Biker Chick's blog: "motorcycle wisdom"

RIDING WITH THE FAT OLD MEN I have been riding with the fat old men. Their bellies lunge aggressively over their belt bands like boulders hanging balanced over a cliff's edge. They wear blue jeans suspended from bright red galluses as broad as four fingers of a thin man's hands. For real comfort 'overhauls' are the informal uniform of the day. The fat old men are sixty-something to seventy-something. They have knuckles scarred by slipping wrenches, and small patches of white skin where burns have healed from rubbing against red hot exhaust headers. They were too anxious to get the work done to let their motorcycles cool; too eager to get back on the road. The fat old men do not walk to breakfast with their riding companions unless the cafe is across the street. The fat old men are genial companions around a campfire, or at a breakfast table, but they leave the congeniality of group walks to their younger, merely plump, riding buddies and their buddies' comfortable wives. The fat old men will ride the hundred yards to breakfast and load up for the day with buttered pancakes, fried eggs, rashers of bacon, home-fried potatoes and biscuits. If there is a slice of orange garnishing the plate they will ignore it and wash breakfast down with coffee laced with cream. I have known them, on occasion, to drink a red beer or two...beer and tomato juice...as a corrective to the previous evening's tire kicking session. These are not soft men. Their bellies are as hard as a table top; the kind of belly you see on construction workers who have spent their lives leaning on jack hammers. This is not the middle-aged guy's gut and flabby love handles. My fat old men do not have love handles, they are as free of such overhangs as a cement sewer pipe. These men require motorcycles as substantial as their breakfasts, huge touring machines that the trade knows as "luxo-tourers." The fat old men have serious riding business to undertake and they need proper tools for the work. Not for the fat old men some younger guy's "crotch rocket," which is nothing but a citified version of an honest racing motorcycle. They don't want to go a hundred miles an hour crouched over their gas tanks like a monkey making love to a watermelon, although they admire these motorcycles and will talk flatteringly about them with their owners. What my guys want is to go hundreds of miles hour after hour after hour and for that these substantial men want substantial comfort. Huge engines, special seats, windshields and fairings, power adjustable gas shock absorbers, radios and tape players, and of course radar detectors. The fat old men have served their country, been blown out of their tanks, jumped out of their bombers, held dying friends in their arms. They understand shell shock, battle fatigue, and post traumatic stress syndrome and have gone on charity rides to help comrades who suffered from those ailments. They are not scornful of modern psychology. But they have, themselves, simply sucked up their problems and got on with their lives. Some few of them are old enough to have had to "deal with depression," but that depression was the sort where pop was out of work and their mamas made sister's blouses out of gaily printed flour sacks. So here we are ready to ride for a weekend on winding mountain roads. Big men on huge motorcycles. These motorcycles may weigh close to half a ton "wet." That is, with full gas tanks and topped-up radiators. Yet they ride out of the parking lot, pull a graceful U-turn on a narrow two lane country road, and purr off for a day of canyon carving with a lightness and grace that shames the rest of us who have to paddle our lighter bikes around the parking lot and off onto the road. Understand what's going on here. The fat old men have ridden 600 miles on a Friday to spend Saturday with friends riding 300 hundred miles on hairpin curves and badly banked blacktop roads. On Sunday they will ride six hundred miles home. This is not "long distance riding." This is a pleasant weekend jaunt. Take a look at their triple-extra-large T-shirts, the souvenirs and records of the riding by which they define themselves. "The Iron Butt"...a thousand miles in a day; "Fifty CC" which means they have ridden coast to coast in fifty hours; "The Four Corners" a ride around the four corners of the United States; and the relatively mild "Three Flags" run- from Mexico to Canada over a weekend. That's riding. A sixty mile ride with your buds to a tavern just ain't in it. Not that the fat old men are judgmental, they think all motorcyclists should do their thing, they just want to do more of it than some other folks. And for the most of it the fat old men can ride rings around the rest of us. My wife, Katherine, and I are puttering up the New Mexican curves bound for the town Reserve, New Mexico, and a sentimental return to Uncle Bill's Bar, when we are passed by the fat old men, who whisper by us, dip into the curve ahead just letting their foot pegs touch the road, and are gone. There is not the briefest flicker of their brake lights to betray a second thought about what they were doing or the speed at which they were doing it. The town of Reserve is the center of ranching activity for the area and the bar is the social hub of the town. On a non-weekend day you can hear an exhaustive analysis of what is wrong with the BLM, sandal-wearing environmentalists, and the idiots who want to re-introduce wolves where sensible men are trying to make a living raising cattle. The bar's souvenir T-shirt shows a cowboy and his horse taking a companionable piss together. It is not clear what they are companionably pissing on. On the weekends the bar is a destination of choice for clubs of Harley-Davidson riders and a scattering of Japanese motorcycles worked to look like Harleys. These are not biker gang people, just young guys and their wives or girlfriends. They are not as dangerous as they look, despite the leather and tattoos, but they would be disappointed if they thought you weren't just a bit apprehensive. You know, they're going to have a goat roast and you're the goat. That sort of thing. When Katherine and I hit town the fat old men were well ahead of us, strolling up and down a line of some twenty or more bikes parked in front of Uncle Bill's. It would be wrong to suggest that there was anything ponderous about their progress; their stomachs did not precede them in any way that suggested the swaying trunks of elephants. Rather, there was something stately and grand about the way they walked along the line of motorcycles a convocation of bishops discussing difficult issues of theology on a stroll through the cloisters. Some riders come out of the bar for a smoke and walk over to where the fat old men were examining their motorcycles. Nice day for a ridewhere y'all fromthose your Goldwings? how do you like the Harley belt drivethe random stock phrases one scooter person asks another to get a conversation going, set a tone. It's pretty clear from a kind of swaggering body language that the young guys, the ones with the thin-lipped Appalachian girlfriends, are sort of sorry for the fat old men. The fat old men have to wear protective riding suits, big heavy helmets, ride huge "safe" motorcycles. The fat old men are not riding free in the wind, bare chested, with their halter topped girlfriends pressing their breasts against them. The fat old men, who have been blown out of their tanks, jumped out of their bombers, and ridden their motorcycles into (and out of) ditches avoiding idiots passing in the wrong lane; these fat old men don't much give a rat's ass what anyone thinks. And it's right here that the conflict between the old bulls and the young bulls arises. It's head butting, antler locking time, and one of the fat old men says something like, "That's a good looking scoot. Chrome's nice. Must have cost you a fortune." The young bull paws the ground with pride. "Yeah, thanks. I ride a lot. Like the scoot to stand out." "That's a 1999, isn't it. Interesting engine mods made that year to fix the generator problems," says the fat old man, leaning over to check the odometer. Whoa, what is this? The old fat guy knows something about scoots. Is this a put-down? Is he knocking my ride? "Goldwing's the same year. Didn't do much to the bike that year, but I've tinkered a few changes just for comfort. Getting old is hell." And then comes the killer head butt, the sand in the sandbag: "How many miles ya got?" "Damn near 16 thousand live to ride, ride to live, bro. How about you?" "Well, coming up the hill here I just turned 140 thousand. Good to talk. Keep the rubber side down but guess I' better get going, I'm supposed to be in Denver tonight." The fat old man waved and turned to walk back to his Wing. Just before he shrugged into the top half of his riding suit you could read the back of his T-shirt: YOU DON'T STOP RIDING BECAUSE YOU GET OLD, YOU GET OLD BECAUSE YOU STOP RIDING. The fat old men are not saints. Inside the fat old men are the brash young guys with the go to hell attitudes who were blow out of their tanks or who jumped out of their bombers. The fat old man wrenched the Wing upright and hip-swung the big tourer into the intersection, where he pulled a near lock-to-lock figure eight, waved goodbye and went on his way.

