Well it seams NO one lives in the apartment more than a month or two that, that poor girl was murdered in. Management has no comment. I do. She left this earth too soon and her soul does not know where to go. The well documented gang member that murdered
her will be kept in jail till 21 and the stupid fucks will turn him loose to kill another person or people. WAKE UP you dumb fucks! He SHOT his girl friend in the head! YOU THINK YOUR LIFE matters to that piece of shit? Put a needle in his arm and be rid of this vermin! He has killed already. He WILL kill again. Mark my words.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
We All Have a Choice
When I was a little boy my Mom sat with me and sat a box of crayons on the kitchen table. She had opened the box and asked me what color was my favorite. I chose red.
She asked me why I liked red,I said that it reminded me of the little girl next door.
She asked why was the little girl red to me. I said like this red Mom, and pointed to the roses she had put into the vase on the table that morning. Her hair smells red. She smells nice Mom. My Mom let it go at that and I colored my picture. A few days later she saw me coloring and sat with me. I was coloring in another color. She asked my why there was no red in my picture. I told her that red made the little girl next door cry. Found out she was playing dress up and put some of her Mom's makeup on. Her Mom drank a lot and she had pissed her off using her makeup. She beat
the little girl away so badly she was put in the hospital. I never saw the little girl again. She died of brain damage her mother inflicted on her. She was 6. When I see the color red it makes me sad in a way. Too small to stop things beyond my control. But like anything in this world there are many more colors. Happy colors, sad colors, and those in between. The colors we choose have a profound effect on our lives, and the way we live life it's self. Choose wisely, as the colors are what you choose them to be. The motorcoach you see here is a choice I made for myself. It is where I choose to live. I have everything you have with one exception. If I don't like where I am I can always move. I have a set time on this earth as do you. I get great joy from helping others and when in Gods great design sometimes it is given back to me. One selfless act, one distinct chance given by God or maybe a luck of fate. It is not dinstintly human. The animal kingdom does it all the time. Try it, the feeling you get inside is better than any substance humans have ever come up with.
Time Rider
You lucky people, I am going to write some stories from my new life and you can enjoy them here. Bring your own beer and popcorn and enjoy. The shrinks will be annoyed, the case workers pissed and the rest? Let's just wait and see. Colt 45
& two Zig Zags....
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I am tired of being sad! Letting life pass me by!
The Past is gone so time to move on. Working on a new bike and it's going to be sweet.I have let the world talk me into beliving it's over. It's NOT over. I AM going to get out of this rut and be alive again. My wife and family are dead and I can't do shit about that. The piss head that stole my Dax can have it.I called it putt putt. It was damn near worn out anyhow. The assholes at Social Security are going to give me my fuckin money, I will NOT die before I do get it assholes! I put my steel toed boots on for the first time in months today. Some of the finest people in the world have made me realize it's time to get off my fat ass and move on. I got to loose 40 lbs and do what I do best. Ride bikes, chase pussy, and drink plenty of beer. I was rich before with love, and I can get it again. If you have helped me through the worst time of my life, Bless and thank you. If you fucked me over, Cecil! I would be scared, Very scared! The pills that made me think like a fuckin' zombie stopped a week ago. Never did belive a "doctor" that would give you shit that would make your "little buddy" quit working was worth a shit anyway. I'm coming back so lead, follow or get the hell out the way! Pussy, spokes, and suds. I might go out splattered on the front of some old fucks cage, but I go like a biker. A MAN. And you
got to catch my ass first!
got to catch my ass first!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Night Bird
They were all there, at least the ones that mattered. Tramp kissed his wife and said that he would be back in the morning to see about springing her from this dump. He looked at the tubes, machines and her beautiful brown eyes, that were still full of mystery. He was aware that they were becoming dimmer with each passing day. You go home and get some sleep tonight. I will be just fine. I love you, she said. Love you to, see ya in the morning. He passed a nurse in the hall on his way out and she almost looked frightened by the six foot two hundred pound biker. He would have enjoyed that if not for the huge worry of his bride that never left his thoughts. She called him her "Kitten". Your so bad she would say tugging his long silver beard and kissing his face. In the eight years that they were man and wife she had never seen him unjustly angry and never at her. She put up with the bike parts and beer cans sometimes left on the living room table. She was his world. Knowing she was reading her books or making one of her Mothers great German recipes brought him great comfort. He arrived home to there little frame house and parked the wing in the garage. Setting down in his favorite arm chair he opened a beer and tryed to relax. Setting the beer on the table beside him he turned on the TV. He punched the remote trying to find something to watch and the remote just stopped working. Batteries dead. He got up walked to the kitchen thinking that they never went dead when she was there. He replaced them and went and sat back down. He must have dosed off because at 8:15 the cell phone rang. The hospital, her doctor, and now the nursing home were the only ones that had the number to it. Hello he said, Groggy from the short nap. Sir this the nursing home, is there anyone with you? No, what makes you ask that? Sir is their anyone you can call to come over to your house? What the Hell is this about anyway, he said flatly. The voice on the other end of the phone said, I am so sorry to tell you this, but your wife passed away just a few minutes ago. No Tramp said, this is some sick ass joke. No sir, it's not.I'm so sorry. Moments went by, his mind tryed to prosess the info. It just couldn't.
He almost jumped from his chair and walked swiftly to the back door. He grabbed his keys off of the kitchen table and walked to the garage. Lifting the heavy door with one arm he walked to the bike with the silver cover on it. Below the cover was the Honda Black bird. Even for a very experinced rider it was something to be respected. With a top end exceading two hundred miles per hour, this was not a toy. This lethal machine was designed for one thing, winning. Honda had made it for open grand prix
road racing. To simply out preform, out run and out handle any bike made by anyone.
It was so. He had never noticed it before but it looked almost evil. It's surface smooth like water. It's curves, areodynamic. Parked right beside it was his beloved Goldwing, and the little motorized bicycle. It echoed in his mind for a nano second,
never send the baby to buy the beer. Behind it was his special ride. The custom Harley Davidson Duo Glide. He had no idea what he would do when he got to the nursing home all his mind saw was it had to be fast. If he got there fast enough maybe the phone call would go away, yea that's right it would go away. His leather racing jacket lay folded on the sleek saddle. No time for the leather pants. No time.He put the key in the ignition turned it and was greeted by a barage of lights.
He pushed the choke touched the starter button, and the bike came to life with a roar. The sound of a very powerful perfectly tuned engine. No one but he knew that he was afraid if it. It was a controled fear, a choice he had excepted. It idled a few presious seconds at 2500 rpm. He turned off the choke and popped the racing throttle. He put it in gear and it died. The side stand was still down. A rookie mistake. Not like him at all. Side stand up he restarted the beast. He inched the machine towards the driveway. The polished concrete of the garage was much to slick.
He gained traction and headed down the short drive. To BE CONTINUED.
He almost jumped from his chair and walked swiftly to the back door. He grabbed his keys off of the kitchen table and walked to the garage. Lifting the heavy door with one arm he walked to the bike with the silver cover on it. Below the cover was the Honda Black bird. Even for a very experinced rider it was something to be respected. With a top end exceading two hundred miles per hour, this was not a toy. This lethal machine was designed for one thing, winning. Honda had made it for open grand prix
road racing. To simply out preform, out run and out handle any bike made by anyone.
It was so. He had never noticed it before but it looked almost evil. It's surface smooth like water. It's curves, areodynamic. Parked right beside it was his beloved Goldwing, and the little motorized bicycle. It echoed in his mind for a nano second,
never send the baby to buy the beer. Behind it was his special ride. The custom Harley Davidson Duo Glide. He had no idea what he would do when he got to the nursing home all his mind saw was it had to be fast. If he got there fast enough maybe the phone call would go away, yea that's right it would go away. His leather racing jacket lay folded on the sleek saddle. No time for the leather pants. No time.He put the key in the ignition turned it and was greeted by a barage of lights.
He pushed the choke touched the starter button, and the bike came to life with a roar. The sound of a very powerful perfectly tuned engine. No one but he knew that he was afraid if it. It was a controled fear, a choice he had excepted. It idled a few presious seconds at 2500 rpm. He turned off the choke and popped the racing throttle. He put it in gear and it died. The side stand was still down. A rookie mistake. Not like him at all. Side stand up he restarted the beast. He inched the machine towards the driveway. The polished concrete of the garage was much to slick.
He gained traction and headed down the short drive. To BE CONTINUED.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Something Else to piss people off.
Over four bucks a gallon and climbing! There is going to be Secratary's givin' blow jobs just to get enough money to put gas in there car to get to work. Drive thru windows at burger joints will become empty. Why? We sat on our ass to long people.
A 80 C.I. Harley gets about 22 miles to a gallon in town. 26 if you ride it like Grandma. Who helped us get there? Uncle Bush and his band of war mongers. Saddam was no threat to us. The Rag heads got luckey with 911. That Escalade you paid 50K for sure looks nice sitting in the driveway. 13 miles to a gallon you might be able to afford to drve it to the corner store once and a while. Bikers are a diffrent though.
A goldwing gets about 33 in town and about 45 on the hiway. Now to something I know will piss every body off! Motorized Bicycles! Yea that's right folks. The Japs and Chineese have been riding them for years! 150 mpg. easy to park, way smaller than a car,there the coming thing for the U.S. and you have no choice. Well there is the city transit system. We who have ridden it for a while lovingly call it "the fuckin' bus".
It's cheap to ride. 85 cents for now, It will get you there, sooner or later. Going by Starbucke for that morning brew? Mc Nasty's for a Mc Biscut? Sorry, The Fuckin' bus don't stop there. In a hurry? Tough shit it goes one speed, slow. Take your umbrella cause the "Bus stop" ain't covered, most of them anyway so when it's raining you get wet. That Navigator you have won't be worth shit because no one will buy it. Wonder haw many bicycles a Navigator will make? On one tank of gas for an Escalade I can ride across the whole fuckin' country twice. And now a look at your future. These are from the places on the net.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
I was Just Waitin'
I was just blasted by some brain dead MORON whinin'about Harleys and Hondas on the same page. I love Damn near every kind of Motorcycle ever been built. What kind of motorcycle I choose to own is MY FUCKIN' CHOICE! You don't have to approve. Is some one a pussy because they ENJOY riding an Indian, or Harley, or Honda or BMW?
I don't fuckin' think so. I will NOT tell you what to ride, and I ride for the fact of riding. We ALL get just as wet, just as cold,just as dirty on other brands of bikes as other riders get on HOGS. I've had one of my scooters stolen by some bottom feedin' asshole. This MY fuckin page and if you don't like it go some place else. Harley is one of my favorite scooters of all fuckin' time. So is Honda. If you don't like it tough shit. If you want to bitch about something try thw war in Iraq, or children without enough to eat. The list goes on and on. I have pulled more than one HD to a shop or friends house with my American made Goldwing. So Stow it.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Embassy House Ghost
Well I was just informed that the "new" residents of the apartment complex where I live, don't need to know about past events that occurred not 200 feet from my apartment here. Seems that management don't like that very much. If Texas didn't tell the United States to go fuck it's self and declare it's self a country again,
since last night I'm rather sure I can still say whatever I damn well want. Being I can't sleep worth a shit anymore, I rarely crash before three a.m. To keep the "new residents" from being fucked with, the exact location will remain untold. A young girl, a child really, was murdered here just a couple months ago. The bullshit news stations and the crooked news paper, said she died in the local hospital here but that's bull shit. I have been around enough people that were taken to a hospital in an ambulance to know that they don't cover the persons head if they are still alive. About 1:30 p.m. I was out on my balcony watering the plants when I heard a medium size pistol fire. Not hearing any glass explode, or anything else
I shucked it off as some dickhead gang banger getting his Joly's firing his probably stolen pistol.
