister Brian Curry attempted to call the group to order. He did this by addressing the mass of riders through a talking moose head on a stick. (I shit you not.) In the middle of Curry’s impassioned effort to get everyone’s attention, a voice from the back of the room — it may have been Ken Bruce’s — yelled, “Open season on Moose.” The air was instantly thick with diner detritus, as Curry ducked and bobbed the impromptu onslaught.

(Above) Patches of ice did not deter 10 riders from coming into the recent Mac Pac Monthly Breakfast on their bikes. The machine of choice for the day was the mighty BMW GS. Photo by the author.

Club business was mercifully short as there were no guests to announce, no pressing projects, nor issues to discuss. Jack Riepe made a feeble attempt to announce the 2nd Annual Slider Ride to a White Castle Hamburger joint 98 miles distant in Toms River, NJ (March 20th), but the group received this information with the same enthusiasm they would have expressed for a barium enema.

(Above) Cute blonde Sue Cavanaugh, wife of Gerry Cavanaugh (despised Mac Pac Coordinator for BMW MOA's Mileage Contest) barely gives this magnificent silver BMW GS the time of day. Ugly as a bowling shoe, the BMW GS remains the marque's best seller. Photo by the author.

The first Annual Slider Ride was conducted two years ago, to commemorate Riepe’s 54th birthday. The purpose of the ride was to hit the nearest White Castle, where Riepe (who is openly addicted to these grit burgers of death), purchased 54 of them to distribute to the crowd. The Mac Pac demonstrated their deep affection for Riepe by boycotting the event. Only Don Eilenberger of the New Sweden BMW Riders (that's in New Jersey) and Tony Luna, of Motorcycle Views, met Riepe in Toms River. (Both later admitted they attended soley to meet women, an objective that was not realized.) Eilenberger presented Riepe with a genuine Rolodex watch (that ran on a "D" battery), and Luna got the shits from the sliders before he left the White Castle parking lot.

"How could we let that poor bastard ride all the way from Pennsylvania to celebrate his birthday alone, at a White Castle," said Eilenberger at the time. "It's just not the BMW rider way. If Tony Luna and I hadn't of shown, Riepe would have spent the afternoon sitting on the curb, with that face buried in a blue and white bag full of lard wafers. He'd have done better to get arrested someplace."

"Riepe is a natural born tragic figure," said Tony Luna that afternoon. "You have to wonder about his early home life if he spends the whole year looking forward to a nosebag of beef shavings. Rumor has it he was abandoned at an SPCA shelter when he was three, and raised there until he was 17."

(Above) Jay Scales and his gleaming BMW. Just a scant second before this picture was snapped, Scales had been standing with a crowd of Mac Pac riders. "All of you get in the picture," I said. "Let him show his wife he has friends." This picture was the result of that request. Photo by the author.

Ten members opted to ride into the event, cheating certain death on curves and shaded stretches of pavement where ice was still prevalent — especially at that hour of the morning. The majority of these guys rode mighty GS bikes, the armored vehicles of the motorcycle world. These riders included Jim Robinson, Andy Terrill, Jay Scales, Alain Kaldewaay, and Ken Bruce. Bruce Heilman pulled up on his royal K1200LT, the BMW motorcycle that weighs 26,000 pounds — and it was absolutely immaculate, without a hint of salt dust on a black finish that was the equal of an attorney’s soul. Legendary distance rider Doug Raymond was also in attendance on his familiar red “R” bike.

Let the record show that during the bloodbath that passed for breakfast, I overheard Doug Raymond tell someone (it may have been Horst Oberst), that he should share his stories with a competent writer, “a serious one.” He raised his eyebrows at me as he uttered these words, and the man meant them to sting. Singed for the moment, I turned away, and dreamed of my revenge.

Above) The ECO Mobile remains the most distinctive of any enclosed motorcycle design, hitting impossibly high speeds in a near aerodynamically perfect shell, propelled by a BMW motorcycle engine. Photo by the author.

Yet the big story for this Mac Pac breakfast was the final bike to arrive — the magnificent ECO Mobile, piloted by Tom Mohn, and his wife Kathy. Fully enclosed and supported by landing gear, the ECO mobile will hit speeds of up to 150 miles per hour, powered by a BMW K1200 engine and commanded by many of the original BMW K1200 bike controls. The machine cost over $80,000 (USD) in 2002 and was the first of its kind in the United States. (Now there are two.)

Amazingly enough, it was the first motorcycle ever owned or ridden by Tom Mohn.

