Change In Riding Plans This Spring...

Last week started with a loud pop, not unlike the sound of a cork exiting a champagne bottle. I was out and about with a close friend who remarked, “Did that sound come from your hip?”

It was the left hip to be exact, and my next step (a cross between a limp and a bridge collapse) reflected the jolt of pain that followed the sound effects. Unlike previous jolts, this one lingered for a day or two, as the hip joint took its time in resetting. A visit to my orthopedic specialist resulted in an x-ray that looked like a crime scene photograph.

“This is a normal hip joint,” said the doctor, manipulating a scale skeletal model depicting the bone structure of an 18-year-old competitive pole vaulter. The joint moved smoothly and with the kind of precision reflected by a half-million years of bone evolution. Yet I couldn’t help wondering what happened to the rest of the “pole vaulter” that only this section of his left hip remained on display in a medical office. I wondered if I’d visited a urologist would a perfect model of male genitalia be on the guy’s desk.

“This is your left hip,” said the doctor, using a pointer to highlight the ghostly white spots of a film that hung over an illuminated panel. The x-ray depicted the hip bone of a brontosaurus that had been pickled in brine. “In a worst case scenario, the joint is reduced to a cartilage-free assembly of a loose bone-on-bone connection, that may audibly grate as it generates pain. Your hip has replaced the cartilage with broken Coke bottle glass and carved the rounded ball joint into a perfect cube.”

The doctor frowned and added, “If you were a horse, I would just shoot you now.”

The past two years has been an ongoing attempt to halt the spread of the arthritis with various formulas of Glucosamine, Chondrotin, fish oil, snake oil, herbal teas, honey and vinegar, juice from South America, real drugs and exotic massages from a place in Philly. The result has been a losing battle as the disease has made slow headway in both knees, both hips, and other joints as well. Compounding the problem is a body chemistry that absorbs fat calories from the air. Consequently, my options are limited. According to my orthopedic specialist, the only mechanical joint that will effortlessly function in my body now is nose gear from a Boeing 747.

Part of my arthritic evaluation was a process that measures the restricted mobility of various joints. It appears I’ve suffered a loss of motion that makes it almost impossible for me to get my left foot on the high peg of my beloved K75. BMW’s have fairly high pegs enabling the motorcycle to nail 46-degree curves without scraping anything. (The left peg on my bike is three inches below my left ear.) In prior years, the joint seemed to stretch as I rode more often. That is no longer the case. A friend of mine, Mike Evans, recently stated that the rigid nature of my left leg gives me a strange stance in the saddle. He followed me for 30 miles one day, convinced I was about to make a right turn at any second.

My first thought was to lower certain aspects of my K75, such as rebuilding the forks and carving the seat. (This is already a “low seat” version of this model.)Yet options for lowering the pegs are either not practical nor economically feasible. (I have exhausted all reasonably priced options for dropping the pegs on a K75. There are none.) In fact, I am opposed to dramatically altering the geometry of this fine motorcycle for what may amount to one or two more riding seasons. The only option that seems to make sense is switching to another bike. I tried a “cruiser” with a seat that was as low to the ground as a bull dog’s nuts. This didn’t work either. The far forward controls pose a different set of challenges to these knees.

On a hunch, I sat on a 2004 BWM K1200 with lowered forks, a lowered seat, and lowered pegs — with a lot less difficulty. This motorcycle is somewhat longer, heavier, and more powerful than the K75. In fact, it has a 60 horsepower advantage over my current bike, which is something I would just have to get used to. (The thought of being able to accelerate quicker and go faster — shedding a year in age for each mile per hour over the 100 mark — holds little appeal for me. Furthermore, I’d have no interest in owning a bike that would make me feel like I was 17-years-old just by looking at it. Nor would I lend any consideration to the fact that the 2003, 2004, and 2005 K1200s are the most beautiful “K” bikes to claw their way out of the Teutonic design suite.)