I looked around then went back to watering the plants. I couple of moments later I saw punks
running everywhere. One of them looked like he just shit his pants. Minutes later there were cops everywhere. An ambulance came into the drive and straight back to a cop car. Several minutes went by and they hauled the gun wielding punk to their car in cuffs. I learned that cops are trained to see thing that move. I sat in my patio chair and just observed. None of them looked up at me, and if they did didn't act on it. No one knows what happened that terrible day but those in the apartment. They said that the girl died a couple of days later. About a week ago
I was walking my mutt, and it was around 2:30 a.m. on a still night. I walk her just before I crash so she don't wake me up needing to go out. Everyone is asleep by then or at least inside.
About all I heard was the faint tinkling sound of the dog tags on my mutts collar. I carry my cell phone, not as protection, but if I do fall I can call a friend, or somebody to pick my poor ass up.
When my back goes out my legs just quit. I most of the time don't fall but not always. There's
one really sharp pain and I just quit moving. Right now it lasts just a few seconds but I'm sure the worst is yet to come. Sometimes I can predict the shit coming on and find a place to sit till it passes. The newer air conditioners are about the right height for me. Like it better when their
running. The vibration and heat seems to help. I was behind the apartment where she was murdered and I felt a short cool wisp of air pass me. At that time my dog growled and she almost never does that. In my waistband I almost all ways have my my Smith & Wesson lock blade knife with me. It's very slim and made to do one thing. After being attacked by two punks earlier in my life I decided if I go, The scum is going with me. Brownie was trying her best to get between my legs and the A/C unit. I heard, or at least I think I did hear a young female laughing but it was distant some how. Like when you talk into a coffee can. Yea, you've done it to. Very faint, but at the same time crystal clear. I reached under my T-shirt and felt the knife in the small of my back. It's clipped to my walking shorts for handy use. If The maggots had not stolen
all my guns when I was working I would be carrying one of my pistols. The law has changed Maggots. If you try to rob a person on their property then have every right to kill your worthless ass! I will kill your fucking ass then go have an ice cream. If you are in the city at night you better be protected. Pepper spray works good to. You can get it damn near anywhere.
Sorry, I get side tracked lately. Their was a presence kind of a feeling I was having, like someone was there, not far from me. Don't know just where we go when we leave this planet, but I can't help but hope that it's got to be better than here.
since last night I'm rather sure I can still say whatever I damn well want. Being I can't sleep worth a shit anymore, I rarely crash before three a.m. To keep the "new residents" from being fucked with, the exact location will remain untold. A young girl, a child really, was murdered here just a couple months ago. The bullshit news stations and the crooked news paper, said she died in the local hospital here but that's bull shit. I have been around enough people that were taken to a hospital in an ambulance to know that they don't cover the persons head if they are still alive. About 1:30 p.m. I was out on my balcony watering the plants when I heard a medium size pistol fire. Not hearing any glass explode, or anything else
I shucked it off as some dickhead gang banger getting his Joly's firing his probably stolen pistol.
I looked around then went back to watering the plants. I couple of moments later I saw punks
running everywhere. One of them looked like he just shit his pants. Minutes later there were cops everywhere. An ambulance came into the drive and straight back to a cop car. Several minutes went by and they hauled the gun wielding punk to their car in cuffs. I learned that cops are trained to see thing that move. I sat in my patio chair and just observed. None of them looked up at me, and if they did didn't act on it. No one knows what happened that terrible day but those in the apartment. They said that the girl died a couple of days later. About a week ago
I was walking my mutt, and it was around 2:30 a.m. on a still night. I walk her just before I crash so she don't wake me up needing to go out. Everyone is asleep by then or at least inside.
About all I heard was the faint tinkling sound of the dog tags on my mutts collar. I carry my cell phone, not as protection, but if I do fall I can call a friend, or somebody to pick my poor ass up.
When my back goes out my legs just quit. I most of the time don't fall but not always. There's
one really sharp pain and I just quit moving. Right now it lasts just a few seconds but I'm sure the worst is yet to come. Sometimes I can predict the shit coming on and find a place to sit till it passes. The newer air conditioners are about the right height for me. Like it better when their
running. The vibration and heat seems to help. I was behind the apartment where she was murdered and I felt a short cool wisp of air pass me. At that time my dog growled and she almost never does that. In my waistband I almost all ways have my my Smith & Wesson lock blade knife with me. It's very slim and made to do one thing. After being attacked by two punks earlier in my life I decided if I go, The scum is going with me. Brownie was trying her best to get between my legs and the A/C unit. I heard, or at least I think I did hear a young female laughing but it was distant some how. Like when you talk into a coffee can. Yea, you've done it to. Very faint, but at the same time crystal clear. I reached under my T-shirt and felt the knife in the small of my back. It's clipped to my walking shorts for handy use. If The maggots had not stolen
all my guns when I was working I would be carrying one of my pistols. The law has changed Maggots. If you try to rob a person on their property then have every right to kill your worthless ass! I will kill your fucking ass then go have an ice cream. If you are in the city at night you better be protected. Pepper spray works good to. You can get it damn near anywhere.
Sorry, I get side tracked lately. Their was a presence kind of a feeling I was having, like someone was there, not far from me. Don't know just where we go when we leave this planet, but I can't help but hope that it's got to be better than here.
Welcome To All. I am a Biker. I say Bad Words.
There is nothing here that your 6 year old kid has not heard his dad say. If you don't like bad words you can Fuckin' leave. To my Bro's, welcome, kick back and laugh your ass off. Some of the shit here is real some is not. I leave it to you to judge that for yourself. If your some old Bitch looking for someone to pounce on and save, your in the wrong place. I've been asked why I drink so much. It's simple really, Because I woke up this morning! If I had a nickel for everytime I have been asked to stop, I would go buy another case! I laugh my ass off when some rich asshole runs out of gas and has to walk three blocks to a pay phone to call for a wrecker because he, or she is to fuckin' brain dead to remember to charge thier cell phone. Before my wife died I was pretty much a normal person. Now I have been abused so fuckin' much I don't give a Rat's sweatty balls about anyone or anything including me. There are a few exceptions, (you know who you are). I am convinced that Social Security is trying its best
to drive me to suicide by fucking with me so much. I have no income at all. Try living like that for a week. I condone drug use. If you do them thats your problem, not mine. I condone sex also, unfortunely I have had none in over three years. I fuckin' hate any kind of "manager"
because they don't have any idea how the real world works. Managers stand outside and don't understand just why thier clothes are getting damp. I tell them it's because I'm peeing on
thier leg. I also hate TV commercials. I am not eight years old. I get the concept of life. You work, you eat, you mate, you grow old together you die. I was cruising the web last night and came across some dumbass girl that wanted to know how greaving felt. How it was to feel depressed. I pray to God she never knows. That's fucked up, even for me. I don't know how big this blog will get. This old laptop is the only reason I have to live right now and if you don't believe that I don't give a fuck. Enjoy the page, theres some damn fine readng on it.
My undying thanks to Dave Gardner @ Computer Doctors for the laptop and years of true friendship, And if you live near Corpus Christi, Texas, He IS the man to take your computer to. Jenny Salinas@MHMR for the place to live, Butch Greenwood for his constant support, a hand full of others, and the rest of the fuckin' world can suck a wine-o's dick.Tramp
to drive me to suicide by fucking with me so much. I have no income at all. Try living like that for a week. I condone drug use. If you do them thats your problem, not mine. I condone sex also, unfortunely I have had none in over three years. I fuckin' hate any kind of "manager"
because they don't have any idea how the real world works. Managers stand outside and don't understand just why thier clothes are getting damp. I tell them it's because I'm peeing on
thier leg. I also hate TV commercials. I am not eight years old. I get the concept of life. You work, you eat, you mate, you grow old together you die. I was cruising the web last night and came across some dumbass girl that wanted to know how greaving felt. How it was to feel depressed. I pray to God she never knows. That's fucked up, even for me. I don't know how big this blog will get. This old laptop is the only reason I have to live right now and if you don't believe that I don't give a fuck. Enjoy the page, theres some damn fine readng on it.
My undying thanks to Dave Gardner @ Computer Doctors for the laptop and years of true friendship, And if you live near Corpus Christi, Texas, He IS the man to take your computer to. Jenny Salinas@MHMR for the place to live, Butch Greenwood for his constant support, a hand full of others, and the rest of the fuckin' world can suck a wine-o's dick.Tramp
Monday, June 9, 2008
Old Biker
Old Biker
Author Unknown
(Thanks Harley Sqaw)
When it comes to bikes and bar room fights,
Well I guess I've seen me a few
I've straddled the Hogs
and run after the broads
And swilled down an ocean of brew
It took me some years
to dry behind the ears
and learn to keep my mouth shut.
To not lose my cool
and not act like a fool
Over some drunken, barfly slut.
Now, I got a few bumps
and I took my lumps
When some bozo was knockin' me down
But more often then notI came out on top,
And I thought I was the baddest in town.
I packed a piece in my boot,
when I rode on my scoot,
And my belt held yet another.
And if I got any lip, somebody'd get hit,
I was one no shit, badass fucker.
It was Friday night, at the ol'Blue Light,
My favorite scooter tramp bar.
Yeah, I was struttin' my stuff
and actin' real tough, Playin biker superstar.
With a gal on my lap,I was into my rap, Full of coke, tequila, and beer"
I can ride any putt or kick any butt, Better than any damn biker here!"
I sat there and glared while the jukebox blared, Some silly ass cowboy song.
And I howled out the tune, and kept time with a spoon,
While the gal massaged my ol dong.
I laughed and I joked, and was taking a toke, When an old dude bumped into my stool.
With a glance at the crowd, I barked out real loud,"Hey, you crazy old fool!"
"Are you touched in the head, or just stupid instead? Are you spastic, you damn clumsy ox?
Get outta here fast, or I'll beat your old ass, And they'll send you back home in a box!'
There wasn't a sound, as the old dude turned round, And heaved one long and tired sigh.
A crusty galoot, he looked tough as a boot, And he fixed me with his one good eye.
"Now look, son" he said with a shake of his head, "Im a biker not lookin for strife.
Dont be fooled by gray hair, or this eyepatch I wear, Ive been on two wheels all my life"
"Im weathered and gnarly,but I still ride a Harley, And I ain't never backed down yet.
But I'll buy ya a beer and we'll skip this beef here, If you'll show as old man some respect."
You think I care about your fuckin gray hair?" I shouted and slugged down my beer,
"You can bet your gray stubble, there's gonna be trouble, You half-assed, old, dipshit queer!"
I could hear my own breath and the room smelled like death, And the old cat just stared at the floor.
Then he lifted his head and the words that he said, I'll remember when Im a hundred and four.
"Well, I gave you an out,you damned kid lout, But I guess youre as dumb as you look.
You just ain't been told'bout respect for the old. "And with that he threw a left hook.
At the end of his wrist was a cast iron fist, That damn near knocked out my brain.
And when the fog cleared, my vision was bleared, And I couldn't remember my name.
The old coots voice hissed "Now dont get me pissed. Mind your manners and just be polite.
Let's make our mends, and all go home friends, And forget this stupid ass fight."
I got to my knees and let out a sneeze, That spewed blood all over the floor.
I shoulda stayed downbut like a jerk off clown, I stood up in the puddle of gore.
I said "Your really a sucker, you gray bearded fucker, You half dead, old, bag of guts.
Kiss your scoot goodbye, cause you're fixin' to die.
Then he kicked me square in the nuts.
The crowd made for the door, as I thrashed on the floor, In a pain like I never had felt.
But through all raw hurtin the blood and the dirt, I went for the gun in my belt.
But I just made things worse, the old guy was first, And his boot came down on my hand.
With a sickening crunch, the bones popped in a bunch, And I tried but failed to stand.
Well I guess he got mad'cause the rest was real bad, As my rudness he attempted to cure.
There were steel toed kicks, and roundhouse licks, You get the idea I'm sure.
With my ribs all mushed, and my fingers crushed, I was just this side of dead.
My bones were broke, and I though I'd croak, But I heard the words that he said.
"I may be gray, but I got this way, By out toughin' shitheads like you. Real bikers ain't old till they're dead and cold.
And I've got some more livin' to do."
Then he walked out of the bar, and i heard from afar, As his bikes big engine caught.
And as the blood dried, I lay there and tried,
To figure out Just what I'd been taught.
