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  1. #21
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    Quote Originally Posted by Hermit883 View Post
    Dave’s Trip
    Woah.....!


  2. #22
    Bud
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    Love it!

  3. #23
    dazegoneby
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    As the old guy laid out on the ground,he couldn,t focus on things around him.As he sat up, the guys he was working with, came over to help him to his feet.Man what a shitty way to start off work .He was fine a few minutes ago ,next thing he knew .He was looking at Charleys face.Whats wrong man?He didn,t know what just had happened ,but when the paramedics showed up .the old guy fought with them not to take him to the hospital.If you take me to the hospital it will break me ,the old guy said .After the paramedics checked him over, they agreed to let Charley drive him to the hospital ,after checking in he was amitted.Laying in the hospital bed ,Oz started to day dream. Thinking back to his 18 th birthday,it was one of his best.He was stationed in Alaska at the time.The old 66 triumph was easy to start if you knew the drill,at that age, Oz had not learned this .He would kick it alot ,and if he was lucky the old bike would start for him.Once started, the old bike ran fine .Takeing advantage of the extra daylight,doing what he could ,he tried fixeing up the old bike.Man what a place to be on his birthday,.It was a sunny spring day with clear skys.He was off of work that day ,all was good, beers at the club .His buddy Troy ,took him aside and said ,hey ,I have something for you.!Troy held out his hand ,in it where a bunch of little purple pills.Troy just smiled,Oz had heard about this stuff,it would take you away for a few hours.Oz wasn,t sure but here it goes.Takeing two of the pills ,Oz downed them with a beer chaser.Troy knew what the pills would do.He was smileing, knowing Oz took one too many.As the two friends started playing pool ,Oz felt a tremor run up his spine ,.The Oz and Troy both now where laughing their asses off,and there wasnt anything funny to laugh at.As the kalidescope of colors danced in front of his eyes, Oz thought, this is pretty far out.Man whatever that was ,it was kicking in heavy now.Troy was on the other side of the bar, getting a couple of beers.I looked his way ,shit he,s starting to look a little weird now.As the day blurred into night, the two guys laughed it up.As the girls in the Shamrock, were on the buy me a drink gig,Troy and Oz bought them till they where slurring their words.The girls in the bar were not locals but came up from Cali,they knew what the duo had taken ,by the wild look in their eyes.At the Shamrock,the guys where haveing a blast.As the hours went by, they where deeply in the grasp of the lsd.Every dancer was takeing on their own looks, and each one was cheered on by the laughing fools.The funny thing ,was watching the drunk chicks ,try to do their acts.By this time it was getting late but that didn,t matter the bar was open 24 hours.Oz went outside to check the bike.As he was outside, he thought what a great night for a ride .As the moon climbed the sky, he looked over the old bike, it had taken on its own hyptonizing gleem .As Troy was in side ,screwing with the dancers ,Oz got his rideing gear on,then tried to get the old girl running .Kicking until he was out of breath, he thought now what ,he looked down ,he was so far out ,he forgot the gas .Now gas on ,one kick, the triumph roared to life,as he sat there with the bike throbbing between his legs ,Oz thought here we go.Down the empty road he went ,not sure if what he saw was real, or part of the acid trip he was on.The town had one main road, about 15 miles end to end.As he rode back and forth that night ,he didn,t count how many times he went down that road.The bike was doing good throbbing on the deserted road ,then it sputtered to a stop .He turned on the reserve,cranked the old bike up and pointed her home . Click went the hospital beds light.Snapping Oz out of his day dream.The doctor was telling him he had almost died ,a ulcer was bleeding in his stomach,that caused the blackout.After the doctors poked and checked him,Oz started day dreaming again. It was the first one ,after he was out of the service.The holiday was on a weekend,he was rideing out to the coast to see his new girl.She wasn,t a knock out ,but Oz dug the thin girls.He had met her thru a friend.She was still young and wild.The first time the two got it on ,the Oz was in lust over her.The two had made plans ,to move back to his hometown.It would only take half a day to get her back with him.As Oz rolled into town, he thought of the fun the two would have that weekend.Now Chrissy lived in south side of Hampton,and Oz,s friend Sully lived in Smith field .It wasn,t a long ride to her place. At ten that day ,Oz tried to hookup with her .The parents said she was out with friends.Now why had she left, when she knew Oz was comeing to get her?Ok he thought ,I,ll be back later.While Oz hung out with Sully, he just blew it off,thinking she,ll be back soon and all will be cool.After the third trip to her place ,and no Chrissy , Oz ripped down the road he was totaly pissed,why had she stood me up?Out of his mind in rage, Oz flew thru the fields ,south of the James river.He was trying to blow off steam,his plans screwed by the skinny little hooker.He had pushed the sportster hard ,he was going way too fast.As the car was pulling out in front of him it was all he could do, to try and stop the harley.He stood on the rear brake ,,which went into a screaching slide.Then back end grabbed ,and spit him off into a tumble on the hard top.When he first stopped moveing, he thought, no this couldn,t have happened.Yet he was laying there on the road.When he opened his eyes, he was looking at a cars bumper.Jumping up as fast as he could ,he checked himself over, only thing he saw was a bad case of road rash.Looking over at his bike,it was laying on it,s side gas running out of the carburetor that was torn off the bike.Getting to the bike, he cut off the gas and tried to pick up the bike.He felt that his wrist was burning as he tried to get the bike upright.No way, the scoot would get him home.As he looked around at the people there,he saw them .the asshole who pulled out on him,the old woman,,the guy with the truck,,A truck! It all had happened in a heart beat ,but there he was broken scoot and no way home.Now Oz didn,t ask for help from strangers ,but with a broken scoot ,him standing by the road ,he wasn,t shy .The guy with the truck said if you live close by ,I,ll haul you home if you want.Now this was a time to get out of there, before the man showed up.The two loaded the bike on the truck .They went to Sully,s place .After the guy helped unload the bike ,the Oz stared at the harley,thinking that all of this happened, because he was pissed off,and takeing it out on his bike.As he stood in the shower that night,he realized how close he came to dieing that day. Click went the hospital light,it snapped him back out of the dream .The nurse said hey lucky, your going home today ,Oz thought to himself, honey ,you dont know how lucky I am
    Last edited by dazegoneby; 02-12-2012 at 10:04 PM. Reason: needed it,

  4. #24
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    Not sure if poems are an acceptable form of a short story...

    Where you were is precisely what I saw
    Fun and rebellious, riding till dawn,
    I could see an old soul in your eyes but now that soul is gone.
    Where you were is precisely what I saw
    I wanted to be like you, you had no shackles, your mom the neglectful hero of our time, inconsistent with her rules, giving us loopholes in a bind.
    Where you were is precisely what I saw.
    I never new your pain; did you? Like a plant with insufficient water, you grew.
    Where you were was precisely what I saw
    Your favorite song was Free Bird, O how you were a free bird.
    Where you were is precisely what is saw.
    We went our separate ways but fait reeled us back in, I watched you live your life than give it to the wind.
    Where you were is precisely what I saw.
    Down the winding vein to take us back to our traditions, an uncalculated error put us all into submission.
    Where you were is precisely what I saw.
    Deranged thuds echo in the cavern, the sacrifice of you in the background would suffice if you were you, but twice.
    Where you were is precisely what I saw.
    The only way out was a journey through your space; I saw you laying there, in red stained vinyl, your life had been erased.
    Where you were is precisely what I saw.
    I think of you ever once in a while to wallow in the pain; but come back quickly when I see my wife, my son, I still ride and it is never in vein.
    Where you were was precisely what I saw.

  5. #25
    starwolf
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    Default Heartland Hoedown - Part One, Drink Til Ya Drop !


    ¶ I joined Chop Cult and then I met some dudes from my area, well at least my state. Last May I was lurking around here on CC. I decided to see if there were any dudes in my area that were also members of this fine establishment known as Chop Cult. I found a few, Doc14, KFab, and the Lords of Loud. They were even hosting a Freakout Hellride, they called The Heartland Hoedown. I had absolutely no real idea what the fuck a Freakout Hellride consisted of, what to expect, what to take, or what I was getting myself into. Regardless, I decided this was something I was going to attend. I was also encouraged to come out by KFab.

    ¶ My bike wasn't actually road worthy, and not only is it a Brit, its a bastard 3 cylinder, so I was a little concerened that I may not be that welcomed, knowing most of the guys there would likely be on Harley's. But I didn't care, I decided to take that chance. So I loaded it up in the truck and headed to their compound. It was about 10PM on a narrow gravel road, when I passed by a large shop building where I could hear faint sounds of what I thought to be partying. I made it to the end of the road, not much place to go other than the way I had just came from. I headed back the way I had just came. As I approached the shop like building again I noticed a few bikes parked outside and again heard faint noises of partying. So I thought to myself, this must be the spot. I pulled in the drive, and within seconds a guy on a motorcycle comes out and asks me who the fuck I am, after I told him, he closed the electronic gate behind me.