If I had to have a 2004 BMW K1200, however, there would have to be some modifications. The most practical of these would be in lowering the pegs, the forks and the seat, so I didn’t need a step to mount it. As members of my riding club — the renegade Mac-Pac — are quick to point out, a lowered bike shouldn’t impact my riding style, as I have to take a curve at 30 degrees, let alone 46. There are plenty of existing kits for lowering K1200 pegs that do not require the services of a machine shop and the skill of a tool and die maker. Lowering the forks would also allow me to custom choose the ridel, while the saddle would eventually go to the folks at Russell Day Long. My thought is to end up with a hot-looking BMW that is only about 27 or 28 inches above the ground, with pegs that do not require me cover my ears with my knees.

My K75 was a labor of love and reflects it with a ton of custom extras incorporated into its frame. A K1200 would follow the same pattern. My choice of a color would be the rare “Orient Blue” or a “Jet Black.” On the gas tank would be an air-brushed black widow spider (in some shade of deep red), with the telltale hourglass in black or orient blue on it’s abdomen. The factory panniers would be in the flattest of black paints, each adorned with a white skull and cross-bones. The license plate would read, “POIZN.”

I would eventually equip the bike with a Russell saddle, PIA HID lights, Moto -Lights (mounted on the front brakes), and another set of LED riding lights. This would require a custom side-bar light mount (similar to that on the new K1600s.) I’d also want a heated seat and a digital thermometer for ambient temperature. This would be my second “dream” bike. There is nothing prohibitively expensive about acquiring and equipping this machine... I just can’t own two motorcycles, especially if it is painful to ride one of them. This will mean selling the K75, something I swore I wouldn’t do.

I am now onto several potential candidates for a K1200, which means the time has come to list the K75. I am planning to list it through a local dealer this week. The machine is a 1995, BMW K75 — Low Seat Model — in “Mystic Red,” with 25,126 actual miles on the speedometer. It’s extras include:

Inspection/Registration: current
Condition: Very, very good — Garage kept, never dropped

Extras:
• Eastern Beaver Relay in headlight
• Moto-lights ($450) - separate relay
• PIA HID lights ($650) - separate relay
• 36 Flashing LEDs auxiliary stoplight ($100)
• 36 50% running lights, 100% stoplight LEDS on plate bracket ($135)
— 72 extra LEDs total —
• Centech Auxiliary fuse box
• Russell Day-Long Saddle (electrically heated)
• Auxiliary volt-meter
• Fork Boots
• Works Perfomance Shock
• Square custom mirrors
• Stone Guard for throttle bodies
• Parabellum Scout Fairing (Tinted Plexiglass - clear spare included)
• “Authority Style” crash bars (powder coated black)
• Muffler -- Jet Hot Black
• Factory sidebags (really tight mountings)
• Factory topcase
• Pigtail for tender connection or heated gear
• 6,200 miles on the tires
• New Front Brakes in 2010
• New clutch cable
• Clear plastic belt buckle scratch guard on tank (at seat)
• RAM mount for GPS

Above: Left side of "Fireballs," the legendary 1995 BMW K75 of song and story. Note PIA H.I.D. lights mounted on rare "authority" bars, powder-coated in black. Light switch is integrated in dash panel.

Above: Right side of "Fireballs." Note theme of "Black and Red" is carried through to the Moto-Lights mounted on the front brake caliper mounts. The width of the Russell-Day-Long Saddle is enhanced by the fact it is a heated seat.


Above: The business end of "Fireballs." One of the last low-mileage K75's in existence... And a real find equipped like this one.

Above: "Fireballs" wearing her traveling bags. All three keyed to the ignition lock.


This motorcycle has been featured in my column BMW MOA’s publication — The Owner’s News (ON) — and has been regularly profiled on “Twisted Roads.”

Asking $4200... Interested parties contact: jack.riepe@gmail.com
No international sales...

Ducking the Valentine’s Day Bullet...

The Annual St. Valentine’s Day Turkey Shoot is about to commence, with millions of hapless men scrambling to buy tokens of their love for women. Nothing confounds the average American male more than the phrase “a truly, romantic, original gift.” One reason for this is the concept of “romance” differs so radically between men and women. To a man, true romance is watching the moon rise, while getting a trombone solo from a hot squeeze, in a pick-up truck, after beer and pizza at the local gin mill. This was what they dreamed about when they were 17-years-old, and generally the strongest selling point of their first wife. (That bubble burst about twenty seconds after the wedding cake was cut.)