And the moral seemed clear, through the blood and the beer, Though it hurt too much to stir.
With an old biker dude dont ever be rude,
Just smile and always say ......SIR
Author Unkown
Author Unknown
(Thanks Harley Sqaw)
When it comes to bikes and bar room fights,
Well I guess I've seen me a few
I've straddled the Hogs
and run after the broads
And swilled down an ocean of brew
It took me some years
to dry behind the ears
and learn to keep my mouth shut.
To not lose my cool
and not act like a fool
Over some drunken, barfly slut.
Now, I got a few bumps
and I took my lumps
When some bozo was knockin' me down
But more often then notI came out on top,
And I thought I was the baddest in town.
I packed a piece in my boot,
when I rode on my scoot,
And my belt held yet another.
And if I got any lip, somebody'd get hit,
I was one no shit, badass fucker.
It was Friday night, at the ol'Blue Light,
My favorite scooter tramp bar.
Yeah, I was struttin' my stuff
and actin' real tough, Playin biker superstar.
With a gal on my lap,I was into my rap, Full of coke, tequila, and beer"
I can ride any putt or kick any butt, Better than any damn biker here!"
I sat there and glared while the jukebox blared, Some silly ass cowboy song.
And I howled out the tune, and kept time with a spoon,
While the gal massaged my ol dong.
I laughed and I joked, and was taking a toke, When an old dude bumped into my stool.
With a glance at the crowd, I barked out real loud,"Hey, you crazy old fool!"
"Are you touched in the head, or just stupid instead? Are you spastic, you damn clumsy ox?
Get outta here fast, or I'll beat your old ass, And they'll send you back home in a box!'
There wasn't a sound, as the old dude turned round, And heaved one long and tired sigh.
A crusty galoot, he looked tough as a boot, And he fixed me with his one good eye.
"Now look, son" he said with a shake of his head, "Im a biker not lookin for strife.
Dont be fooled by gray hair, or this eyepatch I wear, Ive been on two wheels all my life"
"Im weathered and gnarly,but I still ride a Harley, And I ain't never backed down yet.
But I'll buy ya a beer and we'll skip this beef here, If you'll show as old man some respect."
You think I care about your fuckin gray hair?" I shouted and slugged down my beer,
"You can bet your gray stubble, there's gonna be trouble, You half-assed, old, dipshit queer!"
I could hear my own breath and the room smelled like death, And the old cat just stared at the floor.
Then he lifted his head and the words that he said, I'll remember when Im a hundred and four.
"Well, I gave you an out,you damned kid lout, But I guess youre as dumb as you look.
You just ain't been told'bout respect for the old. "And with that he threw a left hook.
At the end of his wrist was a cast iron fist, That damn near knocked out my brain.
And when the fog cleared, my vision was bleared, And I couldn't remember my name.
The old coots voice hissed "Now dont get me pissed. Mind your manners and just be polite.
Let's make our mends, and all go home friends, And forget this stupid ass fight."
I got to my knees and let out a sneeze, That spewed blood all over the floor.
I shoulda stayed downbut like a jerk off clown, I stood up in the puddle of gore.
I said "Your really a sucker, you gray bearded fucker, You half dead, old, bag of guts.
Kiss your scoot goodbye, cause you're fixin' to die.
Then he kicked me square in the nuts.
The crowd made for the door, as I thrashed on the floor, In a pain like I never had felt.
But through all raw hurtin the blood and the dirt, I went for the gun in my belt.
But I just made things worse, the old guy was first, And his boot came down on my hand.
With a sickening crunch, the bones popped in a bunch, And I tried but failed to stand.
Well I guess he got mad'cause the rest was real bad, As my rudness he attempted to cure.
There were steel toed kicks, and roundhouse licks, You get the idea I'm sure.
With my ribs all mushed, and my fingers crushed, I was just this side of dead.
My bones were broke, and I though I'd croak, But I heard the words that he said.
"I may be gray, but I got this way, By out toughin' shitheads like you. Real bikers ain't old till they're dead and cold.
And I've got some more livin' to do."
Then he walked out of the bar, and i heard from afar, As his bikes big engine caught.
And as the blood dried, I lay there and tried,
To figure out Just what I'd been taught.
And the moral seemed clear, through the blood and the beer, Though it hurt too much to stir.
With an old biker dude dont ever be rude,
Just smile and always say ......SIR
Author Unkown
Biker Wizdom
Biker Wizdom
Rules of the road, rules of thumb, whatever you want to call it, here are some bits of quotes and wisdom.
Midnight Bugs taste Best
Saddlebags can never hold everything you want, but they CAN hold everything you need.
Wear Heavy Boots. You can't kick things when you're wearin' sneakers!
NEVER argue with a woman holding a torque wrench.
If you're a complainer, ride at the back of the pack so you won't contaminate the rest of the group.
Never try to race an old Geezer, he may have one more gear than you.
The size of the PISTON don't tell you nothin' about the DEPTH of the stroke.
Home is where your bike sits still long enough to leave a few drops of oil on the ground.
You'll get farther down the road if you learn to use more than two fingers on the front brake.
Routine maintenance should never be neglected.
It takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share the bed.
The only good view of a thunderstorm is in your rearview mirror.
Never be afraid to slow down.
Only Bikers understand why dogs love to stick their heads out of car windows.
Bikes don't leak oil, they mark their territory.
Never ask a biker for directions if you're in a hurry to get there.
If it take more than 3 bolts to hold it on, it's probably crucial.
Anything that shows up on more than 2 bikes is a FAD.
Remember that you will be judged by the Horse you rode in on.
Don't ride so late into the night that you sleep through the sunrise.
Pie and Coffee are as important as gasoline.
The number of kicks it takes to start your bike is directly proportional to the number of spectators.
Never ask your bike to scream before her throat is good and warm.
Sometimes it takes a whole tankful of gas before you can think straight.
If you want to get a job, you may have to compromise your principals.
You may even have to shave.
Riding faster than everyone else only guarantees you'll ride alone.
Never hesitate to ride past the last street light at the edge of town.
Never mistake Horsepower for staying power.
A good rider has balance, judgement, and good timing. So does a good lover.
A cold hamburger can be reheated quite nicely by strapping it to an exhaust pipe and riding forty miles.
Never do less then Forty miles before breakfast.
If you don't ride in the rain-you don't ride.
A bike on the road is worth 2 in the shop.
Respect the person who has seen the Dark side of motorcycling and lived.
Young riders pick a destination and go... Old riders pick a direction and go. Overconfidence can be supplied by spare spark plugs, a set of wrenches, and a roll of toilet paper.
Never offer to fight an OLD geezer. If you win, there's NO glory. If you Lose, your reputation is shot.
A good wrench will let you watch without charging you for it.
Advice is free and worth every penny.
Sometimes the fastest way to get there is to stop for the night.
Always back your scoot into the curb-and sit where you can see it.
Work to ride-Ride to work.
Whatever it is, its better in the wind.
Two lane blacktop isn't a highway-its an attitude.
When you look down the road, it seems to never end-but you better believe it does. A biker can smell a party 5,000 miles away.
Winter is Natures way of telling you to polish.
A motorcycle can't sing on the streets of a city.
Keep your bike in good repair: motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking.
People are like Motorcycles: each is customized a bit differently. More races were won in the tavern than on the track.
Never loan your bike to someone else, and never ride another's.
If the bike ain't braking properly, you don't start by rebuilding the engine.
Motorcycling is a giant game of Mines Bigger than yours!
Remember to pay as much attention to your partner as you do your carburetor.
Sometimes the best communication happens when you're on seperate bikes.
Well-trained reflexes are quicker than luck.
Good coffee should be indistinquishable from 50 weight motor oil.
The best alarm clock is sunshine on Chrome.
Learn to do counterintuitive things that may someday save your butt.
The twisties-not the superslabs-seperate the bikers from the squids.
Beware the biker whose ink peels off.
New leather don't smell right.
When you're riding lead--don't spit!
If you really want to know what's going on, watch whats happening at least 5 cars ahead.
Don't make a reputation you'll have to live down or run away from later.
If the person in the next lane at the stoplight rolls up the window and locks the door, support
their view of life by snarling at them!
Smoke and grease can hide a multitude of errors, but only for so long.
A friend is someone who'll get out of bed at 2am to drive his pickup to the middle of nowhere to
get you when you're broken down.
If she changes her oil more than she changes her mind--follow her.
The thicker your oil, the hotter you can take it.
Catchin a June bug @ 70 mph can double your vocabulary.
If you want to get somewhere before sundown, you can't stop at every tavern.
Theres something ugly about a NEW bike on a trailer.
You can always hear a classic open primary-it sounds like $1.34 in change is loose in the
friction plates.
Hunger can make even roadkill taste good.
You gotta be smart enough to understand the rules of motorcycling, and dumb enough to
think the games important.
Don't lead the pack if you don't know where you're goin'.
If you leave without one of your group, you better hope he doesn't catch up at the next
stop.
Sleep with one arm thru the spokes and keep your pants on.
Practice wrenching on your own bike.
Everyone crashes. Some get back on. Some don't. Some can't.
Three things can't be trusted: a fart, a cook, and a rear view mirror.
Beware the biker who says the bike never breaks down.
Some bikes run on 99-octane ego.
Owning 2 bikes is useful because at least one can be raided for parts at any given time.
You'll know she loves you if she offers to let you ride her bike.Don't do it and she'll love you
even more.
Don't argue with an 18-wheeler.
Don't lean on the horn 'til you're out of danger. Then blast it for all you're worth.
Never be ashamed to unlearn an old habit.
Maintenance is as much art as it is science.
A good long ride can clear your mind, restore your faith, and use up a lot of gasoline.
If the countryside seems boring, stop, get off your bike, and go sit in the ditch long enough to
appreciate what was here before the asphalt came.
If you can't get it goin with bungee cords and electricians tape-it's serious.
If you ride like there's no tomorrow-there won't be.
Bikes parked out front mean good chicken-fried steak inside.
If you want to complain about the pace being set by the road captain, you better be prepared
to lead the group yourself.
Gray-haired bikers don't get that way from pure luck.
There are drunk bikers. There are old bikers. there are NO old, drunk bikers.
We don't need no steenkin' weekend warriors.
Thin leather looks good in the bar, but it won't save you from "road rash" if you go down.
The best modifications cannot be seen from the outside.
Always replace the cheapest parts first.
You can forget what you do for a livin when your knees are in the breeze.
No matter what marque you ride, it's all the same wind.
It takes both pistons and cylinders to make a bike run.
One is not more important than the other.
If your to busy to help a friend, are you a friend?
The only time "colors" matter is when you are thinking about a new paint job.
Rules of the road, rules of thumb, whatever you want to call it, here are some bits of quotes and wisdom.
Midnight Bugs taste Best
Saddlebags can never hold everything you want, but they CAN hold everything you need.
Wear Heavy Boots. You can't kick things when you're wearin' sneakers!
NEVER argue with a woman holding a torque wrench.
If you're a complainer, ride at the back of the pack so you won't contaminate the rest of the group.
Never try to race an old Geezer, he may have one more gear than you.
The size of the PISTON don't tell you nothin' about the DEPTH of the stroke.
Home is where your bike sits still long enough to leave a few drops of oil on the ground.
You'll get farther down the road if you learn to use more than two fingers on the front brake.
Routine maintenance should never be neglected.
It takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share the bed.
The only good view of a thunderstorm is in your rearview mirror.
Never be afraid to slow down.
Only Bikers understand why dogs love to stick their heads out of car windows.
Bikes don't leak oil, they mark their territory.
Never ask a biker for directions if you're in a hurry to get there.
If it take more than 3 bolts to hold it on, it's probably crucial.
Anything that shows up on more than 2 bikes is a FAD.
Remember that you will be judged by the Horse you rode in on.
Don't ride so late into the night that you sleep through the sunrise.
Pie and Coffee are as important as gasoline.
The number of kicks it takes to start your bike is directly proportional to the number of spectators.
Never ask your bike to scream before her throat is good and warm.
Sometimes it takes a whole tankful of gas before you can think straight.