    LOL A Few Bikes ¶ I found a spot to park, thankfully they had an area that I could easily unload the bike. I got out and was almost instantly surrounded by like eight or ten dudes. Needless to say I was a bit intimidated at first, but didn't let it stop me from whatever carnage was about to unfold. After introductions, and unloading the bike, I asked if they wanted to partake in some herbal relief, a couple of dudes said sure, so I obliged. Though they told me, Come on inside, the others will want to meet you ! I replied, But I only brought one, I'm guessing there's a lot more dudes inside, lets finish this first. They wouldn't hear it, and before I knew it I was whisked into the enormously large shop. I went on inside, there were quite a few dudes inside. They had several bikes inside and more were parked out back. Some were bikes that guys had rode out there on, some were works in progress. Introductions were made, and within minutes I had an ice cold beer in my hand. Now normally I don't drink, but when I do its usually in quantity. This was just something that I had been needing to do for a good long while, that's right, tie on a good one.

    ¶ The place seemed to have a good feel to it. I wasn't overly concerned about my surroundings, though still somewhat cautious. There was this one guy who kept trying to talk to me, but all he would say was, He was from Cali. I didn't mind too much at first I just blew him off as just another drunken fool. He was pretty annoying, by now Im about twelve to fifteen beers in, as he approached me like the 5th or 6th time to tell me he was from Cali, I looked him square in the eyes, and told him; I don't give a fuck where your from, your in motherfuckin Oklahoma now, Leave me the fuck alone!

    ¶ So the night progressed drinking, smoking, tripping, and carrying on. At some point an attempt to make a bonfire out of old hollow core doors came into play. Not a lot of fire, though one guy, decided it'd be fun to tackle a hollow core door being supported by two fifty five gallon drums while wearing a motorcycle helmet, awesome memories! I made my way to the truck around two or three A.M. to crawl inside and pass out for the night. After making entry into my truck it hit me. Ralph was here to visit, and he wasn't going away anytime soon. After yaking for what seemed like an eternity, likely only twenty or thirty minutes, I passed out in the cab.

    Last edited by starwolf; 02-14-2012 at 6:17 PM.

  6. #26
    starwolf
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    Default Heartland Hoedown - Part Two, Lets Get Weird !

    ¶ The next morning I awoke, the sun was so bright, my head pounding like a jackhammer was inside it trying to break out. Groggy, disoriented, and not real certain what had transpired the night before, I decided it was time to get up. I had to shit really bad and made my way to the shop, which was locked up tighter than a virgin in a chastity belt. Great, I think to myself as I made my way to the nearby woods. After taking care of business in the bushes like a wild coyote or something, I decided I needed a nap. I laid down by their pond, and fell back asleep. I woke up about an hour later, the sun was hitting me full on now, and I was getting pretty warm. I got up and made my way to the shop to see if it was opened yet, thankfully it was.

    Work In Progress A ¶ I went inside and there were a few dudes stirring about, and I noticed a mysterious blood stain on the floor. It seemed like not much longer and the majority of folks were up and around. I was informed that Mr.Cali had a slight mishap, thus resulting in the blood stain. I was also informed that they were all going to go into town to eat breakfast at a local cafe. The majority of them by now had allready left and I decided I'd go to town also, in the truck. When I got to the gate, it was still closed, only opened enough that one guy could sort of hold it open, so that everyone else could pass through. I decided I didn't want to try to remove the electronic arm, and risk fucking up their gate, so I turned around and headed back to the shop. There were still a couple dudes left, so I hit them up. Hey are ya'll going into town? They both nodded and replied Yeah! I started to ask to hitch a ride, but they both had solo seats, so I just hit em up for a pack of smokes and gave them some money.
    LOL Work In Progress

    ¶ I headed back into the shop, I was sorta checking out some of the projects they had going on. There was one guy and two chicks, one chick being the wife of the dude. The dude said he had carb issues and he needed to tear them apart, clean them, and reassemble them. I told him I'd help out, but I'd likely hand ya the wrong tool, fuck something up, and /or get in your way. He replied, No worries, I know what I'm doing. We shot the shit for awhile as he worked on it , and his wife conversed with the other chick that was there. About then this real clean guy rolls in on a cherry all original Harley (unsure of make/model) He parks and comes inside, looks around for a second and says, Well, where's everybody at? I told him Ahh, everyone went to town for breakfast. He said Oh, ok, and milled around the shop for a little bit. It wasn't much longer and the entourage returned. Upon returning they asked aloud who's cherry original Harley was sitting outside, the clean guy replied, Its mine ! A few words were exchanged, and mr.clean decided he was uncomfortable with his surroundings, and within a wink of an eye, he had vanished into thin air.

    ¶ The afternoon played out much as the night before drinking, smoking, tripping, and having a good time. A few of the guys decided to go for a dip in the pond, I figured what the hell I could use something to freshen up. Well all the other guys stripped down to their undies and went in. I decided to make a pair of cutoffs, I made my cut offs and made it back down to the pond, they were all out in the middle drinking beer floating around on a hollow core wood door. While one person stood ashore throwing beers to the drunken swimmers as needed. I started easing my way in, at first it felt good, then it hit my boys, and damn it was cold, I thought it'll be ok just go on in. Big fucking mistake, I went under and when I came back up, I was literally in shock. My heart started racing, it felt like it was going to explode out of my chest and become chum for whatever monster catfish that were lurking in the pond. I was also having difficulty breathing. I don't know what polar bear club those guys belong to, but my hats off to them, crazy fuckers.

    ¶ After nearly freezing to death in the pond, another gent who had a very similar experience to mine in the frigid water, and I decided it was time to open up the shooting event. By the time I got dried off and redressed, I was hearing shots coming from the pond. I strapped the Glock on, and headed down. One guy was shooting an AR15, like you would shoot at an indoor range, like 1 shot every 10-15 seconds. Another gent was blasting a Benelli 12 gauge. When the firing came to a stop, I said, I want to play too, He insisted I have a go with the 12 gauge, so of course I obliged, sweetest shotgun I've ever fired! Then, I proceeded to whip out the .45 from concealment, and let all 10 fly, in about 15 seconds flat, and when that clip was gone, I popped in the next, after that 10 was gone, I slipped in the 30 rnd mag. I was just letting them fly as fast as I could pull the trigger, that's how I was taught to shoot. After I was done, someone said loudly, Don't fuck with that guy !
    I just reholstered my weapon, and walked back towards the shop.

    ¶ Everyone seemed to sort of mingle about through the day, there were several women and small children milling about. One guy was welding and grinding on a battery box, while a couple of the others worked on mounting a rear fender, and making fender struts. At some point they decided we needed more beer, as the keg from the night before was cashed out. A couple of the guys went on a beer run in a truck. Upon arrival back at the shop, they backed up to the bay door, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. They said they couldn't get another keg, so they just bought cases instead, a lot of cases, enough to damn near fill the whole truck bed. I thought to myself, god damn, that's a lot of beer.

    ¶ By mid afternoon I was getting the munchies, I don't know why. Someone said they were going to town and was asking if anyone needed anything. I said, Sure heres $5, I need a coke and a chocolate bar, or something with sugar in it. I could feel myself starting to get weak and woozy from low blood sugar. Though I've never been diagnosed as having diabetes or hypoglycemia, I was getting concerned about how I felt, after all I'd had no breakfast. A guy who was standing next to me, who must have been really high, or something, whips out a 20 or a 50 I don't recall, and says, Yes ! Candy ! We need Candy ! Get as much candy as you can for this much money ! About an hour later the folks who had gone to town had returned , they had a huge bag of candy, and a box of liquor. I thought to myself, oh shit the next round is about to commence, and I was correct in my estimation.
    Last edited by starwolf; 02-14-2012 at 6:41 PM.

  7. #27
    starwolf
    Guest

    Default Heartland Hoedown - Part Three, Smoked Out !

    ¶ Later in the afternoon one individual came to me and asked if I wanted to throw in on dinner. He asked for five or ten dollars for chicken and corn, and proceeded to inform me that his chicken was Juicier than pussy! I forked over a twenty and said, Get plenty , there's a lot of big dudes here! He returned about an hour later with like twenty pounds of chicken and multiple bags of frozen corn. Early evening was setting in and he fired up the grill. At first he was only using his hands to rotate the chicken on the grill, then I handed him my knife and told him, Here you don't have to burn your fingers, he seemed apprecitive. After eating and smoking, I started drinking beer again.

    ¶ By now its evening time, the sun has gone down, and I get the feeling shits about to get really weird. Doc fires up his bike, and pulls it over to a small clearing near where all of the bikes are parked, and does a burn out. Then two others each did one. The air was filled with smoke, you couldn't hardly see anything, and most everybody quickly evacuated outside to fresh air. After returning inside when the smoke cleared, there was tire pieces thrown all over the place, even on several of the bikes parked inside, though no one seemed to care, as they were all such a kick ass burnouts.
    Doc14 Burnout

    ¶ I don't think anything would have prepared me for what I would witness next, even though it was advertised. Two guys pull there bikes in to the back wall of the shop. Park alongside one another, and kill thier engines. I thought this seems a little odd, but we'll see where it goes. Well then they announced, As Advertised, Naked Drag Racing! I thought no way, these two dudes aren't going to do that, no way in hell! The two contestants stripped down to nothing but boots, hopped on thier trusty steeds, and fired them up. I thought, These motherfuckers are not crazy, thier flat out insane! They ripped out of the shop, went out a distance turned around two fifty five gallon burn barrels and headed back in, coming to a screeching hault near the back wall of the shop. They both exited there steeds, quickly redressed, and then shook hands. Now some of you may be thinking to yourself, How gay ! I didn't think it was gay at all, and no I'm not gay. Just good ol' boys getting fucked up and having a bit of crazy, weird, insane, fun.
    *Naked drag racing video excluded, out of respect to the participants involved.