Mohn first became aware of the development of the ECO Mobile in 1994, when he saw it on the Discovery Channel. Intrigued, he contacted the folks at the Discovery Channel, and eventually traveled to Switzerland to get a demo ride. He was hooked on the concept, took the specialized training, and ordered his machine — which took a year to build.

(Above) The left profile of Tom Mohn's ECO Mobile, sporting its new celestial paint job by Tricked Out Custom Cycles of Warminster. Photo by the author.

Mohn has admitted to dropping the ECO Mobile on a number of occasions. Yet a pair of hull sliders in the front and the exposed landing gear tires in the rear prevent the bodywork from coming into serious contact with the ground. The company that designed and built the ECO Mobile — Peraves — has a video that demonstrates a maneuver by which the rider can raise the machine by manipulating the steering and gunning the engine. Mohn professes not to have yet mastered that maneuver.

(Above) The right profile shot of the ECO Mobile details the air intake and the landing gear well. Photo by the author.

Originally shipped in a shade of white, Mohn recently commissioned a stellar custom paint for the ECO by Tricked Out Custom Cycles of Warminster, Pa.

(Above) The front office of the ECO Mobile is reminescent of a fighter jet. Many of the BMW bike controls are retained. Note the exquisite leather seat. Photo by the author.

“I have been a doctor of dental medicine and a scientist all my life,” said Tom Mohn (in an exclusive interview with Twisted Roads). “I have had a deep fascination with space and instructed Amanda, one of the graphic artists at TOCC, to come up with a celestial design to match the colors and composition of space with the fluid dynamics of the ECO Mobile. Her finished work is a tribute to the space shuttle, the Hubble telescope, the international space station and the crab nebula. The distinctive design even includes an orange stripe for enhanced visibility.”

(Above) A detail of the ECO Mobile's right profile. This machine is cool. Even the turn signals were smoked to blend in with the paint scheme. Photo by the author.


Since he never owned a motorcycle before taking title to the ECO Mobile, Mohn had no bad habits to unlearn. In fact, the only motorcycle he can ride is the ECO Mobile. Instead of attempting to drop his feet when stopped at a light, Mohn hits a button that drops the landing gear. “When riding on the back of Kathy’s Honda Aero Shadow, I subconsciously find myself attempting to lower the back wheels.” On the other hand, Kathy recently completed her ECO Mobile training and still finds herself attempting to drop her feet at a light.

(Above) I asked ECO Mobile pilot Tom Mohn to take me for a ride. "In your dreams, fat boy," he said, pulling away. Photo by the author.

The ECO Mobile is fully air conditioned, heated, and defrosted. It has a nice stereo and since it is built of bulletproof Kevlar®, the riders do no need to wear helmets. The pilot’s side comes with a belted harness.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2010
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chamberlain — PS (With A Shrug)

Twisted Roads Blog Episodes to Be Posted Every Monday And Thursday... Except Today

The Management of Twisted Roads apologizes for the delayed publication date of this blog, which was supposed to be out yesterday. The worthless turds that constitute our editorial staff, coupled with the useless human trash in the blog composing department, tied on a shitter yesterday, prior to going on a rampage. The police were called, and gained access to our offices only after firing tear gas into the windows. Despite upper management's instructions to shoot to kill, no causualties were reported. Scabs were called in to get this episode out this morning.

Twisted Roads regrets the inconvenience. Every reader who feels they were inconvenienced should indicate so in the comments section. Their names will go into a special drawing for a complimentary collection of 5 great motorcycle bandana's — all new. To leave a "comment," click on the little word "comment" (which is generally preceeded by a number). If your identification is not accepted, select "anonymous" and leave your full name at the bottom of your message. I can't do one more thing to kiss readers' asses as far as this issue is concerned.

Sincerely

Twisted Roads

Dispatches From The Front... Stuff Left Out

The “Dispatches From The Front” episodes of “Twisted Roads” deal with open correspondence to the author, bits and pieces of stories not yet published, real endings to stories of mine that were published in sanitized hardcopy venues, interesting pictures that haven’t yet made it into print, and ride announcements.

Previously Unanswered Correspondence From Readers

Dear Twisted Roads:

The island nation of Fuugola has been looking to compete in the winter Olympics for the past 50 years. As you must be aware, the tropical nature of Fuugola is not conducive to luge training, nor do our meager resources allow for the construction of large scale, artificially cooled luge facilities. The most recent blog episodes of Twisted Roads indicate that East Goshen, Pennsylvania is a land wracked by ice and snow, where people wear hides and drink potent liquids from helmets, worn to prevent death from impact during the odd warm month, when motorcycles play a significant role in the mating ritual.