The second reason is that the phrase “a truly romantic, original gift” seldom occurs in a sentence ending with “cheaper than a decent pair of motorcycle gloves.” The current economic downturn has placed many men in the unnatural position of having to weigh the joys of getting a trombone solo against the thrill of treating themselves to a new motorcycle helmet, a riding jacket, or even the more mundane self-gifting of an annual bike service.

What the staggering majority of gentle, beautiful, sensitive women really want for Valentine’s Day (or a birthday or an anniversary) is a token of affection that reflects forethought, consideration, and the enduring passion of the soul. (This rules out an engraved, chrome air filter-cover that fits your Harley.)They want something that transcends the mundane. Regrettably, you can squeeze any six guys and not get enough forethought, consideration, and enduring passion to fill a shot glass.

This is where Twisted Roads steps in.

Our panel of gift experts have been getting laid for years by feigning sincerity, by exchanging mysteriously soupy looks, and by presenting gifts that reek of originality. Each of our gift recommendations is the work of an artist, unique in its own regard, and designed to appeal to the soul of a woman. Purchasing one, or a combination of these gift recommendations, is virtually guaranteed to raise the stock of any guy looking to be regarded as “something special” in a world of romantic mediocrity.

How can a man put a price on romance? The answer is “easily.” Yet these Valentines Day gifts are priced to appeal to a man’s heart as well. Each has been selected for quality, availability, and emotional impact. And ordering these online will eliminate the mad scramble endured by so many other hopeless souls, locked in a desperate search for romantic originality during the final hours of February 14th.

The Ultimate Original Alternative
To The Sappy Store-Bought Card...
A Love Letter Written By A Professional Writer!

Nothing turns a woman’s heart into into Silly Putty like a love letter written by a man who understands passion. Yet nothing is harder for the average man to write. Well-intentioned men try to put their passion into words, but end up spewing tired metaphors for a woman’s eyes, thread-bare synonyms for love, and thinly-veiled references to boudoir embraces that sound suspiciously self-serving. And yet, the assembly-line quality of store-bought cards can be much worse.

Jack Riepe is a professional writer who has been melting the iron-clad hearts of the world’s toughest women for years. A man of average looks and less than average intellect, he plays his keyboard like Cupid’s violin. His first wife was a newspaper reporter, who used to slam him in the headlines. His second wife was a KGB poisoner and he is still alive. His third enduring love was a rodeo rider from Texas, who once asked, “How do you write this stuff?” She would later refer to his love letters as “the tail of the rattler.”)

Let Jack Riepe write a love letter for your special Valentine.

Each order (domestic US) will be accompanied by an interview (call or by internet) to get a few critical details required to generate a two-paragraph letter (ten to twelve full lines, or more). Orders from outside the US will be detailed solely by internet. Each letter will be printed in script, on quality paper and mailed in a reinforced envelope. Clients ordering these letters may present them in two ways:

A) As a letter they themselves wrote, bearing their signature.
B) As a letter they commissioned, complete with a certificate of authenticity. (How many guys would hire a writer to listen to them describe the manner in which they adore their wives or lovers, so they could have it stated in a really unique way? This is the height of originality.)

Each letter is guaranteed to be absolutely unique, one-of-a kind, and totally confidential. Letters are available from men to women, women to men, and same sex. (What the hell? Love is love.) Valentines come mild, spicy, or vague (for anonymous applications). No porn. No poetry either, sorry.

The cost of each Valentine/love letter is $18.00, plus $2 shipping and handling.

To order, send your name, address and telephone number to jack.riepe@gmail.com
Put “Valentines Day Love Letter Order -- Rush” in the subject line. Please include a good time to call. The interview process takes about 5 minutes. (No phone number automatically means you’ll get the interview questions via e-mail, which adds time.) You should assume it will take two full days to process each order. Unless a client is willing to accept text by internet (to print out themselves), the cut-off date for ordering one of these Valentine/Letters is February 10th, 2012. (The cost is the same, minus the S&H.)