    ¶ I thought shit, these motherfuckers are nutzo, whats next? About that time we were informed that a few of thier other friends would be joining us soon. They started the raffle, to help out their buddy who got jammed up. They certainly had some bad ass prizes that had been donated by several folks, I bought 4 tickets. Right about then thier other friends showed up. No, not just two or three guys, like 30 more guys. It seemed they just kept rolling into the shop, and when they were all in, the entire shop was filled with bad ass bikes, like sixty bikes or some amazing number. These guys looked pretty rough, like guys you wouldn't want to fuck with. Guys you'd better watch what you say or do around them. Guys that look like they'd been on the road, for an extended period of time, or more like they just lived on the road. I thought to my self, Oh shit, this could get really fuckin hairy, really fuckin quick! For the first time since my arrival I was more than a bit concerened about my overall safety and well being. But all in all, they were some pretty kool dudes too. After many beers and a few drinks, I passed out in the cab of my truck, around 1 am.

    ¶ I awoke the next day, dazed and confussed as usual. I made my way to the shop which was already opened up. I remembered seeing a coffee pot on the counter the night before. Found the coffee and made a pot. Many dudes were extremely thankful for me making coffee. As folks woke up, they gathered thier stuff, packed thier belongings just as tightly as before. They were slowly leaving out, a few at a time.

    ¶ One guy aproached me, and asked, So is that your old Triumph over there?, I haven't heard it run, or seen it move all weekend, can you fire it up? I said, Sure I can fire it up, but it won't drive. So I primed the carbs, hit the ignition, and kicked it and she came to life first kick, I let her warm for a few minutes, then reved her a few good times. Several other guys made thier way over, and we shot the shit for a few. Then I loaded her back into the truck, said bye to those that were still there, thanked everyone for having me and my shitty, non functional bike to thier shindig, and I parted ways. I've not been back out there since, though I wouldn't mind. They all seemed like just real damn nice guys, I couldn't have asked for a better time. It's certainly a time I will remember, forever!
    Fear None, Respect All !
    Last edited by starwolf; 02-14-2012 at 6:34 PM.

  8. #28
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    Default The Saddle-Tramp

    It shook and kicked like an unbroken stallion trying to buck its rider, but it sure wasn’t as healthy as a horse. This old knucklehead bled and coughed and smoked, just like the young punk who chose to ride it. Tonight they raced down the dusty open road, not getting along well, but happy to be together.

    The boy was no outlaw, he never claimed to be tough or lawless, he just was who he was and was happy with that. Or at least he’d made his peace with it. That’s part of the reason he loved that old busted knuck so much: it didn’t have shiny bits or anything to dress it up like all the big chromed baggers he saw around. You could see from the rust and oil that this was an old bike that had seen a lot of miles, and had the wear and tear to prove it. There was no question about that.

    They didn’t have any destination to speak of. There was no rally to go to, no campsite to find, and definitely no job to make it back to. The young man rode until he was tired, slept in the tall grass of the ditch with his simple bed-roll, and then kept on riding. It had been like this for weeks now, and he’d had to resort to basically begging for work at job sites whenever one came along doing clean up just to feed himself and keep gas in the tank. Truth be told most of the time he was hungry, but there was always gas in the tank. He made damn sure of that.

    Maybe one of these days he would find a town he just couldn’t leave or a girl he just couldn’t live without, but he couldn’t really see that happening. For now he just rode, and that was good enough. The weather was getting colder, so in his own meandering way he was slowly headed south to new horizons and more welcoming temperatures. He had eaten the last of the cheese and the loaf of bread he had bought in town a while back and was now down to a small bit of water and one can of sardines, which was hot from sitting in the ragged saddle-bag just above his exhaust pipe. He would have to stop in town soon, and the signs said that there was one he’d never heard of coming up in the distance.

    He rolled into the quiet little town on his loud old shit-kicker and immediately started getting looks. He had gotten used to these unpleasant faces peering at him, but they had slowly changed the longer he was on the road; starting as simple annoyed expressions due to the volume of his exhaust but now being full of disgust and distrust. You see for as long as he had been on the road the boy had only the clothes on his back and the odd creek to clean up in, and it showed. With his greasy hair and patchy beard you could almost guess how he smelled before he was near you.

    Now the bike idled up to a small restaurant, and the rider held the brake and dumped the clutch. The old engine jumped and stalled and the young man smoothly threw his leg over, standing up and getting ready to go in. He had about ten dollars and some change to his name at this point and was hoping it was enough to get him a burger and a beer and that the manager might know where he could find a spot of work. As he walked toward the door he could see the wait staff inside whispering while the patrons near the window shared their looks between him and the beat-up old Harley, all except for one old man and the child with him, who was jumping up and down in the booth with excitement and pointing to the bike. The little boy and his grandfather didn’t give the rider a second look; they were fixated on the bike. The old man had a sort of knowing expression on his face as he started to wipe his mouth with his napkin and get up from his seat. He said something to the head waitress and headed for the door with the little boy. He and the rider shared a nod as they passed and much to the rider’s surprise the waitress served him lunch with no hassle.

    The burger was fantastic and the beer was just what he needed at this point in the trip. He looked out towards his bike and saw the old man telling the fascinated little boy all about it. The boy looked like he wanted to touch it but was scared, he would reach a hand out and get close and then pull it back quickly and look up to his grampa who would still be talking, seemingly telling the boy a story. After a while the two stood up and walked away.

    There was no work to be found around these parts so the young man got up from his stool at the bar and thanked the waitress then started to leave the restaurant. As he made his way toward the bike he noticed the old man and little boy walking back towards him with something in their hands. They exchanged hellos and the rider asked the boy if he’d like to sit on the bike, which immediately lit up the kid’s eyes as though you had told him that you were going to have Christmas right at that moment. He lifted the little biker up by the armpits and plunked him down on the worn old leather saddle. The little boy sat there stunned for a second just touching the grips and looking at the controls and then immediately went into the “Vroom-VROOOM” routine we all know.

    The old man and the rider shared a chuckle and started to talk about riding, bikes, trips they’d been on and where they’d like to go. It turned out the man had a similar bike back when he was younger and had some great stories to tell. Each of them was always surprised how bikes could bring generations together like nothing else seemed to. No matter the age; the passion and the experiences always seemed similar, and yet individual at the same time.

    After chatting for a while, the grandfather picked the little boy up off the bike who was still beaming and dreaming of the day he could ride. It was time for the young man to get back on the road. He started to ready himself to ride and the old man said “If you plan on going much further you’ll probably be needing these.” He and the boy handed some assorted parts and a small roll of cash to the rider and each shook his hand before standing back to watch the kick-start. The bike fired up on the second try and the rider smiled and waved to the pair on the sidewalk: bikers of the past and future. He roared out of town, making a bit of a spectacle for the little boy, and he was back on the road. Seeing new places and meeting people like the ones he just had seemed like a great reason to ride. There were plenty of towns ahead of him, but he would never forget the one he just left.

  9. #29
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    Default Dropping a Ton - Part One

    Ton glared at the reflection in the back of the minivan. It was times like this that he wished the Shovel had mirrors. He had picked up the reflection of the tan van several miles before but now it was getting the best of him. A new black Caddy SUV pulled past in the passing lane. Ton casually checked over his shoulder and fell in behind. True to form the van changed lanes to keep pace. Whoever they were they weren't very smart. Ton eased off the throttle to space back from the SUV to scan the road ahead. Nothing but California freeway. He spotted the polished stainless steel back of an eighteen-wheeler signaling for the off ramp. Ton scowled at the reflection in the SUV grabbed a handful of the S&S Super B splitting the lanes cutting the minivan off as he rocketed down the off ramp. In the mirror back of the eighteen-wheeler the van was in hot pursuit. They now knew he was on to them. He had hoped the off ramp would bottle neck up allowing him to split the lanes and get away. Instead the off ramp gracefully merged onto surface streets.