If you want to get a job, you may have to compromise your principals.
You may even have to shave.
Riding faster than everyone else only guarantees you'll ride alone.
Never hesitate to ride past the last street light at the edge of town.
Never mistake Horsepower for staying power.
A good rider has balance, judgement, and good timing. So does a good lover.
A cold hamburger can be reheated quite nicely by strapping it to an exhaust pipe and riding forty miles.
Never do less then Forty miles before breakfast.
If you don't ride in the rain-you don't ride.
A bike on the road is worth 2 in the shop.
Respect the person who has seen the Dark side of motorcycling and lived.
Young riders pick a destination and go... Old riders pick a direction and go. Overconfidence can be supplied by spare spark plugs, a set of wrenches, and a roll of toilet paper.
Never offer to fight an OLD geezer. If you win, there's NO glory. If you Lose, your reputation is shot.
A good wrench will let you watch without charging you for it.
Advice is free and worth every penny.
Sometimes the fastest way to get there is to stop for the night.
Always back your scoot into the curb-and sit where you can see it.
Work to ride-Ride to work.
Whatever it is, its better in the wind.
Two lane blacktop isn't a highway-its an attitude.
When you look down the road, it seems to never end-but you better believe it does. A biker can smell a party 5,000 miles away.
Winter is Natures way of telling you to polish.
A motorcycle can't sing on the streets of a city.
Keep your bike in good repair: motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking.
People are like Motorcycles: each is customized a bit differently. More races were won in the tavern than on the track.
Never loan your bike to someone else, and never ride another's.
If the bike ain't braking properly, you don't start by rebuilding the engine.
Motorcycling is a giant game of Mines Bigger than yours!
Remember to pay as much attention to your partner as you do your carburetor.
Sometimes the best communication happens when you're on seperate bikes.
Well-trained reflexes are quicker than luck.
Good coffee should be indistinquishable from 50 weight motor oil.
The best alarm clock is sunshine on Chrome.
Learn to do counterintuitive things that may someday save your butt.
The twisties-not the superslabs-seperate the bikers from the squids.
Beware the biker whose ink peels off.
New leather don't smell right.
When you're riding lead--don't spit!
If you really want to know what's going on, watch whats happening at least 5 cars ahead.
Don't make a reputation you'll have to live down or run away from later.
If the person in the next lane at the stoplight rolls up the window and locks the door, support
their view of life by snarling at them!
Smoke and grease can hide a multitude of errors, but only for so long.
A friend is someone who'll get out of bed at 2am to drive his pickup to the middle of nowhere to
get you when you're broken down.
If she changes her oil more than she changes her mind--follow her.
The thicker your oil, the hotter you can take it.
Catchin a June bug @ 70 mph can double your vocabulary.
If you want to get somewhere before sundown, you can't stop at every tavern.
Theres something ugly about a NEW bike on a trailer.
You can always hear a classic open primary-it sounds like $1.34 in change is loose in the
friction plates.
Hunger can make even roadkill taste good.
You gotta be smart enough to understand the rules of motorcycling, and dumb enough to
think the games important.
Don't lead the pack if you don't know where you're goin'.
If you leave without one of your group, you better hope he doesn't catch up at the next
stop.
Sleep with one arm thru the spokes and keep your pants on.
Practice wrenching on your own bike.
Everyone crashes. Some get back on. Some don't. Some can't.
Three things can't be trusted: a fart, a cook, and a rear view mirror.
Beware the biker who says the bike never breaks down.
Some bikes run on 99-octane ego.
Owning 2 bikes is useful because at least one can be raided for parts at any given time.
You'll know she loves you if she offers to let you ride her bike.Don't do it and she'll love you
even more.
Don't argue with an 18-wheeler.
Don't lean on the horn 'til you're out of danger. Then blast it for all you're worth.
Never be ashamed to unlearn an old habit.
Maintenance is as much art as it is science.
A good long ride can clear your mind, restore your faith, and use up a lot of gasoline.
If the countryside seems boring, stop, get off your bike, and go sit in the ditch long enough to
appreciate what was here before the asphalt came.
If you can't get it goin with bungee cords and electricians tape-it's serious.
If you ride like there's no tomorrow-there won't be.
Bikes parked out front mean good chicken-fried steak inside.
If you want to complain about the pace being set by the road captain, you better be prepared
to lead the group yourself.
Gray-haired bikers don't get that way from pure luck.
There are drunk bikers. There are old bikers. there are NO old, drunk bikers.
We don't need no steenkin' weekend warriors.
Thin leather looks good in the bar, but it won't save you from "road rash" if you go down.
The best modifications cannot be seen from the outside.
Always replace the cheapest parts first.
You can forget what you do for a livin when your knees are in the breeze.
No matter what marque you ride, it's all the same wind.
It takes both pistons and cylinders to make a bike run.
One is not more important than the other.
If your to busy to help a friend, are you a friend?
The only time "colors" matter is when you are thinking about a new paint job.
Texas Rules
1. Pull your droopy pants up. You look like an idiot.
2. Let's get this straight; it's called a "gravel road." I drive a Pickup truck because I want to. No matter how slow you drive, you're going to get dust on your Lexus. Drive it or get out of the way.
3. They are cattle & fishing lakes. That's what they smell like to you. They smell like money to us. Get over it.
4. So you have a $60,000 car. We're impressed. We have $250,000 combines that are driven only 3 times a year.
5. So every person in every pickup waves. It's called being friendly. Try to understand the concept.
6. If that cell phone rings while a bunch of ducks are coming in, we WILL shoot it out of your hand. You better hope you don't have it up to your ear at the time.
7. Yeah, we eat Crappi and Catfish and love it. You really want sushi & caviar? It's available at the corner bait shop.
8. The "Opener" refers to the first day of deer season. It's a Religious holiday held the closest Saturday to the first of November.
9. We open doors for women. That is applied to all women, regardless of age.
10. No, there's no "vegetarian special" on the menu. Order steak. Or you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the pound of ham & turkey.
11. When we fill out a table, there are three main dishes: meats, meats, and meats.
12. You bring "coke" into my house, it better be brown, wet, and served over ice. You bring "Mary Jane" into my house, she better be cute, know how to shoot, drive a truck, and have long hair.
13. Yeah, we have golf courses. But don't hit the water hazards --it spooks the fish.
14. You can leave or hold your damn breath when I smoke. You should feel luckeyI'm out of the "good" cigars.
15. Don't freek if Ol' roy (the dog) that is, comes over and sticks his nose in your crotch, thats just his way of sayin' hello.
16. If you notice yellow spots below your BMW tires be thankful ol'roy's justcheckin' em' for leaks.
17. If your 16 year old comes home bitchin' about being raped he may want to cut his hair and start actin' more like a man, around our women folk.
18. If a beer can comes out of my pickups bed and hits your 60 thousand dollarroad coupe ur following to damn close.
19. Now you've seen Texas and don't like us go the hell home.
20. If you see My Harley in My Pickups bed, It ain't broke it's just restin'
1. Pull your droopy pants up. You look like an idiot.
2. Let's get this straight; it's called a "gravel road." I drive a Pickup truck because I want to. No matter how slow you drive, you're going to get dust on your Lexus. Drive it or get out of the way.
3. They are cattle & fishing lakes. That's what they smell like to you. They smell like money to us. Get over it.
4. So you have a $60,000 car. We're impressed. We have $250,000 combines that are driven only 3 times a year.
5. So every person in every pickup waves. It's called being friendly. Try to understand the concept.
6. If that cell phone rings while a bunch of ducks are coming in, we WILL shoot it out of your hand. You better hope you don't have it up to your ear at the time.
7. Yeah, we eat Crappi and Catfish and love it. You really want sushi & caviar? It's available at the corner bait shop.
8. The "Opener" refers to the first day of deer season. It's a Religious holiday held the closest Saturday to the first of November.
9. We open doors for women. That is applied to all women, regardless of age.
10. No, there's no "vegetarian special" on the menu. Order steak. Or you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the pound of ham & turkey.
11. When we fill out a table, there are three main dishes: meats, meats, and meats.
12. You bring "coke" into my house, it better be brown, wet, and served over ice. You bring "Mary Jane" into my house, she better be cute, know how to shoot, drive a truck, and have long hair.
13. Yeah, we have golf courses. But don't hit the water hazards --it spooks the fish.
14. You can leave or hold your damn breath when I smoke. You should feel luckeyI'm out of the "good" cigars.
15. Don't freek if Ol' roy (the dog) that is, comes over and sticks his nose in your crotch, thats just his way of sayin' hello.
16. If you notice yellow spots below your BMW tires be thankful ol'roy's justcheckin' em' for leaks.
17. If your 16 year old comes home bitchin' about being raped he may want to cut his hair and start actin' more like a man, around our women folk.
18. If a beer can comes out of my pickups bed and hits your 60 thousand dollarroad coupe ur following to damn close.
19. Now you've seen Texas and don't like us go the hell home.
20. If you see My Harley in My Pickups bed, It ain't broke it's just restin'
Saturday, June 7, 2008
CON JOB
Con Job
By: Saddletramp
A single tear rolled down his cheek into his beard as he locked the office door behind him. Putting on his shades he took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and exhaled.
Tramp, why do you bother to hope? You know it’s some kid on their parent’s computer.
He walked to the Black Wing… Hi, Midnight. You miss me? He, touched the bike with loving hands. Well ol’ girl, looks like you and me again. Well, you still love me. Let’s
Go home big lady. With a turn of the key and the touch of a button the big bike came to life. One hundred fifteen horses pulsed below him.
He pulled out of the drive onto S.P.I.D. He eased the big bike to 40 miles per hour as a
Kid in a B.M.W. cut him off and entered the freeway ramp. The frame sat down as the
drive shaft transferred the power to the huge Dunlop rear tire. He blew the paint off of the punk’s car as Midnight’s power band came to peak. Scared the kid so bad the biker would have bet a cold beer he wet his Dockers. Next time little man, Tramp thought.
Halfway home he left the freeway to visit a friend. Turning into the narrow alley he
Saw something dart in front of the huge Wing. Thump as he hit the disk brakes. Ah shit he thought as he lowered the side stand and dismounted the bike. He knelt down
And looked under the Wing. It was a gray kitten; the weight of the bike crushed it flat.
Looking over the saddle to a chain link fence was a little girl in a faded and torn dress.
She quietly sobbed my kitty, my kitty. They are called "Los Pobres" the poorest of the poor. His mind flashed back to a time long ago, a place he had almost forgotten.
A little boy with a dirty face looking at his mangled red wagon, as the milk truck made it’s way down a lonely alley in a place far away. He knew the sadness and the pain, it wouldn’t happen twice. He picked the kitten up as she watched and placed it into the right saddlebag. He walked to the fence and knelt down, and softly asked what is your name little one.
Lisa, well Lisa my name is Mark, and I have damaged your kitty. Lisa, do you believe in magic? He asked softly? Yes I think so. I know a lady that does magic, and she can fix your kitty. She can? Yes, sweetheart she can. Her beautiful brown eyes sparkled with hope. Tramp thought it was a safe bet that the cat was all she had. Liar, she cried as
Tramp turned to the bike. He turned back to her. The tears streamed from her eyes.
You will leave just like my Papa. You will not come back. Oh baby, I will come back,
You have my word. If it wasn’t for his sunglasses she would have seen the tears welling up in his eyes.
He mounted the big machine and headed out of the alley. About a mile away he stopped and dropped the kitten in the dumpster. As he pulled into Circle K he picked up an ADSACK and started to find a kitty for the little girl. There was none to be had.
As he reread the paper he noticed an old woman pushing a shopping cart towards him.
The old woman sat down beside him on the sidewalk. It’s hot today, she said. Yes mam
Shure is. What is troubling you boy she said? He looked at her and could see that she had a genuine interest.
I see the tears in your heart young man; you can’t hide them from me. Who are you
Anyway. My Mother named me Marion. My friends call me Mary. Bring the kitten that
You placed in the trash to me. Go get it boy. Yes Mam. As he backed the Wing out of the drive his brain said, hello? Just what in the Hell are you doing? The cat is dead.