Our research indicates that your current physique (which most closely approximates the dimensions of the Fuugolanese alpha male), your nurturing attitude toward women, and your ability to consume rum and coconut milk from a helmet — coupled with the frozen vastness of your driveway (an ideal luge training facility) — compel me to ask, would you consider going into training and competing on behalf of Fuugola in the next winter Olympics, to be held in Newark, NJ (a city with the same annual snowfall of Vancouver, BC).

(Above) Total Life Trainer from Fuugola — Photo by Bob Skoot


We haven’t got much to offer you in the way of compensation. In fact, all we can do is provide you with a “Total Life” trainer, who will do your cooking, your cleaning, and basic luge and motorcycle maintenance, while attending to your more animalistic needs. Her name is Siama Seeza. (Picture enclosed.) We would also be willing to name you “Hardonius Erectus,” which would make you a tribal chief. Would these arrangements be acceptable to you?

Sincerely,
Motubu Afumastu
Minister Of Olympic Competition
Island Nation of Fuugola


Dear Motubu Afumastu:

Looking at my calendar, I can start tomorrow.

Fondest regards
Twisted Roads



Dear Twisted Roads:

My boyfriend, “Street Crud,” rides a Harley Davidson. He got it to ride from Seven-Eleven to Seven-Eleven with his friends every weekend. Sometimes they cover as much as 25 miles in a day. They pull up in a huge line in the Seven-Eleven parking lot, drink coffee, and admire their bikes. Then they ride on to the next one and do it all over again. At that point, things started to get “odd.”

Crud got one of those stupid German soldier helmets, in chrome, that looks like a huge dickhead. After that, he got a Harley tattoo on his dick. Okay, it's not actually on his dick. It's a tattoo done in an arch that reads, "H-D... Born to ride" over his dick. But he likes to read it whenever he takes a piss, so he had it put on upside down. Crud has to shave his pubes to read the damn thing and has made a You-Tube video of shaving himself with a straight-edge razor. But it’s all bullshit. He really uses “Nair” and a pink Lady Gillette razor with little flowers on it. The straight-edge razor is made of plastic and came from a Halloween costume shop.

Now Crud is complaining about my tits.

(Above) Crud says these aren't Harley enough. Photo by Babs

He says they just aren’t “Harley” enough. I am a 34 “C,” with pink rosé nipples that point up. He wants me to get a boob job pushing these puppies up to 44 “Double D’s,” so I can get “Harley” tattooed on one, and “Davidson” on the other. Except he wants the words put on backwards so he can read them in the mirrors on his Sportster. A fucking Sportster. Is it just my imagination, or does it sound strange that a guy would willing go riding around on a little fucking Sportster? Do you think he secretly wants to be a bitch.

Sincerely,
Babs
Questioning Sportster Crud
Shithole, New Jersey


Dear Babs:

Could be. I’ll admit that the fascination with a little motorcycle and big hooters does sound strange. But we here at Twisted Roads are more concerned with potential safety hazards that Crud may be creating — and to which he may be inadvertently exposing you. Our safety team engaged an exotic dancer, with 44 “Double D’s,” to ride pillion on a Sportster we found parked behind a local ballet studio. A we suspected, her bodacious tah-tahs completely filled the field of vision on both mirrors, preventing the operator from seeing anything else.

This is a very dangerous situation. You were smart to write to us.

But there is some good news too. Your current vital statistics exactly match those found on page 16 of the K75 Eugenics Guide For The Perfect Ride. In other words, you are exactly proportioned to be a flawless addition to the pillion of any BMW K75, particularly those manufactured in 1995. (This is a legendary motorcycle that is anything but small.) There is a notation on the same page that as a further test for rider compatibility, you can lay back on the gas tank, resting your ankles on the K75 operator’s shoulders. If he emits a low whistle, you’re a perfect fit.

I just happen to have a 1995 K75, with a custom tank bag made of Corinthian glove leather. Let me know if I can assist you in any way.

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads


Dear Twisted Roads:

Me, Nancy and Harry actually did save 1.8 million jobs. Yours just wasn’t one of them. So fuck you.

Sincerely,
Bowing Barry
Washington, DC


Dear Bowing Barry:

Thank you for writing to Twisted Roads. No one is here right now, as we are out begging on the street, but your opinion is important to us. Your letter will be answered next November. Fuck me? Fuck you!