    Ton slapped the jockey shift down a gear split the lane with on coming and cut down a side street. He felt a scratch across his side followed by a hot jab to his left shoulder telling him they had opened fire. His left arm seared with pain as he tried to grab the jockey again. The Shovel would have to grunt it out in third. Ton spotted an alleyway nearly clipping the Jeep that was approaching. The hand wrapped drag pipes barked viciously at the buildings as he twisted the motor above where it belonged. Ahead he spotted another intersecting alley. Ton locked up his rear tire and kicked the rigid frame sideways dumping the clutch as the chopper cleared the building. Too much. The Shovelhead continued around lying down onto its side skidding across the harsh asphalt. Ton stepped off the mayhem and drew his .357 heading back to the corner. The van squawked as it rounded the corner. Ton slammed the hammer down three times sending the van careening into a dumpster. He rushed forward ripping open the rear door catching the other two before they could return fire. The Shovel gasped its last breath as gravity dragged the fuel away spilling it out onto the ground. Ton checked the driver, Bad M/C. They were a long way from their turf. Ton snatched the bandana from the driver's head to mop some of his gasoline from the ground before shoving it in the throat of the van's tank. Ton righted the Shovel taking one last look at the flames licking the van side.

    Ton snarled mule kicking at Marcel, the Club doc. Marcel's primary training was a plumber not a doctor but he was all the Club had right now. Marcel sadistically splashed more iodine on Ton's shoulder. The small ammunition had embedded itself against the shoulder blade. Marcel worked at it with his stubby fingers with the grace of a teenager popping a pimple. "Sit the fuck still." Marcel barked. Ton unsheathed his knife intending to sink it into Marcel's soft side but thought better placing it between his teeth biting down hard on the bone handle. Other members of the Club were filing in as Marcel finished knotting the last stitch. JD dropped the gavel bringing church to order. Ton carefully explained what had happened as Marcel worked at immobilizing his arm. The Bad M/C was a small rag tag club mostly made up of members who didn't make the cut when their own clubs were patched over by the Club. Bad blood was still strong because of the snubs. They had carved out a small territory to the north west of the city mostly dealing drugs to the immigrate farmers who populated the area. Attacking a full Club member would be dealt with harshly but first JD wanted more information. As quick as the meeting started it was over. Marcel and JD helped Ton to the small apartment that the Club maintained in the back for when members weren't going to make it home.

    Ton's eyes snapped open. The rumbles of dual Thunderheaders were not of the Club's. He strained to hear emptiness of the clubhouse. Perhaps it was just a passing bike, somebody out for a ride. The clinking of a padlock falling to the ground told him otherwise. He instinctively groped the nightstand for his 357 but found nothing. Snake had taken it to dispose of it so it couldn't be traced. For the first time Ton felt alone and naked. In the barroom he found no one though the place looked open. Ton dropped to the floor as the first rounds of automatic gunfire shattered through the glass windows that encircled the top of the walls. As bullets sprayed overhead Ton dragged himself with his one arm to under the pool table. The sounds of war would bring the police; bring questions the Club did not want answered.

    Tammy awoke to the snapping of fireworks. As she glanced out her second floor window she saw the rockers of Bad M/C’s running away. As a single mother she was reluctant to move in next to a notorious motorcycle club. Her fears were alleviated when she found it to be one of the safer neighborhoods on the bad side of town. The bikers kept to themselves and she even bedded one or two when her bed became too lonely. From her perch she could see the forks of Ton's chopper parked in the lot. She quickly slipped on a robe, checked that her kids and slipped over to the compound. The side of the building was sprayed with automatic gunfire. She couldn't help but smile that so much energy was exhausted firing into bricked windows. From inside Tammy could hear breaking of glass underfoot as she called if anyone was there. Ton unlocked the door and collapsed into her arms. She was taken back that he already seemed bandaged up from the gunfight. The fear in his eyes told her otherwise.

    JD stood defiantly before the officer answering with simple yes/no but did nothing to reveal anything. The officer was pushing the point. He was a low level cop on a beat. The gang squad would overtake everything when they arrived and he hoped to get his name on the report, get his name noticed. JD answered his cell without saying a word and tossed a glance beyond the back fence of the compound. "Tell mom I love her and I'll see her soon." Tammy watched from her window as JD slide his phone back into his pocket. At least the Club knew Ton wasn't in the building. She slipped under the sheets with her impromptu visitor.

    Snake and Mongoose's choppers thundered down the road. They hoped that Ginger, a performer at Dancer Dancer, that they knew liked to slum it with members of the Bad M/C would shed some light. Mongoose pointed out the new Harley's in front of the club as they rounded the corner. Snake ready for a fight as they stepped inside. Disappointment came to find a couple of posers in fresh new leathers inside. Snake and Mongoose presence made the wannabe’s feel part of the crowd, that they were badass like the 1%. Snake dismissed them as there was more pressing matters. The afternoon dancers were the usual stretched marked single moms making a few dollars while the kids were in school. Ginger was the exception. At night she was just another dancer but in the afternoon her twenty-two year old unspoiled hard body easily made ten times as the other girls combined. The dressing room emptied quickly as the two bikers entered unabashed. Mongoose dropped a small packet of cocaine on the makeup stand but his body language made it clear to Ginger she wouldn't get it until they were finished. She spilled her guts.

    Bobby had been the president of The Few Good Men M/C when the Club decided to expand, an expansion patch over that didn't include Bobby. He had bounced around as a low-level drug dealer until he found his way into the Bad. The all white M/C had many leaders but in recent years leaders had been disappearing until Bobby finally took the head of the table. He despised the Club for taking his away and now had struck an alliance with someone big out East. Snake let the words soak in before giving the nod for Mongoose to pass the coke. Ginger greedily dipped her nail into the powdery substance. Satisfied she let a wanting glaze climb the bikers. She parted a tempting smile offering them herself. They hesitated with desire but Club came first. Until they got to the bottom of the Bad fun time would have to wait.

    JD flipped his phone open and moved away from the men replacing the windows in the clubhouse. Rapper was one of the few people from the east that JD tolerated, even respected to a certain degree. Had Rapper been born on the west coast he would have easily been a member of the Club but as circumstances had it he was a president of a chapter of their bitterest enemy? "We need to talk," stressed JD "in private." Rapper suggested the Hooters in Hollywood. JD was taken back and hoped Rapper didn't pick up the hesitation. "Be there in an hour." JD snapped the cell phone shut. Rapper was in town and not across the country. Perhaps there was some truth in the ramblings of the coked out stripper after all.

  10. #30
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    Default Dropping a Ton - Part Two

    Marko Knucklehead bobber growled as he picked up the sound of JD's Pan coming down the 101. The Knuckle barked as he shot down the short on ramp onto the freeway slipping in effortlessly beside his president. Working as a stunt driver at Universal Studio Back Lot, he hoped this meeting would as short as the trip over to Hollywood Boulevard. Inside JD quickly scanned the crowd but didn't see Rapper. Hooters was packed with the same lookie loo tourists that Marko detested about Universal. He followed the host's eyes up to the second level. They found Rapper in full colors alone at a table elbows deep in King Crab legs. He didn't bother to stand. "What brings you to town?" Rapper knew what JD was asking. It was a courteous to check in with fellow dominate clubs when traveling in their territory.
    "Family, kid wanted to see Disneyland. Marshall and his mom are over at Universal. What's up?" Rapper answered between leg cracking
    JD surveyed the situation. "Problem with some local boys. Tried to take out one of my guys twice yesterday."
    "Sounds like a personal beef? Check your boy to find the root of evil."
    "Word is east is muscling up these guys."
    Rapper finished sucking meat from a stringy leg. "We have no interest out here. You guys are to well situated. International. We’re backing Bikies down under. Who are these locals?"
    "Bad M/C," Marko answered. Rapper shrugged the name off. "Bunch of slouches. Couldn't cut it in the Club."
    "How'd they make it as a M/C?"
    JD didn't like the question. The truth was the Bad snuck in the back door by resurrecting a dead club name that was still on the books. "Doesn't matter. So you're not looking to expand west of the Mississippi?" The barb was to let Rapper know who the dominant club in North America was here. Rapper smiled but shook his head no. JD and Marko bid their farewell. Outside the boys kicked over their bikes. JD slipped on his shades. "Whadya think?"
    Marko eyed the pirate across the street posing for pictures. "Don't need colors when on the down low."
    JD let out a sigh and snapped the throttle. "You know what to do."

    Marko slammed hard against the concrete floor as glass shattered down onto him. "Cut!" Marko raised his hand and waited for the all clear from the gun wrangler Raymond. Marko liked working as a stunt man. It kept him sharp and alert. Today's scene was the big finally shootout Marko lingered waiting for the other firearms to be wrangled before he approached Raymond pulling him to the side.

    Raymond was apprehensive. Being a gun wrangler was a position of trust with not only actors and studios but also with law enforcement. All guns needed to be catalogued and modified so that they could never be mistakenly loaded and used as a real weapon. Grudges run deep in Hollywood. Marko was persistent. Raymond finally conceded a couple of dozen AK-47 from an up coming movie. It would mean more work because the guns would have to be reamed, ballistic and then modified for the film but the Club was willing to pay for the quick turn around.

    Ton and Tammy sat at a table secluded behind the clubhouse pool table. Ton was rehabilitating his left arm by sliding his hand up and down Tammy’s leg under her short skirt. She blushed at her uncontrolled out burst as Ton assured her no one knew. Everyone knew. It was a packed place tonight as all available members had turned up as a show of force for their brother. Twenty-three of the meanest motherfuckers to walk the earth were going to purge their turf of a parasite. Ton leaned forward kissing Tammy's soft cheek before sending her home.