Nothing can bring it back. The other side said shut up, theirs a chance. Ok, Try it and find out.
As he peered into the dumpster the kitten was nowhere to be found. Pulling into the Circle K drive he saw Mary, her hands folded, her head was still. Oh great. First a cat now a woman. She raised her head and said go get me some tea boy. The hair on his body rose to his neck. Ok, sweet, or not? Sweet, she said. He handed the "Big Gulp"
To her and she took a small sip, smacked her lips and said ahhh, that’s better. Take
The kitten to the child in the alley. How did you? It’s in that box on your bicycle.
Can’t be, as he walked to Midnight. The faint mewing of a kitten in the side box as he turned to look at Mary. The hair rose on his neck.
There was nothing there. Marion and her cart were gone. Can’t be, he said to himself.
Had to slip by me, somehow….
He dropped the side stand in the alley and opened the saddlebag that held the kitten.
The little girl was waiting at the fence. My kitty, My kitty, Oh thank you Sir, thank you.
Please little one, do me a favor and do not play in the alley, ok? Yes Sir, I promise!
Mark saw a piece of paper folded neatly between the Wings gas tank and saddle.
He picked it up and thought it was a gas receipt and put it in his checkbook.
Pulling the Wing into the empty drive, it was almost dark, as he felt a strange force inside him. He hated the night, because he knew the tears would come again. He could take almost anything but the loneliness. The tears came most every night.
He parked the bike and removed the note from the leather checkbook. He unfolded the note and it read, Boy, I decided to help you today because your heart is pure. You give more than you take. There is much sadness in your young heart, but you have never walked alone. I give you this gift. She waits for you child, love her with all of your heart, and she will return your love ten times over. She is much like you boy, she is very special. And never forget; if you ever need me, just look deep inside your heart,
I will always be there. Mary…
He opened the trunk on the big Wing and almost sat his helmet down an a dozen or
More of the most beautiful red roses he had ever seen. Just at that moment he heard a voice say excuse me, hello there, I was told you live here, are you Mark? Yes I am. Hi, my name is Jean, Mary, sent me……..
By: Saddletramp
A single tear rolled down his cheek into his beard as he locked the office door behind him. Putting on his shades he took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and exhaled.
Tramp, why do you bother to hope? You know it’s some kid on their parent’s computer.
He walked to the Black Wing… Hi, Midnight. You miss me? He, touched the bike with loving hands. Well ol’ girl, looks like you and me again. Well, you still love me. Let’s
Go home big lady. With a turn of the key and the touch of a button the big bike came to life. One hundred fifteen horses pulsed below him.
He pulled out of the drive onto S.P.I.D. He eased the big bike to 40 miles per hour as a
Kid in a B.M.W. cut him off and entered the freeway ramp. The frame sat down as the
drive shaft transferred the power to the huge Dunlop rear tire. He blew the paint off of the punk’s car as Midnight’s power band came to peak. Scared the kid so bad the biker would have bet a cold beer he wet his Dockers. Next time little man, Tramp thought.
Halfway home he left the freeway to visit a friend. Turning into the narrow alley he
Saw something dart in front of the huge Wing. Thump as he hit the disk brakes. Ah shit he thought as he lowered the side stand and dismounted the bike. He knelt down
And looked under the Wing. It was a gray kitten; the weight of the bike crushed it flat.
Looking over the saddle to a chain link fence was a little girl in a faded and torn dress.
She quietly sobbed my kitty, my kitty. They are called "Los Pobres" the poorest of the poor. His mind flashed back to a time long ago, a place he had almost forgotten.
A little boy with a dirty face looking at his mangled red wagon, as the milk truck made it’s way down a lonely alley in a place far away. He knew the sadness and the pain, it wouldn’t happen twice. He picked the kitten up as she watched and placed it into the right saddlebag. He walked to the fence and knelt down, and softly asked what is your name little one.
Lisa, well Lisa my name is Mark, and I have damaged your kitty. Lisa, do you believe in magic? He asked softly? Yes I think so. I know a lady that does magic, and she can fix your kitty. She can? Yes, sweetheart she can. Her beautiful brown eyes sparkled with hope. Tramp thought it was a safe bet that the cat was all she had. Liar, she cried as
Tramp turned to the bike. He turned back to her. The tears streamed from her eyes.
You will leave just like my Papa. You will not come back. Oh baby, I will come back,
You have my word. If it wasn’t for his sunglasses she would have seen the tears welling up in his eyes.
He mounted the big machine and headed out of the alley. About a mile away he stopped and dropped the kitten in the dumpster. As he pulled into Circle K he picked up an ADSACK and started to find a kitty for the little girl. There was none to be had.
As he reread the paper he noticed an old woman pushing a shopping cart towards him.
The old woman sat down beside him on the sidewalk. It’s hot today, she said. Yes mam
Shure is. What is troubling you boy she said? He looked at her and could see that she had a genuine interest.
I see the tears in your heart young man; you can’t hide them from me. Who are you
Anyway. My Mother named me Marion. My friends call me Mary. Bring the kitten that
You placed in the trash to me. Go get it boy. Yes Mam. As he backed the Wing out of the drive his brain said, hello? Just what in the Hell are you doing? The cat is dead.
Nothing can bring it back. The other side said shut up, theirs a chance. Ok, Try it and find out.
As he peered into the dumpster the kitten was nowhere to be found. Pulling into the Circle K drive he saw Mary, her hands folded, her head was still. Oh great. First a cat now a woman. She raised her head and said go get me some tea boy. The hair on his body rose to his neck. Ok, sweet, or not? Sweet, she said. He handed the "Big Gulp"
To her and she took a small sip, smacked her lips and said ahhh, that’s better. Take
The kitten to the child in the alley. How did you? It’s in that box on your bicycle.
Can’t be, as he walked to Midnight. The faint mewing of a kitten in the side box as he turned to look at Mary. The hair rose on his neck.
There was nothing there. Marion and her cart were gone. Can’t be, he said to himself.
Had to slip by me, somehow….
He dropped the side stand in the alley and opened the saddlebag that held the kitten.
The little girl was waiting at the fence. My kitty, My kitty, Oh thank you Sir, thank you.
Please little one, do me a favor and do not play in the alley, ok? Yes Sir, I promise!
Mark saw a piece of paper folded neatly between the Wings gas tank and saddle.
He picked it up and thought it was a gas receipt and put it in his checkbook.
Pulling the Wing into the empty drive, it was almost dark, as he felt a strange force inside him. He hated the night, because he knew the tears would come again. He could take almost anything but the loneliness. The tears came most every night.
He parked the bike and removed the note from the leather checkbook. He unfolded the note and it read, Boy, I decided to help you today because your heart is pure. You give more than you take. There is much sadness in your young heart, but you have never walked alone. I give you this gift. She waits for you child, love her with all of your heart, and she will return your love ten times over. She is much like you boy, she is very special. And never forget; if you ever need me, just look deep inside your heart,
I will always be there. Mary…
He opened the trunk on the big Wing and almost sat his helmet down an a dozen or
More of the most beautiful red roses he had ever seen. Just at that moment he heard a voice say excuse me, hello there, I was told you live here, are you Mark? Yes I am. Hi, my name is Jean, Mary, sent me……..
When We are By Ourselves
When The Cat’s Away
By Saddletramp1200
Saturday afternoon and Tramp was relaxing in his favorite place it the house. His lounge
Chair was not only comfortable, but functional as well. It was within arms reach of the mini
Fridge that his wife had got him for Xmas a couple of years ago. One of his buddies is a general contractor as well as a fellow biker. The wife said having it right next to the lounger looked “tacky”.
Not one for style as far as furnishings go he had made a half assed effort to find a way to please her. Bob had said he has an employee having computer problems and could make a deal for a solution to the problem. A week later the custom built cabinet arrived to hide the fridge. The man’s computer woes gone, it was a good deal for both of them. That weekend His bride and one of her friends had gone to some kind of craft show about four hours drive away.
Being a large show they were going to get a room for the night at a motel and come back Sunday. A quick survey of the kingdom, a few adjustments such as the blue plastic piss bucket, for daytime use, as the people behind us have a set of female nose pickers that have not seen a full grown biker crank yet, so no hangin’ it out the sliding doors in daytime,(however I think Momma has looked through a knothole a couple of times) and like their fat ass mother can’t mind their own fuckin’ business, another case in the big fridge, two cases in the mini fridge cold as shit, three packs of drags, remote, the fuckin’ cat’s outside, Biker/drunk heaven. He reached for a cold one and popped the top as the door bell chimed. Shit, he mumbled as he lowered the foot rest to get up. It was just then he noticed just how quiet the house really was. The ceiling fan spun above him. Walking to the massive wooden door he saw his close friend Butch standing there, Helmet in one hand and a twelve pack in the other. He opened the door and invited him in. Hey, Dude he said walking by Tramp. Tramp said, I gave @ the fuckin office, ya old fart, drunk biker type pervert. Ya didn’t park on the grass again did ya? What’s
Goin’ on man? Hey, I parked in the wife’s place, she coming back soon? Na, man she’s gone
Out of town to a show or some shit. Well beer, Butch stuck the twelve pack out for me to grab.
He walked to the den and sat down as Tramp put the beer in the big fridge. Handing Butch a beer on his way to his chair. The plasma TV was blurting out some crap about retirement insurance, as he grabbed the remote and muted it. Hey man I’m going to BBQ at my place this weekend, why don’t you and the misses come on up? Sounds good to me, Tramp replied.
Several beers later they were talking about if they ran the TV stations how there would always be something worth watching on, blah, blah, blah. It was at that precise moment a lame ass commercial came on for “Cycle World” on the tube. It is a known fact that every idea that was ever thought by men with more than a couple of six packs in them is a least likely mentionable at the next Nobel awards. With this in mind Butch blurted out, ain’t that your girlfriend at the bike dealer, pointing at the pudgy man smilin’ on the TV? Yea, that little fucker. We’re at least engaged, Tramp said almost laughing. Started buying bikes from that place when I was just 19. Remember those days? Hard head, a hard dick and the never ending lust for motorcycles.
Every time I leave there I have to take an AIDS test. Pointing at the TV. Tramp said, that Dude Lance there is as queer as a three dollar bill. Him and that other dude, ah Davie, yea,
Davie is his Bitch. Your kidding’ Na, I Ain’t. That second floor that’s for storage, ain’t for storage. He has spent around 30k making it into a little love nest for him and his “friends”
Butch gave me this evil grin and I said what’s on your mind besides your hat? Wanna have some fun? Lets see, the last time you asked me that I spent three days kissing’ ass to the neighbor for tearing up her rose garden. And the time before that, na, man this is priceless.
All we got to do is take my cam recorder and get some tape of him and his friend having some quality time, do some editing and post it on the net. Think about it man, no one knows he’s queer and if the public found out, shit would be different in his “neighborhood”. He’s loaded man, if he never sold another bike it wouldn’t matter. Let’s paint the place pink! No dumbass
That’s vandalism. Remember when you wanted to paint the old biddies cat pink so she could find it in the fuckin‘ dark? Yea, and I still got the fuckin’ scars from that mangy motherfucker. Hell man, it was water base paint. Cats don’t like water Einstein.
Saddletramp took a long guzzle from the almost empty beer, then let a healthy belch rip.
Ya’ know there is ONE thing that might be entertaining. What’s that Butch said?
There’s a dude at the beer wholesaler that owes me one, and I have a damn good idea
How to get my mitts on that list Lance keeps in his safe at his shop. What list? He keeps a list of customers that he screws, and one HE screws. That little silver sticker on your helmet ya’ got there last summer, is a code that Lance and his buddies use to know who’s game and who’s GAME. Silver & White means Money, White & GOLD mean money and ass. If it’s
Gold your a butt buddy! That was going on even when Lance was a punk salesman. And them Dykes with MADD? That skinny one that gave me so much shit for walking in front of her and Junior carrying a case of beer? There’s about a hundred of Lance’s special “friends”
That own bikes from there. There’s also about a hundred Dyke Bitches with MADD with nothing’ better to do than fuck with drunk bikers! Ever been asked who is providing the
Beer at a party? No one else ever has either. It was starting to come together for Butch as the snicker became a full blown laugh. Throw in a call to a TV station or two, and there you go.