Anyone ordering a copy of “Politically Correct Cigar Smoking For Social Terrorists” as a Valentine’s Day gift — either for themselves or others — is entitled to receive a Valentine/Love Letter included in the $30 price (plus $5 S&H). Follow the same ordering instructions as above, but place the phase “Book Order Valentine -- Rush” in the subject line.

The Ultimate Valentine’s Day Confection...
The Power of Chocolate And
The Taste That Drives Women Crazy!

Nothing is more closely associated with Valentine’s Day than those huge, red, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. Yet sometimes you are paying more for the box than the contents. There is a link between chocolate and passion dating back to the ancient Mayas, who regarded it as an aphrodisiac. But anyone relying on boxed chocolates to get the fires of the heart roaring should consider Big Jim’s “Riotously Delicious” Chocolate Chip Cookies as their first shot. There is so much of the rich passion stuff in the chocolate chips used in Big Jim’s cookies, it is rumored that the cocoa beans must be picked by eunuchs.

Big Jim stands about 6’7” and no cookie was big enough, nor rich enough to satisfy his tastes... So he crafted his own. Each of the five varieties (Chocolate Chip, Purely Pecan, Chocolate Chip and Pecan, Chocolate Chip & Peanut Butter Chip, and Chocolate Chip & Peanut Butter Chip & Pecan) is an irregularly shaped pleasure puck of cookie perfection. (A family of five* could live on one cookie for a week, but that would be torture with an open box in the house.) Technically speaking, one cookie is about as satisfying a full slice of pie. Professional motorcycle racers - like Chris Carr - have enjoyed Big Jim’s cookies in the pits for years. (They even made it into a YouTube clip at one track!)

All cookie varieties are $14.95 a dozen... (Minimum 2 dozen order west of the Mississippi or south of the Mason-Dixon line.) Anyone ordering one dozen will be immediately sorry they didn’t order two. No Valentine’s Day orders can be guaranteed after February 10, 2012. All cookie orders are filled on demand. (Did we mention these were unique gifts that smacked of originality? When was the last time you got a candy heart that was made to order?)
* The family “of five” cited in the text is a family of Meercats.


Click here for Big Jim’s “Riotously Delicious” Chocolate Chip Cookies.

One Of The Most Original Romantic Gifts Ever...
An Enduring Valentine In A Work of Art!

Sid Dickens’ Memory Blocks (tiles) are a highly collectable series of exquisite wall art that strike the perfect balance of color, expression, and emotion. Each tile not only captures the passion of the artist, but forever holds the passion of the moment, be it an anniversary, a holiday, a birthday, or St. Valentine’s Day. The subject of the tiles vary, spanning birds, flowers, elements of sculpture, Roman numerals and letters. Some are mesmerizing details from paintings, while others in the collection have the characteristics of a bas relief.

The detail and quality of these tiles is astounding, with the majority retaining an “Old World” theme in both the artwork and the coloring. The designs are offered briefly, only to have the masters broken, guaranteeing that a limited number of each piece will remain in circulation. Sid Dickens Memory Blocks are made from “environmentally friendly” materials, and priced around $80 for current designs. (This is less than what you would pay for roses.)

While they can be ordered online, the true beauty of these tiles must be experienced in person. For my readers in the southeastern part of Pennsylvania, the best place to find a broad selection of Sid Dickens Memory Blocks is at Perennial Interiors (formerly Perennial Pleasures of Exton, Pa), at the Paoli Design Center, 1604 East Lancaster Avenue, Paoli, Pa, 19301-1506. The resident expert, Martha Naylor, can steer you to the most current Sid Dickens acquisitions (which include four separate heart designs) or show you some of the older designs with immediate collector value. She can be reached at 484-318-8376. To find then online, click here.

And trust me, they way they gift wrap these things at Perennial Interiors even the unopened box is special.

Want To Celebrate Your Love In A Hundred Years...
Give The Floral Arrangement That Lasts Forever!