    Bobby paced nervously in the front room of the rundown house. The cell phone remained silent. He sensed Rapper's irritation as he sat on the sofa waiting. "You don't expect biker's to keep accurate time do you?" Bobby nervously laughed. Rapper disappointment was there to let his host know that this would not be tolerated in the future if the Bad hoped to patch over. The cell phone vibrated to life. Bobby barked orders into the mouthpiece as Rapper's phone came to life in his own pocket. He glanced at the number. JD.

    Mongoose landed a size 12 on the door sending splinter raining across the Bobby's front room. Snake flooded the room with bursts of rounds. Bobby and Rapper placed their hands over their heads but didn’t move as JD and Ton shoved the trembling body of the other end of Bobby's phone call through the door. Ton eyed Bobby from point blank. "You fuckers thought you could kill me?" Ton landed a hard right to Bobby's ribs doubling him over snatching the revolver out of the back of Bobby's waistband.
    JD towered over the heap of man. "Your club is over." Ton leveled the gun at Bobby’s head and squeezed the trigger.
    Rapper smiled. "Nice to see you boys know how to handle your shit. I was here trying to get to the bottom of this but…" Rapper watched as Mongoose stripping off the bloody colors of the deceased.
    "Yeah we take care of our own." JD casually took the revolver from Ton and unloaded a round into the last of the Bad before turning to Rapper splattering his gray matter on the wall. “We take care of our own.

  11. #31
    Allen
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    Default

    My Anal PSI

    The married man with a post-nuclear family, bills to finance, a condiminum lease in a modern competition with the Jones revolving around how much money can you waste for the trendiest location possible, and a wife to satisfy, has little time to think of the sounds the wind makes as it settles along the highest peaks on mountain tops. The valley below races against the migration of clouds above it. Cutting through traffic makes one focus on more immediate things. The endless cascade of toilet bowl cleaners, channel surfing, and shopping at the mall takes a toll on a man. Atrophy of the mind as a condition of success is imperative in today's fast paced world. Disguise it under hobbies and activities designed to distract yourself from the rest of the world beyond the farthest horizon. "Have you seen the new Harley Davidson's model they released this week?" "That's so fucking awesome. I'd buy one if I had the money." Even though, you do have the money. You wouldn't really buy one becuase your wife wouldn't approve. Today's momentum involves little more than circulating within your house, circulating along a super highway cement commuter route, and circulating within a metal and glass low rise, network support staff meetings, and answering the telephone explaining your work results to someone interupting your work result process. Before returning to tomorrow, to start the cycle yet again, only this time in a pink shirt, instead of yesterday's pink tie. You think because you motivate people to accomplish the mundain, that your influence is meaningful and filled with quirky new insight only you could bring to the table. Life's little imperfections give you something to talk about around the water cooler (today though, offices rarely supply water coolers, rather they'd prefer to sell you overpriced bottled water from vending machines). You ate out at some fancy restaurant last night with your wife, it had a name you couldn't pronounce and it served a dish which you pretended to like; you were fed something that was probably spoiled, but more likely adulterated by a bus boy with an itching hernia and a transgender curiosity. Within an hour you were squirting you guts out your ass like a fire house on a burning transient encampment. At least tomorrow's story will be interesting when you reminisce about the anal PSI of your 24 hour stomach flu. Your wife's concern last only as long as it takes you to close the door behind you as you contaminate the oxygen levels in the bathroom and she opens another bottle of red wine, picks up the remote control, and snickers that, even though you're violently ill to the point of a teenage attention whore behind a closed door, that bus boy has some ripped abs she'd like to lick the dirty salty sweat off of before he rammed his membership in the local fitness center between her legs. Your imagination is not a crime. Your lack of true imagination, is.
    Last edited by Allen; 02-17-2012 at 12:25 PM. Reason: Anal PSI

  12. #32
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    Default The Pancho Drink The Wine Run Part 1

    We were somewhere between Gun Barrel City and Glen Rose when the heat really started to hit. Everyone else on the run was happy to cruise at 80 to 90 miles an hour but on my ridged frame Evo with a springer, going 80 miles an hour is like holding onto 2 Opra strength vibrators while ridding an electric bull. One of the guys, D.A. rolled up next to me and started pointing at the back of my bike. Then his buddy Big Bird did the same. I looked back. My license plate bracket was dangling off of my frame held on by the wires to my tail light. I pulled over as the second casualty of the first day. I cursed the bare foot Chinese orphans that made that bracket and quickly took to removing the it. D.A. and Big Bird were nice enough to stop even though I was the only new one in the group and that basically meant them standing around in the heat instead of sitting in an air conditioned bar and drinking lunch with their friends. We were in front of a cattle ranch that had an old school windmill, some brown bulls and couple of watering tanks. The ranch house was relatively close to the road and we were at the end of their drive way. They offered me tools and a hit off of their pipe. I declined both because I wont give into the peer pressure of using tools and I already had my own stuff to smoke.
    I guess I met D.A. and Big Bird the night before when I drove into the parking lot of the Big Chief Motel which sits right on Cedar Creek Reservoir. The night at the Big Chief was just to give everyone a place to meet and rest if they had come in from out of town. The parking lot was full of bikes and dudes standing around in the shadows drinking. The first thing I noticed was a lot of baggers and suspension bikes. I had always heard the Pancho Run was mostly ridgeds. You know the hard core shit that means your not scared of the pigs or hemorrhoids. After talking with the guys for a while I learned everyone there that night was from Houston and that a lot of them had ridden to Idaho for a Dice party and then down to Pancho. I have been too big of a pussy to drive the couple hundred miles to go on the past Pancho runs so even with their fancy suspension and bags, I knew this group was righteous. There were two or three choppers in the parking lot also but for the most part it was club bikes and x cop bike set ups.
    So, I removed the bracket and bolted my taillight into a hole on my frame that used to hold on the base of a fender strut. The tail light was on. I kicked my bike over on the first kick and we took off down the road at full speed. I eventually pulled over to get some gas and explain I had no idea where to go. D.A. lead from there. We made a large loop and then went down a white caleche road. We got covered in white dust that made us look like we had been ridding the long trail from Tombstone to the Thunderdome. We got our bearings and then D.A. made a point of catching up to the group. I wondered how high he was as I was trying to keep up around the turns at what seemed like 100+ miles an hour (It later turned out that we only hit 90 a couple of times). I was nervous about speed because I have been running an old Ford tractor tire on the back of my bike for about two years. The x shaped nobs on the tire have been flying off one by one down the center of the tire for about a year. This is probably because I run the air a little low to try and prevent my kidneys from shooting out of my back when I hit pot holes.
    We sailed down some two lane black top highways through the grassy hills that are south west of DFW (Dallas/Fort Worth). We caught up to the group at a little cafe in Glen Rose. Glen Rose is small town on the Paluxy River. Its claim to fame is a bunch of dinosaur tracks in its State Park. The Cafe’s small sand stone building was surrounded by bikes. I parked in the shade and went in. Everyone else had been there for at least an hour. There were many beer bottles on each table. I ordered a beer from the young waiter who looked like he had about two pounds of puss behind the acne that covered his face. The waiter was obviously on small town time. I how ever I was functioning on alcoholic time. So I went to the bar and got another beer while I was waiting for him to bring the one I ordered from him. 3 Lone Stars and One Shinner later I ate a cheese burger and felt pretty great!! We headed outside into the heat. The chase truck was sitting outside with two bikes on the trailer and one bike trying to get a jump off of the truck’s battery. One of the bikes on the trailer was a gray shovel that had transmission problems earlier that day. The other bike was a Gold shovel with an authentic old springer. The gold bike was one of those bikes that gets your attention. You start to look at and in the back of your mind your waiting to see some trashy wiring or some stupid part and then it hits you, “I may be a nit-picky little bitch but this is a great fucking bike!” This was Marcos’ bike. Marcos is a long time partner in the Pancho Run. He gave me a beer and I gushed a little as I looked over his bike. I surveyed the quant downtown, looked down at the beer in my hand and said “I’m sure there is some rule against this.” Marcos replied “Welcome to Pancho.”
    Engines started and we rolled out in the dead heat of the afternoon. There is a class of people that like to complain about the heat. They will never just be honest and say “I don’t like the heat because my vagina gets all sticky.” They just whine and whine about how nice it is somewhere else and how hot the steering wheel was in their car. Well they can suck it. If you can’t take the heat, stay out of Texas. We rode west for about an hour through limestone hills with cedars and oaks clustered at their base. A lot of the highways in Texas were made by cutting through these limestone hills and using the rock they dug out to make cement. The cut outs always make for some good scenery. We stopped and gassed up at a little gas station in some little place. The building was a Semi, painted with huge black and white stripes across its curved aluminum roof. A black retarded kid came up to the store and bought a pickle with change that he counted out of some little cloth bag he was holding. His eyes were seriously bugged out at the crowd that was hanging out at his neighborhood store. Someone bought a bag of ice, used half of it and left the rest on a bench in front of the store. When we all started to drive away, the retarded kid was freaking out pointing at the bag of ice we were “forgetting”. I bet has still hasn’t slept.
    We rode for about another hour and then stopped for gas again. The chase truck started spitting out tranny fluid. Half the group left before they realized and the other half stuck around to see if they could help with the truck. The truck was a white Bronco provided by a guy from Austin who wore a black trucker hat and had a beard. I don’t remember his name so for the sake of this story, we will just call him Chase. He was a real cool guy who had that optimistic Austin temperament that comes from living in a town infested with college girls majoring in Ecstasy. Chase decided to wait with the truck and told us to go on.
    We rode as the day turned to dusk. There was more cut out rock, wide open hills and oak forests. The sun was low in the sky when we got near our camp site on Possum Kingdom Lake. I pulled over and bought water and beer. I drove down some winding asphalt roads to get to the camp. The camp was right on the water in a little bay behind a Marina that was about 300 yards from us. I drank a dad beer (That’s Budwiser tall boy). I had one more as the sky turned pink. Everyone started to get in the water. I was staying out because I didn’t want to deal with getting wet. I was pulling inside a little and didn’t feel real social. I had another beer and set up my tent. I had another and was glad I got 2 six packs. I went and talked to a guy who had set up his tent and was sitting in it cross legged smoking out while looking at the water. He was probably ten years older than me. He had a tattoo of a woman on his fore arm. You could see the woman’s skeleton and she was in some pin-up yoga pose. He talked about his chopper and how he was pretty satisfied with the black, mid controls Buell that he was on. I got in the water and felt like a champ. Everyone was drunk and laughing. We yelled at a couple on a SeaDoo. Someone started throwing beers out into the water. Catching one was a little rough but they sure did taste good.
    We rode out just as the sun began to set. We went for dinner at a restaurant bar that looked over the water. I watched the sun set on the line of bikes. The inside of the restaurant had an arcade at one end and taxidermied Opossum, coon, beaver, bobcat, deer, quail, catfish and bass hanging on the walls and behind the bar. I ate some catfish and we talked a little trash to the waitress who had rhinestones glued all over her pants, hat, shirt and jewelry. She was probably about twenty two with about twenty two extra pounds on her but some how it worked. Her attitude was typical of the young small town bleach blonde waitress that presents herself as the hottest thing around. That is usually because she is. I sat with John and Troy, two Grade A Pancho veterans from Houston. For some reason the bartender gave me a free beer. We rode back to the campsite and I listened to a guy talk about a bunch of incriminating hard core shit he and his biker buddies did back in the 70’s.
    LOOK FOR PART 2