That’s entertainment! Tell the fags the party starts @ 2:00 and the Dykes it starts @ 5:00 and
Boom! Instant war. Tramp was laughin’ so hard he spilled beer on his T-shirt and walking shorts. The best part, we can film it from my buddies office from the sixth floor a mile away, sell it to a network and use the money for more beer! Butch was either praying it would work, or about to pass out, Tramp could not tell which. About two hours later Butch woke up and announced he had to piss. Honored to be privy to this information, I said you know where it is. He sat his almost full beer down on the coffee table and wandered off down the hall. He came back and asked if I had caught the creature that shit in his mouth as he slept. Na, I said, he made it to mine too. Butch picked up his warm beer and killed it right then. Got to go man, see ya, tomorrow. Ya’ ride careful dumbass, don’t want no phone calls. Sunday morning his wife walked through the door. She had a big ass mask and wanted to hang it in the den.
Two weeks had past since the idea of the century had come to my sick mind. Butch & I, even
Sober still marveled at it’s brilliance. After some very discreet inquiries things began to fall into place. Butch lured Lance from his office easy enough. Being either lazy or complacent Lance left the door to his office safe ajar during business hours. Three fast snaps of my digital camera and bingo, names, numbers, addresses. Butch was feeding them some crap about oily
Rags on the floor, or some such safety matter. Tramp was sitting on a bike as Lance came through the door, his blank face turned instantly happy as he saw me there. Just waiting for a friend I said. Sensing he could not extract any money from my wallet at that time he waved and kept going to his office. The Lance of long ago would have tried to sell me something even if I didn’t need it. Tramp sat and pondered how things change even as they stay the same. Butch tapped on the front window once. We left for his car. You get it, he snickered? Yea.
The plan was almost in place. I was to meet with another friend that was a professional photo
Man for a prominent news paper in earlier days. I told him about what we were about to do and although he wanted “no damn part of it“, I could tell he was laughing in the back ground. The next morning I met him at his little shop, I am making coffee you want some?
As I looked around he continued saying, this is where I come when the old Gal’s mad at me.
I own the damn building and everything in it. You bring it? He asked. Yes, I said. Good. You
Know if you fuck up this will be the most expensive joke you will most likely ever pull, don’t you? Yea, I know. Come with me, as he started to the back of the shop, pausing just long enough to fill his cup with coffee. He pulled the chain on an overhead light and the room lit up like day. On a table was a case and a long camera lens with a camera attached to it. It looked old and shiny. This is a very special camera. It was built in Germany during WW II.
It’s rare. But the lens is another matter all together. It’s custom made.
There are only 11 like it left in the world. The lens was made in Switzerland by the masters.
This outfit is the most expensive thing I have ever obtained. My wife excluded, He almost laughed. At least it’s paid for. After showing me how it worked he took it apart and put it in the case specially built for it. I handed him the envelope containing the title to my Goldwing.
He looked me in the eyes and said. If you break it you bought it. If you loose, damage or piss me off, you bought it. You hold in your hand the most valuable item I own. I don’t want your motorcycle. I can not ride it. He held up the envelope that held the title to the wing. Have your fun and bring my camera back home to me. The rest of the plan went flawless. Calls were made, letters sent, everything in order. The last piece was something we could not do ourselves. Rigging the caller id was child’s play and getting the old broad to call from the Hi-Lo saloon was easy also. The “secret party” of heathen drunk biker trash was set for the next weekend. Old’ Sally played her part well. Pretending she was a member of MADD she called headquarters and passed the secret info to them under the strictest of hush, hush, info. There “attack” was planned for 6:00 p.m.
About 90 or more of Lance’s special friends showed at his request. We forgot to invite Lance.
There was drinking, dancing, and every other “ing” you could think of. One of the TV stations we called was already there when MADD showed up, Protest signs in hand, the Dykes rallied. The local cops were there and for once they figured out that they were way out numbered. We
Got every minute on film thanks to the high speed camera and being temporarily sober. There was some fighting but not the war we were expecting. If not for previous duties we would have attended ourselves. The old photo guy had his equipment back , and developed the footage for us. We sent in the video after making a fast deal with a network we will not name, Lance denied all knowledge of having setup the event, and Butch and I got to split $6,000.00 bucks.
There are rumors going around that it may become a yearly event. Hell Butch and I may even show up next year. Later Saddletramp
By Saddletramp1200
Saturday afternoon and Tramp was relaxing in his favorite place it the house. His lounge
Chair was not only comfortable, but functional as well. It was within arms reach of the mini
Fridge that his wife had got him for Xmas a couple of years ago. One of his buddies is a general contractor as well as a fellow biker. The wife said having it right next to the lounger looked “tacky”.
Not one for style as far as furnishings go he had made a half assed effort to find a way to please her. Bob had said he has an employee having computer problems and could make a deal for a solution to the problem. A week later the custom built cabinet arrived to hide the fridge. The man’s computer woes gone, it was a good deal for both of them. That weekend His bride and one of her friends had gone to some kind of craft show about four hours drive away.
Being a large show they were going to get a room for the night at a motel and come back Sunday. A quick survey of the kingdom, a few adjustments such as the blue plastic piss bucket, for daytime use, as the people behind us have a set of female nose pickers that have not seen a full grown biker crank yet, so no hangin’ it out the sliding doors in daytime,(however I think Momma has looked through a knothole a couple of times) and like their fat ass mother can’t mind their own fuckin’ business, another case in the big fridge, two cases in the mini fridge cold as shit, three packs of drags, remote, the fuckin’ cat’s outside, Biker/drunk heaven. He reached for a cold one and popped the top as the door bell chimed. Shit, he mumbled as he lowered the foot rest to get up. It was just then he noticed just how quiet the house really was. The ceiling fan spun above him. Walking to the massive wooden door he saw his close friend Butch standing there, Helmet in one hand and a twelve pack in the other. He opened the door and invited him in. Hey, Dude he said walking by Tramp. Tramp said, I gave @ the fuckin office, ya old fart, drunk biker type pervert. Ya didn’t park on the grass again did ya? What’s
Goin’ on man? Hey, I parked in the wife’s place, she coming back soon? Na, man she’s gone
Out of town to a show or some shit. Well beer, Butch stuck the twelve pack out for me to grab.
He walked to the den and sat down as Tramp put the beer in the big fridge. Handing Butch a beer on his way to his chair. The plasma TV was blurting out some crap about retirement insurance, as he grabbed the remote and muted it. Hey man I’m going to BBQ at my place this weekend, why don’t you and the misses come on up? Sounds good to me, Tramp replied.
Several beers later they were talking about if they ran the TV stations how there would always be something worth watching on, blah, blah, blah. It was at that precise moment a lame ass commercial came on for “Cycle World” on the tube. It is a known fact that every idea that was ever thought by men with more than a couple of six packs in them is a least likely mentionable at the next Nobel awards. With this in mind Butch blurted out, ain’t that your girlfriend at the bike dealer, pointing at the pudgy man smilin’ on the TV? Yea, that little fucker. We’re at least engaged, Tramp said almost laughing. Started buying bikes from that place when I was just 19. Remember those days? Hard head, a hard dick and the never ending lust for motorcycles.
Every time I leave there I have to take an AIDS test. Pointing at the TV. Tramp said, that Dude Lance there is as queer as a three dollar bill. Him and that other dude, ah Davie, yea,
Davie is his Bitch. Your kidding’ Na, I Ain’t. That second floor that’s for storage, ain’t for storage. He has spent around 30k making it into a little love nest for him and his “friends”
Butch gave me this evil grin and I said what’s on your mind besides your hat? Wanna have some fun? Lets see, the last time you asked me that I spent three days kissing’ ass to the neighbor for tearing up her rose garden. And the time before that, na, man this is priceless.
All we got to do is take my cam recorder and get some tape of him and his friend having some quality time, do some editing and post it on the net. Think about it man, no one knows he’s queer and if the public found out, shit would be different in his “neighborhood”. He’s loaded man, if he never sold another bike it wouldn’t matter. Let’s paint the place pink! No dumbass
That’s vandalism. Remember when you wanted to paint the old biddies cat pink so she could find it in the fuckin‘ dark? Yea, and I still got the fuckin’ scars from that mangy motherfucker. Hell man, it was water base paint. Cats don’t like water Einstein.
Saddletramp took a long guzzle from the almost empty beer, then let a healthy belch rip.
Ya’ know there is ONE thing that might be entertaining. What’s that Butch said?
There’s a dude at the beer wholesaler that owes me one, and I have a damn good idea
How to get my mitts on that list Lance keeps in his safe at his shop. What list? He keeps a list of customers that he screws, and one HE screws. That little silver sticker on your helmet ya’ got there last summer, is a code that Lance and his buddies use to know who’s game and who’s GAME. Silver & White means Money, White & GOLD mean money and ass. If it’s
Gold your a butt buddy! That was going on even when Lance was a punk salesman. And them Dykes with MADD? That skinny one that gave me so much shit for walking in front of her and Junior carrying a case of beer? There’s about a hundred of Lance’s special “friends”
That own bikes from there. There’s also about a hundred Dyke Bitches with MADD with nothing’ better to do than fuck with drunk bikers! Ever been asked who is providing the
Beer at a party? No one else ever has either. It was starting to come together for Butch as the snicker became a full blown laugh. Throw in a call to a TV station or two, and there you go.
That’s entertainment! Tell the fags the party starts @ 2:00 and the Dykes it starts @ 5:00 and
Boom! Instant war. Tramp was laughin’ so hard he spilled beer on his T-shirt and walking shorts. The best part, we can film it from my buddies office from the sixth floor a mile away, sell it to a network and use the money for more beer! Butch was either praying it would work, or about to pass out, Tramp could not tell which. About two hours later Butch woke up and announced he had to piss. Honored to be privy to this information, I said you know where it is. He sat his almost full beer down on the coffee table and wandered off down the hall. He came back and asked if I had caught the creature that shit in his mouth as he slept. Na, I said, he made it to mine too. Butch picked up his warm beer and killed it right then. Got to go man, see ya, tomorrow. Ya’ ride careful dumbass, don’t want no phone calls. Sunday morning his wife walked through the door. She had a big ass mask and wanted to hang it in the den.
Two weeks had past since the idea of the century had come to my sick mind. Butch & I, even
Sober still marveled at it’s brilliance. After some very discreet inquiries things began to fall into place. Butch lured Lance from his office easy enough. Being either lazy or complacent Lance left the door to his office safe ajar during business hours. Three fast snaps of my digital camera and bingo, names, numbers, addresses. Butch was feeding them some crap about oily
Rags on the floor, or some such safety matter. Tramp was sitting on a bike as Lance came through the door, his blank face turned instantly happy as he saw me there. Just waiting for a friend I said. Sensing he could not extract any money from my wallet at that time he waved and kept going to his office. The Lance of long ago would have tried to sell me something even if I didn’t need it. Tramp sat and pondered how things change even as they stay the same. Butch tapped on the front window once. We left for his car. You get it, he snickered? Yea.
The plan was almost in place. I was to meet with another friend that was a professional photo
Man for a prominent news paper in earlier days. I told him about what we were about to do and although he wanted “no damn part of it“, I could tell he was laughing in the back ground. The next morning I met him at his little shop, I am making coffee you want some?
As I looked around he continued saying, this is where I come when the old Gal’s mad at me.
I own the damn building and everything in it. You bring it? He asked. Yes, I said. Good. You
Know if you fuck up this will be the most expensive joke you will most likely ever pull, don’t you? Yea, I know. Come with me, as he started to the back of the shop, pausing just long enough to fill his cup with coffee. He pulled the chain on an overhead light and the room lit up like day. On a table was a case and a long camera lens with a camera attached to it. It looked old and shiny. This is a very special camera. It was built in Germany during WW II.
It’s rare. But the lens is another matter all together. It’s custom made.