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads



Dear Twisted Roads:

You Son Of A Bitch: Oh you were sooooo cool... Coming up to me in that dumpy biker bar with that stupid line, “Allow me to reproduce myself.” I could kill you for wearing that stupid banged-up beagle look on your face, and myself for falling for it. I can’t believe I swallowed that story about you being on your way “to donate an organ.” Well we know who the organ recipient was, don’t we. Then you told me those pills in the bottle next to your bed were male birth control tablets. They were nothing more than red m&ms. (I found the rest of the bag on the floor in the bathroom. Not a red one in the whole bunch.) You are such a prick. You and that whole BMW- riding crowd from Pennsylvania. They ate and drank everything in the damn beach house.

When am I going to see you again?

Sincerely,
Paris H.
Hollywood, Cannes, New York, You-Tube

ps: The video is so cool... Especially when you peel that little Twisted Roads tee shirt off me.


Dear Paris H.:

I never lied to you... Well maybe just a little... Actually, the part about me being a professional pole vaulter was a stretch... Unless you want to consider vaulting the poles the strippers use in topless joints as a vocation. And you knew what those guys were when you answered the door. You still owe me $2,000 for the shirt.

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads


Dear Twisted Roads:

I want to be just like you, and have women lift their shirts every time I pull up on my bike too. So I got a red K75, covered all the chrome parts with black Jet-Hot coating, mastered the patented “battered baby seal look,” and even shoved a large potato in my tight Aerostitch riding gear. I get a lot of smiles, but not one woman has lifted her shirt. Should I change the muffler on the bike? Should I switch to a Sprint fairing? What am I doing wrong?

Sincerely,
B. Curry
Hanging Cat, Pa


Dear B. Curry:

Try putting the potato in the front of your Aerostitch.

Sincerely,
Twisted Roads

Other, Unrelated Issues

BMW aficionado Lee Kazanas sent me this picture from Jay, New York... Where I used to live. It is a pictorial comparison between the weather in Jay and East Goshen, Pa., my current residence. Lee Kazanas was one of my very first friends when I moved up to the Adirondacks. Our daughters trick or treated together when they were five years old.

(Above) Lee Kazanas on his newest acquisition, a BMW R1150RT, sending me an encouraging message about the weather. Photo by Lee Kazanas

Kazanas and his wife Cheri are the talent behind the world-renowned Jay Craft Center, the source of exquisite pottery, woodwork, and jewelry. (This studio is highly regarded as the epicenter of cultural development in the North Country. It is part of an extensive community of artists, musicians, and writers, plus a sweat shop where Kazanas keeps Cheri and the kids handcuffed to the machinery.) I have spent thousands of hours with Lee and his wife over dinner, at a bar, by a fireside, or even in their studio, where clay is tortured into beautiful shapes. Some of the most elegant Adirondack homesteads are decorated with artwork from this studio, adorned by the distinctive pinecone signature. Years ago, when I was a young writer, I saved six months wages to buy a hand-painted switch-plate for the kitchen wall from the Jay Craft Center. One of my former wives took it on her way out.

This picture is Lee’s genteel way of giving me the finger. He's out riding, and I'm not.

Clicking on this link will take you to the front forks of Michael Cantwell’s 1994 BMW K75. A neighbor of Lee Kazanas, Cantwell lives in Wilmington, NY (another town where I used to live). This video clip depicts Cantwell roaring out onto Bonnieview Drive, and turning left onto Route 86, for the first ride of 2010. His run will go past the road on which Twisted Roads reader Ihor Sypko has a cabin, and past the vegetable stand where the Mulvey’s sell produce in the summer. (Cantwell will blow his distinctive horn as he passes the Mulvey Farm.) Coming into Jay, Michael will go right onto Route 9 in Jay, passing the Jay Craft Center, only to get stuck behind a minivan doing 25 mph for the last 15 miles of a beautiful ride along the barren AuSable River. (The only thing that keeps Cantwell from passing the other vehicle is unsabashed fear. The word the gentle reader is looking for is “pussy.”) Nevertheless, the sound of the K75 is like having a hot luge trainer from Fuugola whisper in your ear. The video pixelates as Michael hits his top speed of 36 mph, but the sound of that engine is the symphony of life. I recommend watching the video at least once, then closing your eyes and just listening to it a second time.

Gifts I received...

Readers occasionally send me the nicest things. Most recently, Bob Skoot of “Wet Coast Scootin’” sent me a collapsible stool to assist me in mounting and dismounting from my K75. The arthritis in my hips and knees is so bad, that swinging my leg over the 31” (inch - ‘Merican unit of measurement) sends a jolt of pain through my spine. This thoughtful gift is cleverly designed to fold flat, and Bob quickly deduced that it would fit into my topcase, providing me with additional options to minimize my riding challenges. My topcase is the OEM unit from BMW. It opens forward, enabling me to reel in a step, secured to the handelbars by a chain, and drop it into the case behind me, also accepting a folding cane that I use for walking. Bob undoubtedly felt this stool would be a rather fashionable answer to my mounting problems.