  13. #33
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    Pancho drink the wine run part 2

    The next morning I went to use the bathroom that looked like someone spray painted the toilet with diarrhea. We rode north, stopped for gas and kept going. I was bringing up the rear of the pack with another guy, Scott who was on a white and gold ridged Evo. His brother was with him on some newer Sportty. They were both originally from Louisiana and now Scott lives in Dallas. We were headed for the Oklahoma boarder. We started getting into much higher hills and going through a lot of wind farms. John, Troy and I broke off from the group to take a picture next to the “Oklahoma Boarder” sign. One of the rules of Pancho, is that is stays in Texas. John sent the picture to the main organizer to make him think the ride was completely off course. We went further down the road and found Keith and Scott on the side of the road next to a golf course that was surrounded by a wind farm. Scott was the guy on the ridged Evo. Keith was on a Green shovel. The bolts that hold the shifter on Keith’s 4 speed had fallen off and they were trying to figure out what to do. I temporarily donated a bolt from my four speed so Keith could make it. We went up the road maybe 20 miles and ended up in a little old restaurant bar in Munster, TX. A couple of guys were going over their bikes in the parking lot. Keith found a hardware store and got some new bolts. It was real hot out and we decided to drink for the hottest part of the day. It was a great decision. We went through two waitresses ordering drinks. I guess this was Thursday so it probably seemed a little strange to the locals how rowdy everyone was getting. We sat out back in the beer garden for a while. Over the wall you could see the abandoned industrial plants that probably started the town over 50 years before.
    Once I was pretty shit hammered, we left. We rode south for about an hour and then stopped for gas. I started to get a little pin hole leak under my gas tank from all of the vibration. We kept going and just enjoyed the ride. We made our way down to a gas station in Boyd where we called the guy whose ranch we were supposed to stay at that night. The rancher came out in a white jacked up Cherokee. I think his name was Kevin. We followed him down some hidden roads back to his compound. He had a bunch of animals and his girl cooked dinner for everyone. I drank a Beer Thirty and can guarantee that the name of the beer is the bast part. We swam and then a guy named Chris and some other dude on a really cool pan head showed up. Once it got dark, Kevin, Scott, Chris and the guy with the Pan Head went into Kevin’s music room that was behind the house. They all started jamming out. Chris and Scott are in the 1969’s (Dallas band). Scott and the Pan Head guy both played guitar, Kevin was on a stand up base and Chris was on the drums. They played a bunch of different blues, rock and country. It was really great. However, John, Troy, Houston Scott, Marcos and Chase had all decided to go to Denton and hit the bars. I was not in the mood to sleep so Big Bird and I took off for the city. Big Bird had been told that the main roads were to dangerous because of cops so he found some bootleg route that took a little longer but it was 100% pig free. Once we got to Denton, we passed a packed bar called Lucky’s and then rolled downtown to where Marcos, Troy, Houston Scott, John and Chase were hanging out. We parked under some bright orange neon lights. We went in and were directed downstairs to the basement. It was empty except for a bartender and some Pancho riders. I suggested we get right the fuck out and go to Lucky’s. I slammed a beer someone had just bought and we left. Lucky’s was a sea of make up and chatter. It drew me in for a little bit but pretty soon it started to ware on me. There was so much smiling and texting and being way to excited about someone they knew showing up.
    I was tired and had drank quite a bit. I was parked in a dark little corner off of a busy street. The kids from the bar were piling out down the side walk behind me as I put my key in. When I kicked my bike, my leg turned to jelly. I tried to kick it over about ten more times. This motor had no intention of just starting. So I went through my ritual of turning my key off, kicking 5 times, turning it on and then kicking the fucking hell out of it. It worked! Big Bird and I rode home. He wanted to stay off of the main roads. We ended up on a gravel road out in the middle of no where. Big Bird was looking at his GPS, while ridding with one hand. I was cruising along side of him watching him look down at the GPS and then up at the road again and again. Way at the end of the road, a gas tanker turn the corner and started heading right for us at about 10 miles an hour. Big Bird looked up saw the truck. He looked down at the GPS up at the truck and down at the huge rut on the side of the road. His bike started getting a little squirrelly and then he went right down into the ditch on the side of the road. I stopped and helped him get his bike up. He threw his phone about 15 feet ahead of him, scratched his tank and tore up his elbow. His night officially began to suck. The truck stopped and asked if we needed help. We waved him on, got on our bikes and took off. We got to a paved road. Big Bird took off and I went right into a very deep pot hole and laid my bike over. Dumb. I was drunk, Big Bird was gone, I had snapped off my exhaust bracket but it was still pretty great. I pulled my bike back up and smoked a cigarette. It was windy and dark. There was a little ware house on the corner of the road with a light that moved every time the wind blew. My smoke was finished just about the time I was done pissing. My bike was a serious ass hole about starting but it eventually came around. I was not smart enough to take down the address of the ranch so I decided to try and use the psychic powers of the Big Chief lodge to find my way back. I drove around for about an hour and then decided I was lost. I wen back to the gas station and found Big Bird trying desperately to charge his phone from his bike so that he could get the address. The phone charged and we made it back. I slept.
    I woke up, frantically put my tent together and had a cup of coffee. We ate at a dinner up the road. The waitress was to old to strip but to dumb to cut hair. We headed east. Some more pretty country. We crossed a few lakes and then stopped at a dinner in McKinney. My clutch cable was binding so I pulled in to the shade and decided to start adjusting it. Everyone else had pulled up on the side walk in front of the dinner. They hung out outside for a bit, went in and then quickly left. I told them I would catch up. I was feeling pretty beat from the heat and the night before. I went in the dinner and was just about the only person there. They seated me in a room in the back because the AC was better. My waitress was a red head who could have passed for 15 as easily as she could pass for 25. I ordered a sandwich and she told me how she was out of school and joining the Navy and wanted to know if I was with the other guys on bikes. I ate my sandwich, explained the clutch and the ride. She told me the guys before we standing out side drinking while there was a cop sitting inside eating. This cop was probably thinking about how to go about issuing D.U.I.s and P.I.s to 15 bikers who looked like they would just assume burn his house down as show for court. He probably just decided to groom his mustache, think of new and interesting ways to beat his wife and hope they would just go into the next town. The waitress said she could go on the ride. Me: “Oh really?” Waitress: “Yes my mother said I’m an adult and if I wanted to go I could.” Me: “Did she really?” Old Lady Smoker’s Voice from behind me “That’s what I told here.” I turn around to see a hunched over wrinkled version of the waitress. I think she was holding one of those vinyl cigarette pouches with the gold clasp top. I thought about what I would do to the guy who took my daughter on the Pancho run. “Well I ride a one seater.” I said. The mother glared at the daughter a little and walked off. The waitress looked a little disappointed. I paid and said “Don’t worry about missing the Pancho, you will probably have a great time in Navy when they send you out to see on one of those floating gay clubs.”
    I took off and rode for about two hours to Lake Tawakani. I saw all of the bikes parked in front of the 35 Club. The 35 club is a little red shack on the side of a two lane highway. When I walked in everyone one yelled “AAA.....” like they hadn’t see me in a year. Then they told me to go get my free drink and buy the guy at the end of the bar a drink. The guy at the end of the bar looked like he was about 60, wearing pleated white shorts, a teeshirt and some kind of dew rag. When I brought the guy his drink, he said “I...Yeeee...awwwwaaa...yeeyyeyaw..glawggaa.. .” and then almost fell off of his stool trying to wave the drink away. I said “Don’t give me any of that “I...Yeeee...awwwwaaa...yeeyyeyaw..glawggaa.. .” bullshit!!! I just paid for this drink and your gonna drink it!” The bartendress said, “Oh honey he bought them a round and everyone keeps buying him drinks now. He’s too drunk, you drink it.” So I did. I played some pool and a little shuffle board. Thanks to Internet Juke Boxes we listened to some Fear and other good tunes including the Cisco Kid. Every time anyone came into the bar everyone said “AAA” like they hadn’t see me in a year. Eventually someone very special did come in and everyone really did freak out because they were so glad to see him. Lets just say it was Pancho himself. I had plenty to drink and then we headed down the road to some biker rally that we had pre paid to camp at.