There are only 11 like it left in the world. The lens was made in Switzerland by the masters.
This outfit is the most expensive thing I have ever obtained. My wife excluded, He almost laughed. At least it’s paid for. After showing me how it worked he took it apart and put it in the case specially built for it. I handed him the envelope containing the title to my Goldwing.
He looked me in the eyes and said. If you break it you bought it. If you loose, damage or piss me off, you bought it. You hold in your hand the most valuable item I own. I don’t want your motorcycle. I can not ride it. He held up the envelope that held the title to the wing. Have your fun and bring my camera back home to me. The rest of the plan went flawless. Calls were made, letters sent, everything in order. The last piece was something we could not do ourselves. Rigging the caller id was child’s play and getting the old broad to call from the Hi-Lo saloon was easy also. The “secret party” of heathen drunk biker trash was set for the next weekend. Old’ Sally played her part well. Pretending she was a member of MADD she called headquarters and passed the secret info to them under the strictest of hush, hush, info. There “attack” was planned for 6:00 p.m.
About 90 or more of Lance’s special friends showed at his request. We forgot to invite Lance.
There was drinking, dancing, and every other “ing” you could think of. One of the TV stations we called was already there when MADD showed up, Protest signs in hand, the Dykes rallied. The local cops were there and for once they figured out that they were way out numbered. We
Got every minute on film thanks to the high speed camera and being temporarily sober. There was some fighting but not the war we were expecting. If not for previous duties we would have attended ourselves. The old photo guy had his equipment back , and developed the footage for us. We sent in the video after making a fast deal with a network we will not name, Lance denied all knowledge of having setup the event, and Butch and I got to split $6,000.00 bucks.
There are rumors going around that it may become a yearly event. Hell Butch and I may even show up next year. Later Saddletramp
How My Motorcycle Dealer Turned Me into A Faggot By : Saddletramp Phase: I
As I recall it as a bright sunny day as I wandered into my local motorcycle dealer.I got my first “real bike” at the age of fourteen. All used bikes so far, but I finally had saved enough for a new bike. Going shopping by myself was nothing new to me. The bright shiny building with the sign reading “Were glad you’re here!” over the finger print free glass doors. As I entered the shop the cool air was a relief from the summer heat. The change in temperature made my glasses fog over. I took them off toWipe them with my T-shirt. The smell of new tires and other things was a delight to the nose! Wiping my glasses I heard a voice in some obscure part of the building gleefullyAnnounce, Welcome to Cycle World, We’re glad you’re here!!! Voice was a little high, pitched I thought, I guessed it was from the A/C. A young man strode to my with his hand out. I gave him mine and shook. Name’s Mark, I’m Lance, how can I help you?Just looking I flatly said. What kind of bike do you ride now he politely asked? Honda,And you? Honda is my favorite brand too. Just about that time a short bald man walked passed by us and I could have sworn he patted the sales mans ass. Lance will take good care of you he said as he kept walking. Looked at several bikes and finely Chose a 750/4 close out. Phase: II
After all the talking and looking and wondering I went to get my hat & gloves. Threw the keys for my Honda to Lance. Feeling I had done rather well in the deal I watched as Lance startedAlmost ahh, prancing to the back office to get the keys. Hurt in a wreck I wondered.I started outside to unlock my helmet and grab my gloves. He stopped dead in his tracks spun around like a dancer and said don’t go far.Lance walked off, well almost danced off, in another direction. After about five minutes he returned smiling as before. Ok, he gleefully said, Your bike has already been serviced and you can be on your way. A mechanic rolled it into the parking lot and put down the stand. Lance and I walked to the new bike and the man handed me the key. I gave it a quick once over and donned my helmet, and gloves, ready to leave.Lance sang out, That helmet just does not go with that bike. I looked at him and said ICant afford a new one right now avoiding his salesman’s attempt to take more cash from my wallet. NO, NO,NO he squealed Wait right here just a moment. He took offAnd I put the key in adjusted the choke and pressed the start button. 4 smooth cylinders purring like kittens below me. Well here bounds Lance With a brand newHelmet. A nice one. He said, let’s trade. I gave him my hat and put the new one on.I liked the hat but wondered about a little sticker on the base of it advertising the dealer. Well have fun and I’ll see you soon, Thanks for the helmet, oh sure, on the house, we like our riders to look nice. I blew it off and eased the bike out of the lot. Brand new 750/4, a sweet ride. It took me less than a week to put the first 500 milesOn it and took it in for service. Lance was there and waved that limp wristed wave of his and I went to the “service department”. Phase III
They took the bike around back and my girlfriend picked me up at about the same time. This was Thursday afternoon. FridayMy gal got me to work. Break time, I called to ask about my bike, and “Davie” answered the phone and I could hear mechanic noise in the background.In almost the same high voice as Lance, Service department, how may I help you?Checking on my bike, I said, names Mark. The light red 750. One moment please.Click, ya the hold button. After three or so minutes of listening to Elton John elevatorMusic “Davie” came back and said Well! Those guys have left and didn’t tell me!!! That one sentence told me this Dude’s queer. I totally expected him to start crying orSomething when he said Please call back tomorrow, click. Friday afternoon late. GotNo bike, my buddy changed his plans to give me a ride, to my bike, ect… It was goin’South quick. Got 22.00 and change, my gal can pick me up, all is not lost. Well At noon Saturday I got a ride to the Dealer and to my surprise they were open and wereGoing to be open till I was sitting on my bike, leaving the parking lot. I walked in through the back (so no mechanic might escape) and the shop was empty. My watch read 12:06 p.m. There were five bike lifts in the shop. My bike was STILL on one, the one nearest the office. Walking to it I saw the spark plugs laying on a red rag, oil panHalf full of oil. With what was most likely the drain plug for my bike. I started towardThe office door and almost knocked over “Davie“. We stopped just in time to keep me from running over his 90 pound ass. The only thing that prevented it was a small window in the swinging doors that kept the A/C inside the showroom. He made a noiseI can describe the sound from his mouth was a Skreel. Half scream, half squeal,Sir! he chortled, Customers must enter through the show room. Mark, is my name and why the fuck ain’t my bike ready like Lance swore it would be? Putting his hands on his hips he said, That Bitch!!! More under his breath than anything. Sir, Lance works in sales, and I run this part of the dealership. Now even this young, nineteen yearOld kid that has just dropped almost two thousand bucks on a new ride don’t want toHear shit like that on a Saturday afternoon. Now I am 6’1 or 6’ depending on how I stand. I stared at him and calmly said, this motorcycle is all there is between walkin’And riding. It takes a lazy mechanic no more than 30 minutes to do a 500 mile on a bike. Sir, I don’t know how this happened and I will go get the owner. (and maybe change his pants). Phase IV
In less than a minute the little bald guy and Davie came almost running through the door. Davie was doing his best to hide behind baldie. Mark was thinking two punches tops. When your 19 you don’t think about shit like jail, not yet anyway.My name’s Biff, I own the dealership. There seems to be a problem with your bike.He walked by me and over to the 750. Awe yes, this is the one. ( This is when In a different parallel) he started rubbing my tummy with his soothing words. I rode thisBike one afternoon and the clutch is not right. Lance should have known not to sell it yet. Feeling more at ease he keeps rubbing as he starts to un do his fly. These clutchPacks are rather expensive I’m afraid were going to have to ask you to pay half. I won’t charge labor. But it’s brand new I started to cry. Son, I can call you Son, Can’t I? Warranty won’t cover any bike with over 500 miles on it for clutch failure. The Speedo reads 517.5 , When I rode it home it had 16 miles on it. I could treat this as rider abuse and charge full price for the repairs. Other less honest Dealers have done it before. But you look like a nice young man and Blah, blah, blah, I looked at “Davie”.I would not do that to you, he smiled. Davie was scared. No we would not want that at all.See we would have to lie to Honda about the mileage and that wouldn’t be right. ItMust have been still damp from the “last customer” he “helped” It didn’t hurt much atAll as he slowly, ever so slowly slipped it in. Mentally I could almost feel his hands on my hips. This guy is Good I thought to myself as what he said made sense Phase V
I will have one of the boys take you home and your bike will be ready Monday. I willSee to it myself. With nothing more than a strange feeling I thanked him and “Davie”Took me home. The weekend went well as my girlfriend and I had more time together.She took me to work and was to pick me up to go and get the bike. I cleared it with the boss and left 10 minutes early. My gal was there to pick me up right on time and we went through the lite traffic to the dealership.My bike was sitting in the showroom and I thought it was odd. I had my helmet in oneHand and gloves in the other. I was not in the mood to shake hands knowing it was going to cost me another hundred bucks to get to ride my NEW bike home. Lance almost hurt himself trying to get up from his desk to greet me. It was all I could do to keep from laughin’. He pranced toward me gleefully almost singing “were so happy you’re here” Before I could even open my yap he said that he had a chat with the boss and felt I should not have to pay for the repair. It was his fault and I was going to get a “free” ride. I was stunned and he put his hand on my shoulder saying he was indeed sorry. The aftershave he was wearing for some reason smelled good to me.I softened my stance a little and we walked to my bike. Just like new he skreeled again! I kinda laughed and said it IS new Dude. You know what I mean, silly it’s ready to go. So relieved that the numbers in my poor checkbook were not going to change ISaid that I was thinking about a windshield as I didn’t like face shields. Just when I thought it was not possible for Lance to get any happier He did. Grabbing my wrist,( I still was holding my gloves and helmet) he led me to the “Toys R Us” for bikers.The parts/accessory department. In this wonderland of shiny stuff I was in awe. I knewI was on thin ground here and needed to keep my wits about me. Got the one piece clear/smoke fairing type that extends over the handle bars too. It was the last one Lance exclaimed as the bored parts girl put it in a really big plastic bag. $186.14 has left the wallet. Offering to install it for an extra $10.00 I said no thanks and then realized I had no way to get it home. A half hour later I was handing a little mechanic’s helper two 5’s and was on the way home. Parked safely in the garage ISpent the rest of the evening with my sweetie but for some reason could not get that little fat bald man out of my mind. I had no idea at the time but Lance was thinking About ME! How to make ME his bitch, and how to bankrupt my ass over a long period of time. About a week went by and the bike was performing very well. I got home and after parking I went to get the mail. The box was empty and I went into the house, kissed my girl and went to my favorite chair to pull off my boots. Now Jean my girl walked into the front room handed me a beer and than said this came for you today.She handed a small envelope to me and it was from the dealer. I popped open the brewTook a big swig, sat it down and looked at the envelope. opened it up and it was an invite to a dealer sponsored ride that Saturday afternoon. I handed it to her and she that said it might be fun. I agreed and we made plans to attend. We all met at the “dealership” and left together. I noticed that everyone’s helmet had that same little sticker on back of it. Some were silver and white and some gold & white. I wondered.And after a short time were on our way to a near by city. Lance and Davie were on the same bike with Lance driving. Jean tucked in behind me asked why that was. She must have seen the grin on my face in the rearview mirror, saying No, really? Yea, I chuckled. Of course Biff led the pack, his fat ass hanging over each side of the saddle of the latest bike he chose to ride. For the most part the ride went well and both Jean and I enjoyed it. Heading back into the city Lance seemed to be riding a little erratically. I was way to busy keeping us safe on that dark ride home, But MyGal said she noticed movement while Davie and Lance rode home. I won’t go there.I got to at least try to keep it clean as I never know as to whom might this be read by JWe got an invitation to a BBQ at Biffs lake house a month or so later. We missed that one. I have spent a lot of money and time a the “Dealership” over the years, Jean and I got married we have raised two wonderful kids, and all in all I have spent about60,000 in bikes and parts over the years. Not as much as some, but more than others. A few years later Biff retired and Lance & Davie bought the “dealership”. One afternoon I stopped in to get rid of a few beers. One thing about the place is the bathroom is real clean. I found Lance & Davie in a very “private moment”. Lance did to a point make me his “bitch” but only in a monetary sense. I still keep myCheckbook in my back pocket, always will. Davie never really liked me much but that’s fine. If there is a husband in a relationship like that I guess Lance is it. We have invited them to our home on occasion, all on the up and up and they have even shown up a couple of times. Lance likes Martini’s and I like my beer. We respect each other in a way. Davie likes to talk with my wife, sharing “girl things” I guess. Hell I don’t know! Anyway I pissed and headed out the front door pausing long enough to light a smoke. The bikes were packed inside and as I looked around I just happened to look up. Over the door still hung that little sign, Were glad you’re here! It’s at least thirty years old now. Couldn’t help but laugh as I threw a leg over the Goldwings soft black leather saddle. Some things never change. As I was about to pull out of the parking lot A young man on an older mid size motorcycle had his turn signal on. As he turned intoThe parking lot, I just smiled and headed home. Oh, I almost forgot. Those little stickers on the helmets. There an inside badge of honor. The silver & white ones are for the customers that they got in the wallet, the gold & white ones are for the customers they,Ah, let’s just say are special J Tramp