Do you have the kind of romance that will endure for the ages? Then plant a tree... In your kitchen, family room, or living room. Bonsai trees have been known to live more than 200 years, with some species providing full-sized blooms on miniature, twisted trunks, three generations after the original lovers moved into oblivion.

There are two ways to present a Bonsai tree for Valentine’s Day, and Waterloo Gardens of Chester County, Pa is an expert at both. The first is to buy a fully established Bansai well advanced in the process of becoming a miniature tree. These make delightful gifts, in little ornate pots, with gnarly roots covered with soft green moss. And they run from $75 to the sky is limit, based on the age of the tree. The second way is to meet with a Waterloo Gardens associate and plant your Bonsai tree — together. You and your Honey can get your hands dirty — in the clean way — introducing a tiny tree to pure romance.

Need a bigger splash than a tree? Waterloo Gardens has a great selection of orchids too. Or get a miniature garden constructed in an oversized brandy snifter.

Waterloo Gardens has one of the best gift shops, with incredible choices (from exquisite silver jewelry to cloisonne boxes). They have two stores, one in Exton, Pa, and one in Devon, Pa. The Exton shop is vast, at 200 North Whitford Road, Exton, Pa 19341. Reach the Exton store at 610-363-0800. Find them on-line by clicking here.


©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012

Dispatches From The Front...

There are letters from allegedly living Twisted Roads readers. The Twisted Roads editorial staff will entertain questions from serious bikers regarding advanced riding technique, mechanical issues, rider safety, relationship building, how to break up with a woman (while tapping her sister on the way out the door), how elected officials get such big heads through such tight assholes, and which comes first: the pothole or the $900 bill to replace the wheel?

We will attempt to effect resolution for some readers with substantial bribes of Big Jim’s Chocolate Chip cookies — at our discretion. Don’t even think of hinting that you should get a box, unless you look like the woman in the first letter and include a picture.

The Publisher....



Dear Twisted Roads:

I am getting married in a couple of weeks to a woman who I met on a motorcycle run last summer. We are both a little nervous as this is an “inter-racial” relationship. (She rides a Harley and I ride a Vespa.) First there is the question of the blood test. I asked her about it and got a bone-chilling look. Then she pulled a Buck knife out of her boot and sliced her own palm, asking, “Do I pass?”

I really didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

Do you know if during the wedding ceremony the minister still asks if there is anyone present who objects to this marriage “to speak up now or forever hold their peace?” I jokingly mentioned that my mother might object. My fiance just laughed and said, “Not if she’s tied to a tree with a dead rat in her mouth.”

It’s not that I’m getting cold feet, but we were meeting with the caterer to finalize a few reception arrangements, when the gentleman asked, “What sort of napkins would you like?”

My fiance tested 20 of them by blowing her nose in each one, finally choosing a roll of paper towels as “best.” When asked if she wanted our initials printed on them, she replied only “FU,” in the dead center of each one.

She is stunningly beautiful, with a seamless tan, a few hidden tattoos (from the Kama Sutra), and likes to walk around the house naked. She has the skill of a gourmet cook and occasionally serves paté that she has created from all natural ingredients, using her flat stomach as a platter. When it comes to matters of the bedroom, she does things that would embarrass a farm animal.

Yesterday, I was moving some of her stuff into the bedroom, when I came across a strange red metal box marked, “Snap-On Tools.” I immediately suspected some higher level of sexual perversion, so I called her on it.

She was topless as usual, but I noticed a slight blush of embarrassment coloring her perfect nipples.

She bit her lower lip in hesitation, then said, “Don’t open it.”

I did.

It was filled with the strangest tools I have ever seen, including a wrench like a dental pick, complete with a series of paper-thin shims.

“What are these?” I demanded.

She started to sob, and replied: “When I get really hot and sexually uncontrollable, I have a mad desire to service German motorcycles.”

I can’t believe she kept this hidden from me. If a woman will hide secrets like this in the bedroom, what else will she conceal? I think it would be wise to postpone the wedding at the very least. My riding club — The Really Hard Guys Scooter Squadron — tells me I’d be much better off finding a woman from my “own” Vespa-riding kind. What do you think?