Regretably, the stool that Bob sent me does not fit into the topcase, which has some peculiar dimensions.

(Above) The interior contours of the BMW OEM topcase limit the usable space inside, and the nice folding stool that Bob Scoot sent me is a trifle too large. Photo taken by the author.

The step I currently use was built for me by Jim Sterling, a Mac Pac rider and friend, who happens to be an engineer for Boeing. Sterling recognized the odd parameters of the BMW topcase, took careful measurements, and built the step to fit. He rode up to my garage from Delaware, where he then experimented with a prototype, that added nearly four inches in height to my leg, helping me get it over the “fat man wings” of my Russell Day-Long Saddle.

(Above) This is the step arrangement I cureently use, designed and built by Jim Sterling, of the Mac Pac Engineering Institute. These guys can do anything. Photo by the author.

Bob Skoot was the 6th person to contribute a step to my garage. Prototypes were contributed by Ricky Matz (a friend of mine for 40 years), Ken Bruce (Mac Pac), Dick Bregstein (Mac Pac), David Hardgrove (Mac Pac) and Jim Sterling (Mac Pac). David Hardgrove provided me with the exact same model as Bob Skoot, so now I have two. Two of the wooden steps (Ricky’s and Ken’s) are now permanent fixtures in the garage, which I can just pull up to. Bob Skoot’s step (which was mailed to me at considerable expense) is now in the Suburban, to assist me in getting snow off the roof and as a means to soften the jolt when the Celebrex isn’t up to the job.

I have no idea what it was that deserved this kind of consideration attention from my riding friends, but I am eternally grateful.

Tena Abbey sent me a pouch she knitted, filled with little baby harp seals. According to the note, she has been studying the marketability of the “Battered Baby Seal look,” a technique I have relied on to get laid for years. (I have not previously considered marketing this secret, nor holding webcasts in its execution, as I am not interested in raising the competition.) Abbey claims that the baby harp seal has other therapeutic benefits, however. In a secret study, Canadian school teachers, politicians, healthcare officials, and clergy all showed dramatic drops in anxiety after spending a few days on the ice, clubbing the shit out of baby harp seals. (It’s hard to believe that Canada has a dark side like this, but it fits in nicely with the whole bilingual scam.)

(Above) Tena Abbey's desktop Harp seals are ideal for battering with a pencil, to work out those inner office tensions. Photo by the author, taken on his desk.

Abbey felt that she could replicate the relaxing sensation of clubbing baby harp seals, and make it available to executives and others with high anxiety-generating jobs in the US, through this pouch of seals. You simply empty it onto a desk top, and whack the seals with a pencil. I recently did this while listening to a keynote speaker in the travel industry. Her presentation was on the significance of professional advancement within a firm by using social networking, like Facebook, to kiss ass publicly. By the time her presentation was over, I had whacked two of the fake seals to threads, and ate three others. Abbey is working on a CD that will create accompanying sound effects as well.


Two Tee Shirt Honeys...

Janice McKenzie bought three of my shirts around Christmas time, realizing the power of a Twisted Roads Tee shirt in a world gone amok. She then tempted fate by wearing one herself. Apparently, it has raised the value of the house she and Rolly Brown live in. I got the picture from Rolly, who said, “Doesn’t Janice look great in this shirt? And it really accents the natural beauty of the front porch too!”

(Above) Janice McKenzie demonstrates the proper fit of a Twisted Roads Tee Shirt. Photo by Rolly Brown, I thnk.

The second shot is off Tena Abbey, who decided to wear her shirt into a local library. I thought I had explained that the nature of the Twisted Roads tee shirt is best experienced in a risque setting. Now Tena lives over on the west coast, and apparently, the library is where women go to get something started. I heard that guys in the periodicals section went berserk, throwing cards from the catalogue high in the air. Some guys even spoke out loud.

(Above) Tena Abbey let's her Twisted Roads tee shirt magic loose in a west coast library. Photo is from the National Civilian Secret Data File.

Twisted Roads is in the process of changing its Tee shirt vendor. I wasn't happy with the quality of the larger size shirts, and am in the process of switching suppliers. Several folks have inquired, and I apologize for the wait. Five people have been waiting for books, and these were shipped today.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2010
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chamberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)