  14. #34
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    This site was on a lake also but the lake was mud. I jumped in the water and pretty quickly got out of the slimy muck. Dave, a school teacher who had been leading the pack for most of the trip on an x cop bike, decided to skinny dip. I think it was Troy that ran off with his clothes. Dave chased Troy down and proceeded to hump him until Troy gave up the clothes. This is all happening with a bike rally full of middle aged nascar dads stood staring. There was some bullshit MC club watching the whole thing from their mobile home right next to us. Someone bought one of each color of Mad Dog. We passed around the bottles until they were empty. I felt like I had been drinking after-shave but it did the trick. Naked Teacher Dave later told me that when he was in Colorado he stopped by Hunter Thompson’s place. He pushed the button on intercom next to Thompson’s front gate and explained that he was a writer and would really like to meet Mr. Thompson. For all intensive purposes, Thompson told Dave to eat shit and die. So Dave took a giant shit right on Mr. Thompson’s driveway. I’m sure Mr. Thompson did not like that but you know he respected it. Tony Lee, one of the guys on the ride who was riding a chopped Sporster got seriously hassled by the golf-cart bike rally police for racing around the fair grounds like it was a dirt track. With how fast Tony Lee rides, I still don’t understand how they caught him.
    The next morning we headed to Dallas. I knew I was back in the city at the first gas station because a woman pulled up in a car and asked me for gas money. I acted like I was Swedish and pointed at my elbow until she left. We had a few drinks at some Mexican bar and then went to the La Quinta on 75 and Mockingbird. We all got in the pool and got our drink on. Two girls got in the pool and we chatted them up. There was a rave going on that night so there were young girls all over the place walking around in what you might call day wear lingerie. A family with two small children pulled into the parking lot. The children immediately came over to the pool. The kids looked like their parents had been telling them that at the end of their long hot road trip they would be able to go swimming. When the parents saw ten or so heavily tattooed men in the pool that was surrounded by spent beer cans and what must have looked like an amateur stripper convention, they just went inside. We stopped and ate and a guy I have met a couple of times rode up the the restaurant on an old knuckle. Ridding up to this group on that knuckle was like walking into a gay club eating a sausage on a stick.
    We drove a little crazy through downtown Dallas and then had a couple of drinks at Lee Harvey’s. It was dead. We rode across town to a party at Lucky Seven Cycles. A lot of really cool bikes were there and the Lucky 7 guys couldn’t have been better. The Greasy Cranks played and I talked shit with a girl from the Dallas Observer about the ride. The place was pretty much mobbed by people. Then the 1969’s played and they were pretty great. It was really cool to see two guys from the ride jamming out. The final band was The Scandals. The main guy had liberty spikes and sang some pretty good old school punk. A mosh pit erupted and it was fun. I said my goodbyes and went home. I had some good times and made some good friends. I will definitely be on the next one.

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    I usually don't write shit but a few years ago I did a ride report after I got back from the 2008 Diablo run.
    Bandit (Keith Ball) put It up on His web sight along with some photos that were taken by Tattoo John & Caleb Owens.... Since I lost the original file I am just going to put up a link where you can read it......

    -Larry

    link: http://www.bikernet.com/pages/story_detail.aspx?id=845

  16. #36
    dazegoneby
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    tommoros last day ,,,just saying

  17. #37
    ARBY
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    Won't be long 'til closing time.

  18. #38
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    Default M.a.s.

    The mirror had become my enemy for the night, so I shot for a screened-in porch door to piss outside. I passed the carbon-copy sick-chick sitting on the washing machine who dowsed the small room with a voice to beat a dog whistle; a sound as if she was shot-gunning Larks through a recorder. It was only 9:30, the general vibe was growing ugly double-quick and the last of the fireball had just hit the treetops. The draws of air through the nose grew deeper; vision was twitchy, skin itchy with a slightly wry smirk and wide eyes. The first good shiver hit like a kid when he’s pissin’, and I could hear more of the background than what was right in front of me.

    It was time to 'git before the shadows started to shake like the cars against the wall at a NASCAR night race do…and to tell her that she was a stone-cold fox before I went into full-pupil meltdown. Some folks find religion because they believe, and some because they feel the heat. It’s merely a matter of convenience. I prayed to roll outta there with the belle in the ragged Danforth tee in my saddle. She smelled good, too. Real good. It reminded me of a head shop in Amsterdam I had been to years back; never smelled it since.

    Four steps back inside we lock eyes and I looked away. I looked back.
    “You grab two beers outta that cooler for me?” She asks.
    “Sure, which one?” I reply.
    “It’s the one with the drawing of the Tap Magic guy on it.” She smiles as she pulls a piece of the Pulp Fiction diner scene out of her trick bag.
    “Hm.” I said as I looked down at it. “Guess it might as well say ’Bad Motherfucker’ on then, huh?”
    I did get a chuckle out of her for my effort.
    Thinking it was a swell image to have on a cooler, and throw me a bone with a good movie reference, I quickly oblige and hand her both. I didn’t get too close to pass on the brew though, as I swore she could still smell the stem and cap on my breath. She popped the tops with some sort of opener clipped to her belt.
    She motioned for me to take one. I obliged.

    “I like your jacket.” She said with a small grin. “Looks old. Where’d you get it?”
    “My ol’ man.” I replied.
    “Mom bought it for him in ’73 after they’d met and rode together for a while. It sat in a closet for years until he caved from me begging him long enough to start wearing it when I got to high school.”
    “That’s cool. Not far from the tree, then, huh?”
    “Well, I guess. Dad had Hondas, though. Had a cool 750 chop.”
    “Right on. What color?”
    “First picture I remember seeing was my brother on it with him. It was all white then.” After I came along, it was a deep red with frosted blue flames on the tank. My mom gave me a picture a few years ago of me when I was about two, standing next to it with something in my hand; a shitty grin on my face.
    “Does he still have it?”
    “The Picture?” I stumbled, selfishly.
    “No, the bike, you goof”
    “Oh shit, yeah, sorry.”
    I got lost, simple as that. Dark as a demon’s eyes, couldn’t find my way, fuckin' lost in a millisecond chapter of my foreshadowed evening with her.
    “Ahh, nope. He had to sell it and his corvette so he could afford us.” I said, with the same sarcastic inflection my pop used in telling me.

    An exuberant mook, a Jax look-alike, found his way into the ellipses of my last words, with a well-played cock-block by asking about her sister. For that I guess I didn’t mind because I needed to hit the road. My feeble attempt was wavering between freakin’ out or freakin’ with her. Before I made off, I gave the young feller a smolder and quietly cheers’d her for the brew. I dropped her a head nod and hit the door.

    On my way through the kitchen to the back door I caught a few sentences of his story. An odd duck - Muffy - who I only knew by nickname, was telling the sick-chick “…I picked him up in front of Sparrow Hospital on my way through Lansing that day – he kept talking about some kid named Jack who caused him to limp like he did. So when I Googled this guy, his Wiki link showed him to be Thor's first cousin and banjo tuner. I’m not too sure about him either, because when I offered him a Stroh's, he replied that he only drank puppy blood.” I nearly lost it.