Sincerely,
Sylvester T. Simons, III
Accountant To The Pet Grooming Profession


Dear Sylvester T. Simons, III:

Your riding club is undoubtedly correct. A woman like this is thoroughly unpredictable, and could go off the deep end in the blink of an eye. Just imagine how mortified you’d be at the next national Vespa Week (in Sturgeon, South Dakota), if she started walking around topless among the pup tents and bingo games! Worse, she could start doing stuff like this now even as you try to do the decent thing and unceremoniously dump her.

I have never left a reader in the lurch and I’ll de damned if I’ll start today. I’ll marry her, giving you a chance to escape on your Vespa. I’ll do the best I can to distract her over the next six or eight months, allowing you to get as far away as you can at 36 miles per hour.

Don’t waste time, however. Bring her over here right now.

Fondest regards,
The Publisher


Dear Twisted Roads:

I have been a devoted reader of your blog for two years and go over each story several times, sometimes taking notes. You constantly reference a handful of guys as your riding buddies, and allude to a much larger cadre of moto-acquaintances as the Mac-Pac, a riding club with a preoccupation for BMW motorcycles that borders on sexual deviance.

Your description of these guys, for the exception of a Ducati jockey and an MV Agusta enthusiast, would lead your readers to believe they are all cool, accomplished riders, capable of getting a laugh from the guys and a smile from the ladies at the drop of a hat. Yet it has been my experience that a staggering majority of BMW riders are unbelievable douches, who leave 8 percent tips on the counter, sleep with a GPS under their pillows, and who wear full ATFGATFT (All The Fucking Gear All The Fucking Time) — even when taking a piss. (You have to really wonder about a guy who takes a leak wearing ballistic gloves.)

How do you explain the discrepancy between your perception of BMW riders and mine?

Sincerely,
Mavis LeBustier
The Waitress At That Shithole Where You Guys Meet For Breakfast


Dear Mavis:

The mayor of a southern town hosting a gathering of BMW GS riders once said “These guys arrive with one undershirt and a $10 dollar bill. Then they stay a week, changing neither one.” That cannot be denied. I have seen several GS riders, en route to remote and desolate destinations on the far side of Canada, stop just long enough to chew the bark on young birch trees. They get this way from making BMW bike payments and from occasionally buying spare parts. These transactions can force a man to live on $3.80 a week, all that is left from a $4,000 weekly pay check.

Sleeping with the GPS under the pillow becomes a reflex action for many BMW riders on weekend runs where each day begins with the tradition of “2,000 miles before breakfast.”

Many BMW riders wear full protective gear when they piss because they are doing so at 90 miles per hour, while standing on the seat, with the most important tool on the bike in their hand. Naturally, they are wearing riding gloves. This practice, taught by most BMW clubs as a rite of initiation, can save up to 28 minutes a day. This is a significant economy of riding time as the average BMW Saturday afternoon run is the distance between Chicago and Tahiti. Things are more difficult for women, who must drop their pants. Many feel shy about this if they do not have a perfect tan on their butt, or a coiffed squirrel.

Now I do not mean to imply that the Mac-Pac does not have its share of douches. There are exactly six, and they always sit together at breakfast. Just look to see who is always sitting together to find them. You can confirm your sighting by asking them, “What is the best oil for my bike?”

The person who responds with, “The absolute best oil to use...,” is the head douche.

Sincerely,
The Publisher



Dear Twisted Roads:

I have been a mental health professional serving the needs of the maniacally insane for over 25 years. Even a casual reading of remarks left on a previous blog episode, allegedly by “SnowQueen,” describing the publisher of this blog — Jack Riepe — as good looking, stimulating, and sensual, would lead anyone to believe there is a woman in basement someplace, wearing a ski mask while trying to start a chainsaw.