As I recall it as a bright sunny day as I wandered into my local motorcycle dealer.I got my first “real bike” at the age of fourteen. All used bikes so far, but I finally had saved enough for a new bike. Going shopping by myself was nothing new to me. The bright shiny building with the sign reading “Were glad you’re here!” over the finger print free glass doors. As I entered the shop the cool air was a relief from the summer heat. The change in temperature made my glasses fog over. I took them off toWipe them with my T-shirt. The smell of new tires and other things was a delight to the nose! Wiping my glasses I heard a voice in some obscure part of the building gleefullyAnnounce, Welcome to Cycle World, We’re glad you’re here!!! Voice was a little high, pitched I thought, I guessed it was from the A/C. A young man strode to my with his hand out. I gave him mine and shook. Name’s Mark, I’m Lance, how can I help you?Just looking I flatly said. What kind of bike do you ride now he politely asked? Honda,And you? Honda is my favorite brand too. Just about that time a short bald man walked passed by us and I could have sworn he patted the sales mans ass. Lance will take good care of you he said as he kept walking. Looked at several bikes and finely Chose a 750/4 close out. Phase: II
After all the talking and looking and wondering I went to get my hat & gloves. Threw the keys for my Honda to Lance. Feeling I had done rather well in the deal I watched as Lance startedAlmost ahh, prancing to the back office to get the keys. Hurt in a wreck I wondered.I started outside to unlock my helmet and grab my gloves. He stopped dead in his tracks spun around like a dancer and said don’t go far.Lance walked off, well almost danced off, in another direction. After about five minutes he returned smiling as before. Ok, he gleefully said, Your bike has already been serviced and you can be on your way. A mechanic rolled it into the parking lot and put down the stand. Lance and I walked to the new bike and the man handed me the key. I gave it a quick once over and donned my helmet, and gloves, ready to leave.Lance sang out, That helmet just does not go with that bike. I looked at him and said ICant afford a new one right now avoiding his salesman’s attempt to take more cash from my wallet. NO, NO,NO he squealed Wait right here just a moment. He took offAnd I put the key in adjusted the choke and pressed the start button. 4 smooth cylinders purring like kittens below me. Well here bounds Lance With a brand newHelmet. A nice one. He said, let’s trade. I gave him my hat and put the new one on.I liked the hat but wondered about a little sticker on the base of it advertising the dealer. Well have fun and I’ll see you soon, Thanks for the helmet, oh sure, on the house, we like our riders to look nice. I blew it off and eased the bike out of the lot. Brand new 750/4, a sweet ride. It took me less than a week to put the first 500 milesOn it and took it in for service. Lance was there and waved that limp wristed wave of his and I went to the “service department”. Phase III
They took the bike around back and my girlfriend picked me up at about the same time. This was Thursday afternoon. FridayMy gal got me to work. Break time, I called to ask about my bike, and “Davie” answered the phone and I could hear mechanic noise in the background.In almost the same high voice as Lance, Service department, how may I help you?Checking on my bike, I said, names Mark. The light red 750. One moment please.Click, ya the hold button. After three or so minutes of listening to Elton John elevatorMusic “Davie” came back and said Well! Those guys have left and didn’t tell me!!! That one sentence told me this Dude’s queer. I totally expected him to start crying orSomething when he said Please call back tomorrow, click. Friday afternoon late. GotNo bike, my buddy changed his plans to give me a ride, to my bike, ect… It was goin’South quick. Got 22.00 and change, my gal can pick me up, all is not lost. Well At noon Saturday I got a ride to the Dealer and to my surprise they were open and wereGoing to be open till I was sitting on my bike, leaving the parking lot. I walked in through the back (so no mechanic might escape) and the shop was empty. My watch read 12:06 p.m. There were five bike lifts in the shop. My bike was STILL on one, the one nearest the office. Walking to it I saw the spark plugs laying on a red rag, oil panHalf full of oil. With what was most likely the drain plug for my bike. I started towardThe office door and almost knocked over “Davie“. We stopped just in time to keep me from running over his 90 pound ass. The only thing that prevented it was a small window in the swinging doors that kept the A/C inside the showroom. He made a noiseI can describe the sound from his mouth was a Skreel. Half scream, half squeal,Sir! he chortled, Customers must enter through the show room. Mark, is my name and why the fuck ain’t my bike ready like Lance swore it would be? Putting his hands on his hips he said, That Bitch!!! More under his breath than anything. Sir, Lance works in sales, and I run this part of the dealership. Now even this young, nineteen yearOld kid that has just dropped almost two thousand bucks on a new ride don’t want toHear shit like that on a Saturday afternoon. Now I am 6’1 or 6’ depending on how I stand. I stared at him and calmly said, this motorcycle is all there is between walkin’And riding. It takes a lazy mechanic no more than 30 minutes to do a 500 mile on a bike. Sir, I don’t know how this happened and I will go get the owner. (and maybe change his pants). Phase IV
In less than a minute the little bald guy and Davie came almost running through the door. Davie was doing his best to hide behind baldie. Mark was thinking two punches tops. When your 19 you don’t think about shit like jail, not yet anyway.My name’s Biff, I own the dealership. There seems to be a problem with your bike.He walked by me and over to the 750. Awe yes, this is the one. ( This is when In a different parallel) he started rubbing my tummy with his soothing words. I rode thisBike one afternoon and the clutch is not right. Lance should have known not to sell it yet. Feeling more at ease he keeps rubbing as he starts to un do his fly. These clutchPacks are rather expensive I’m afraid were going to have to ask you to pay half. I won’t charge labor. But it’s brand new I started to cry. Son, I can call you Son, Can’t I? Warranty won’t cover any bike with over 500 miles on it for clutch failure. The Speedo reads 517.5 , When I rode it home it had 16 miles on it. I could treat this as rider abuse and charge full price for the repairs. Other less honest Dealers have done it before. But you look like a nice young man and Blah, blah, blah, I looked at “Davie”.I would not do that to you, he smiled. Davie was scared. No we would not want that at all.See we would have to lie to Honda about the mileage and that wouldn’t be right. ItMust have been still damp from the “last customer” he “helped” It didn’t hurt much atAll as he slowly, ever so slowly slipped it in. Mentally I could almost feel his hands on my hips. This guy is Good I thought to myself as what he said made sense Phase V
I will have one of the boys take you home and your bike will be ready Monday. I willSee to it myself. With nothing more than a strange feeling I thanked him and “Davie”Took me home. The weekend went well as my girlfriend and I had more time together.She took me to work and was to pick me up to go and get the bike. I cleared it with the boss and left 10 minutes early. My gal was there to pick me up right on time and we went through the lite traffic to the dealership.My bike was sitting in the showroom and I thought it was odd. I had my helmet in oneHand and gloves in the other. I was not in the mood to shake hands knowing it was going to cost me another hundred bucks to get to ride my NEW bike home. Lance almost hurt himself trying to get up from his desk to greet me. It was all I could do to keep from laughin’. He pranced toward me gleefully almost singing “were so happy you’re here” Before I could even open my yap he said that he had a chat with the boss and felt I should not have to pay for the repair. It was his fault and I was going to get a “free” ride. I was stunned and he put his hand on my shoulder saying he was indeed sorry. The aftershave he was wearing for some reason smelled good to me.I softened my stance a little and we walked to my bike. Just like new he skreeled again! I kinda laughed and said it IS new Dude. You know what I mean, silly it’s ready to go. So relieved that the numbers in my poor checkbook were not going to change ISaid that I was thinking about a windshield as I didn’t like face shields. Just when I thought it was not possible for Lance to get any happier He did. Grabbing my wrist,( I still was holding my gloves and helmet) he led me to the “Toys R Us” for bikers.The parts/accessory department. In this wonderland of shiny stuff I was in awe. I knewI was on thin ground here and needed to keep my wits about me. Got the one piece clear/smoke fairing type that extends over the handle bars too. It was the last one Lance exclaimed as the bored parts girl put it in a really big plastic bag. $186.14 has left the wallet. Offering to install it for an extra $10.00 I said no thanks and then realized I had no way to get it home. A half hour later I was handing a little mechanic’s helper two 5’s and was on the way home. Parked safely in the garage ISpent the rest of the evening with my sweetie but for some reason could not get that little fat bald man out of my mind. I had no idea at the time but Lance was thinking About ME! How to make ME his bitch, and how to bankrupt my ass over a long period of time. About a week went by and the bike was performing very well. I got home and after parking I went to get the mail. The box was empty and I went into the house, kissed my girl and went to my favorite chair to pull off my boots. Now Jean my girl walked into the front room handed me a beer and than said this came for you today.She handed a small envelope to me and it was from the dealer. I popped open the brewTook a big swig, sat it down and looked at the envelope. opened it up and it was an invite to a dealer sponsored ride that Saturday afternoon. I handed it to her and she that said it might be fun. I agreed and we made plans to attend. We all met at the “dealership” and left together. I noticed that everyone’s helmet had that same little sticker on back of it. Some were silver and white and some gold & white. I wondered.And after a short time were on our way to a near by city. Lance and Davie were on the same bike with Lance driving. Jean tucked in behind me asked why that was. She must have seen the grin on my face in the rearview mirror, saying No, really? Yea, I chuckled. Of course Biff led the pack, his fat ass hanging over each side of the saddle of the latest bike he chose to ride. For the most part the ride went well and both Jean and I enjoyed it. Heading back into the city Lance seemed to be riding a little erratically. I was way to busy keeping us safe on that dark ride home, But MyGal said she noticed movement while Davie and Lance rode home. I won’t go there.I got to at least try to keep it clean as I never know as to whom might this be read by JWe got an invitation to a BBQ at Biffs lake house a month or so later. We missed that one. I have spent a lot of money and time a the “Dealership” over the years, Jean and I got married we have raised two wonderful kids, and all in all I have spent about60,000 in bikes and parts over the years. Not as much as some, but more than others. A few years later Biff retired and Lance & Davie bought the “dealership”. One afternoon I stopped in to get rid of a few beers. One thing about the place is the bathroom is real clean. I found Lance & Davie in a very “private moment”. Lance did to a point make me his “bitch” but only in a monetary sense. I still keep myCheckbook in my back pocket, always will. Davie never really liked me much but that’s fine. If there is a husband in a relationship like that I guess Lance is it. We have invited them to our home on occasion, all on the up and up and they have even shown up a couple of times. Lance likes Martini’s and I like my beer. We respect each other in a way. Davie likes to talk with my wife, sharing “girl things” I guess. Hell I don’t know! Anyway I pissed and headed out the front door pausing long enough to light a smoke. The bikes were packed inside and as I looked around I just happened to look up. Over the door still hung that little sign, Were glad you’re here! It’s at least thirty years old now. Couldn’t help but laugh as I threw a leg over the Goldwings soft black leather saddle. Some things never change. As I was about to pull out of the parking lot A young man on an older mid size motorcycle had his turn signal on. As he turned intoThe parking lot, I just smiled and headed home. Oh, I almost forgot. Those little stickers on the helmets. There an inside badge of honor. The silver & white ones are for the customers that they got in the wallet, the gold & white ones are for the customers they,Ah, let’s just say are special J Tramp
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