    No script could have been written any better than the last eight minutes of my life. On my way out the door, I tripped on the fact that I would never be the same, that as far-out as the last few blinks had been, I had to top it off with a roll in the hay with her, TO-NIGHT. No questions asked. It was go back in through the front door, snatch her hand and tell her we were going to my place and I’d give her a ride home in the morning. Chilly freedom and the Pan under the stars was only a few feet away.

    My nose was cold. I leaned over the tanks to move the advance unit and I felt the warm rush of blood hit slowly and roll through my face; a welcome feeling for a sweet fall evening. A smile spread as I grabbed my helmet and silently said goodbye to whatever garbage party music was emanating in a vibrating echo from the house. A hauntingly familiar presence slipped down through the back of my jacket.
    She was there.
    I see her standing on the front steps of the house, her hips slightly cocked.
    I flashed to From Dusk ‘Til Dawn: A slow blink and she was writhing with a fuckin’ albino python.

    She had really only crossed her arms with her jacket in her hand, which suited me just fine. Though, the python visual was pretty sweet.
    “You got room for Mr. Magic?” She said.
    “I get enough grandiloquence from politicians. You’re good though.” I replied. I pictured myself with a cigarette holder and a pith helmet for some reason.
    “What the fuck are you talking about?” She smiled and braced her lean to the other hip.
    I held the helmet up, with a silent “You comin’?” gesture.


    Two squirts, choke and prime.

    Key on: The leather fob felt softer than usual, as I fumbled with it in my front pocket. Smooth. Just as fuckin’ smooth as it is every time I feel it. But the image of the Sagittarius symbol I could feel. Compulsively, I looked up, slightly sideways and motherfucked myself for each empty threat I fulfilled for not finding out right where that constellation was. The game plan got back to reality, and I looked back at her. I swear she undid the helmet strap on the sissy bar with her eyes it was on her head so quick. To no avail, she made a few struggling attempts with both her fingers and puffs of air from her lips to brush her bangs from her face, but ultimately left it up to the breeze to pick her hair style.

    Compression: A kicker attracts a crowd, and “…thermometer” opened a door of truth out of thin air, and zombies piled out of it, staring… Some people have an innate ability to sense when you’re leaving. Sure as shit, as I peered up over my bars, and there’s a pile of drunks with a few tag-a-long tramps glaring at the size of my brain.
    No matter where I hide the bike, they’d find me.
    I had to shoot ‘em in the head, it’s the only way to kill ‘em.
    The gradual click beneath my right leg sounded like my lady-friend skinning our shotguns to go into full-on undead battle mode. The Pan coughed and cleared its throat, and the undead raked the silence of the night over the coals, like you just knocked out Joe Frazier. What are only a few can sound like a stadium to a boy with a little pride and a heightened sense of being.

    LIFE!

    The mousetrap snapped back and the basket’s rattle upon release proved the old 74 was in it to win it. One down, a few rolls through the Linkert and the American Sunset was ours. She threw a leg over like it was meant for her, whipped her hair back around her shoulders and wrapped her arms around my gut; a reminder that I wasn’t as slim as I was feeling. She held Mr. Magic at my right side. Before I released the clutch, I caught the last of the light from the front porch hit her cooler when I looked down. Time stopped, as it was then that I realized why that motherfucker was winking.

  19. #39
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    Default Chopocalypse Now

    jammed this out this morning at work...

    I know it sounds cliche, but it has really happened. It's been about a year since the grid went down. We were so stupid not to see it coming. We have talked about it, prepared for it, and even hoped for it. But not anymore.

    We were warned, but who listens to raging right wing pundits? I mean the President himself had no idea his wife was a secret agent from Planet Zyklon B. How could we not see that her nutrition agenda she was pushing would be our downfall? It wasn't for our health, it was a plan to convert everyone to Subhumans.

    Usually when a black chick gives you a recipe, you can count on some good country cooking. Turns out, her homemade fried chicken would have tasted better without the Sodium BiPoisonate. Almost everyone is a Subhuman now. And why? What caused their anger with us? Turns out they have been watching us for years. But not from above. Through our cable TV.

    Listening to our good and bad times... Watching us interact with each other... Everything. Except one crucial interaction. You know how when you're about to bone your chick and she makes you turn the TV off? It's the sneaky man's "sex with the lights on" move.

    That really effin' pisses them off. They watch us all day and night, but rarely see us nailing our chicks. Except certain dudes in Riverside that bone with the Speed Channel on. But they tired quickly of watching 909ers. The Brian Deegan wall posters are wicked distracting when you’re trying to rub your alien boner out.

    Anyway, what’s done is done. They were pissed and launched; Operation Humans, Get Back At. Lots of people have died. Everything is a commodity. Gas especially. Anyone with a full sized vehicle struggled to get fuel. Getting away from city centers where the Subhumans roamed was key. However, their need for 20 gallons of fuel per fill up was their downfall. It left them exposed to the max. People trying to escape with Ford Escapes and other similar SUVs were the first to go. Subhumans learned they could feast at gas stations. People were even filling up at Arco in their desperation. This was the first time I cried uncontrollably. It has come to this. My family is gone. My girlfriend, the girl I would always laugh at because of her kindergartner strength, was gobbled up the second day when she couldn’t rack the slide on the 9mm I gave her for defense. But Arco gas in my bike?! Nooooooooooooooo!

    Not surprisingly dudes with choppers and guns have been lasting the longest. The Subhumans are really attracted to streetbikes. Like R1’s and things of the like. But they’re squid riders. When our group of choppers gets in a debris field, we’re bobbing, weaving, and slashing like OJ. The Subhumans always gun it hard on the straights… So lame. So obvious. We’ve been getting by. Keeping our bikes maintained and letting fly rounds at Subhumans. Their heads have become mushy from their diet of human flesh. So it’s been pretty cool landing a .308 in their domes. The brain matter rushes out of their eye sockets like a water hose on full blast.

    But we’re getting complacent and bored. Managing to make Triumphs and Shovelheads reliable was the greatest thing to come from this disaster. But it’s not enough. Some guys are going out alone for the thrill and risk. We lost a couple dudes that way. I found one rifle on the deck with a shell that failed to eject. And a Subhuman torpedoed his CBR600rr right into him.

    I had to come up with a plan to keep these guys from going stir crazy. I remembered from my days on Chop Cult that there were some hill billy dudes in Wisconsin. Like, really hill billy. They’re Civil War re-enactors. So they have Gatling guns, cannons, and cool hats. Plus they’ve been preparing for this since the Cuban Missile Crisis. I took it to a vote and we all decided that firing a Gatling gun and cannons would be pretty cool. We loaded our sissy bars with foul weather gear, fuel, and all the guns we could fit.

    It’s hard to shoot Subhumans from a motorcycle while you’re riding, so we mounted a SAW we jacked from the armory at Camp Pendleton to our Subaru Brat we liberated. The Brat led the way. We came up with an acronym for it. B.R.A.T., Boner Raging Attack Truck. We first rode over to the Biltwell HQ to see if those dudes wanted in on it. Bill was still alive. He was sitting in the corner wearing a Biltwell helmet and leather, metal pants. His knees were tucked into his chest and his arms were wrapped around his legs. He kept repeating, “Billdozer hates you.” While rocking back and forth. But it wasn’t menacing. His mind must have been blown from something.

    I went looking around for something to snap Bill out of his daze. I found Kenzie filling orders that had long been shipped out. What the hell happened here? I gently took her hand and led her to the Boner Raging Attack Vehicle. I put her in the passenger side. I also grabbed some tactical bacon from the glove box I had left over from the Bacon Run. I opened it and gave it to Bill. It seemed to work. He threw on his shirt that said, “My other ride is your daughter”, and went to get on his shovel to roll with us. As he mounted his bike he said, “Thanks CRFyou... Thanks for rescuing us. All Kenzie has been talking about in between filling orders is how she is waiting for CRFyou to rescue her. She saw all your posts on Chop Cult and knew you’d come. She’s quite enamored with you.” I knew it. She ran from me last time I was at the Biltwell office, but she was probably putting on makeup or something.

    I talked Bill out of riding his shovel since it needs gas every 43 miles. Instead, he took out his anger on the Subhumans as our new SAW gunner. Austin Sutton was lousy on it anyway. He was in the Air Wing and that softened him up.

    We exploded heads all the way up to Wisco. Kenzie moved out of the BRAT and on to my King and Queen seat after the first fuel stop. As we approached what looked like an olde tyme civil war fort, we saw the stars and bars… Of course these guys are confederates. Oh well, gray vs. blue. Both outfits look good. I don’t know why ColdSmokeJR renamed himself General Robert E. Lee… But in order to get in the fort, we had to call him that. I said it with extra flavor and he made me a Major General. Which is fucking sweet no matter what you think about the civil war.

    So I’m a Major General in the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia…. Battling Subhumans in Wisconsin… Bill was promoted to President Jefferson Davis. And Kenzie stayed in my lavish officers tent the whole time. This time I was the one filling orders….
    Last edited by CRFyou; 02-29-2012 at 12:08 PM.

  20. #40
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    HAHAHAHAHA I vote for CRFyou. I bet it took a long time to write while eating coco-puffs and touching himself. :P

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