Now this may seem like a nice diversion for a few sentimental readers, but things are likely to change quickly when the door of the Twisted Roads office is sliced into sawdust by an infuriated “SnowQueen” looking for justice. And from what I can tell, she may certainly deserve it. Forcing a gentle beauty to ride pillion on what amounts to an outboard motor (1975 Kawasaki H2) with two tires is nothing less than the height of male hubris. In fact, seven southern states still have laws against this. Adding insult to injury was the fact this “bike” was painted in a shade of reddish purple that occurs only in bad science fiction.

In a more perfect world, real men would hold Riepe down while the SnowQueen diced him into lizard chum. The only thing saving Riepe’s life right now might be that most chainsaw killers neglect small engine maintenance in the winter. Chances are the plug needs replacing, the oil and gas have probably separated, and the chain itself is need of lubrication. Since this blog so frequently dwells in the land of the extinct two-stroke street bike, I think it is only fair that one or two articles on two-stroke engine maintenance appear, regardless of the danger to its author and publisher.

Sincerely,
Dr. Albert Hissingaz
Director
Wilmington Institute, Wilmington, NY


Dear Dr. Hissingaz:

If I had a dime for every woman who tried to kill me, I could afford to donate another book to the Wilmington Institute’s extensive research library, bringing its total up to 23. Woman have tried to shoot me... Poison me... And marry me to death. Things got so bad in one of my marriages that the dog would no longer take scraps from my side of the table. My neighbor would cover his ears and close his eyes every time I started the car. One wife even ripped my soul out and held it in her hand while crows pecked at it. (The soul of a moto-blog writer is often confused with a huge testicle.) And still, I have endured.

Though the SnowQueen has once again slipped into oblivion, I sent a box of Big Jim’s “Riotously Delicious” Chocolate Chip Cookies to her last known address. She’ll have to put the chainsaw down to eat even one... And with that first bite (the culinary personification of the battered baby seal look), I will be saved.

Thank you for your concern...
The Publisher


Dear Twisted Roads:

Moved by one of Jack Riepe’s weekly appeals to buy one of his current books (Politically Correct Cigar Smoking For Social Terrorists), I ordered a copy provided it was personally autographed and inscribed “with a highly motivational” text. I followed the complex ordering instructions and paid in South African Krugerrands as requested. While the book itself lived up to expectation (with stories curing baldness, removing crabgrass, and promoting marital harmony), the personal inscription was illegible. I hired an Egyptologist to transcribe the hieroglyphics scrawled on the front — to no avail.

This expert concluded that this was either data from the Dead Sea scrolls or a horoscope for the missing 2000 years from the Mayan calendar. On a bet, I had a Seeing Eye Dog sniff it. The animal gave it a good going over, then lifted its leg on chapters 6 through 10. Can I send a picture of this page to the Twisted Roads editorial staff for a translation? Otherwise, may I suggest Riepe train a chimp to autograph books? Then again, if he could train a chimp to autograph them, he could probably train a primate to get this blog out on time as well.

Sincerely,
Colin C.
Fort Worth, Texas


Dear Colin C:

Your correspondence — and that of every Twisted Roads reader — is important to us, which is why we passed it on to the Director of Marketing, which is the code we use around here for “Legal.” The last time we saw the Director of Marketing, he was sniffing the seat of a motorcycle last ridden by a fashion model in a lingerie ad. You may not be aware of this, but Jack Riepe has a medical condition that causes him to brush his teeth with gin, and to drink bottles of Woolite® from brown paper bags. He autographs books from his work station, which is on the curb of a Cape May, NJ street corner. Please accept a box of Big Jim’s Riotiously Delicious Chocolate Chip cookies for your trouble. A box will be sent to you shortly. (All of Big Jim’s Riotiously Delicious Chocolate Chip cookies are sold by the box. Some boxes may appear to be half eaten, like the one you’re getting. Please be advised that this is an optical illusion. You did not get the open box that was on Riepe’s desk.)

Sincerely,
Pauley “Fitz” Tooley
TW Marketing Director


The "Dispatches From The Front" section of Twisted Roads considers any and all legitimate letters from readers who are bikers. Please address your letters to "jack.riepe@gmail.com, placing the phrase "Dispatches From The Front" in the subject line. Selected letters will receive "promotional awareness" tokens at our discretion.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2012