* Midnight Bugs taste Best * Saddlebags can never hold everything you want, but they CAN hold everything you need. * NEVER argue with a woman holding a torque wrench * Never try to race an old Geezer, he may have one more gear than you. * Home is where your Harley 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 car windows. * Harley's don't leak oil; they mark their territory. * Never ask a biker for directions if you're in a hurry to get there. * Don't ride so late into the night that you sleep through the sunrise. * Pie and Coffee are as important as gasoline. * 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, judgment, and good timing. So does a good lover. * A cold hamburger can be reheated quite nicely by placing it in the crotch between the two cylinders. * Never do less then Forty miles before breakfast. * If you don't ride in the rain-you don't ride. * A Harley 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. * A good wrench will let you watch without charging you for it. * 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, it's better in the wind. * Two lane blacktop isn't a highway-it's a mindset. * When you look down the road, it seems to never end-but you better believe it does. * A biker can smell a party 2500 miles away. * Winter is Natures way of telling you to polish. * A Harley can't sing on city streets. * Keep your bikes in good repair: riding boots are NOT comfortable for walking. * People are like Harleys, each is customized a bit differently. * If the bike ain't braking properly, you don't start by rebuilding the engine. * Remember to pay as much attention to your partner as you do your carburetor. * Sometimes the best communication happens when you're on separate bikes. * Well-trained reflexes are quicker than luck. * Good coffee should be indistinguishable from 60 weight motor oil. * The best alarm clock is sunshine on Chrome. * Learn to do counterintuitive things that may someday save your . * The twisties- not the superslabs- separate the bikers from the squids. * When you're riding lead--don't spit. * If you really want to know what's going on, watch what's 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. * 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. * If you want to get somewhere before sundown, you can't stop at every tavern. * There's something ugly about a NEW Harley on a trailer. * Don't lead the pack if you don't know where you're goin'. * 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. * 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. * 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 drunken bikers. There are old bikers. There are NO old, drunken bikers. * 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 living when your knees are in the breeze. * No matter what marquee 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. * Patience is the ability to keep your motor idling when you feel like stripping your gears.

Did you know 95% of all Harleys are still on the road? The other 5% actually made it home. Is it true that Harleys are chick magnets? Yes, but only if the chick has a steel plate in her head. What's the cheapest way to get another 50 hp from your Harley? Trade it in on a Suzuki. Why don't Harley riders sit on their bikes when the side stands are down? They're afraid to lean over that far. What's the difference between a Harley and a Harley owner's home? The Harley costs more and has fewer wheels. How do you know you're riding a Harley? While coming off an exit-ramp you get passed by a Vespa. Why don't Harley riders wave at sport bike riders? Because they don't want to drop their tools. How do you know the aftermarket parts you bought for your Harley are working? You finally break into the 15's in the quarter mile. What do you call a group of Harley Owners with a collective IQ of 120? Sturgis! How do Harley engineers tell if a bike is worthy of the Harley name? They check to make sure the exhaust noise in decibels exceeds the horsepower rating. How does an engineer show he is deserving of a job at Harley? He must demonstrate he is capable of designing a device which can successfully turn gasoline into noise and vibration. Why don't Harley owners smile? Once you realized you got conned into paying $25,000 for an outdated piece of $#!+ would YOU be smiling? What's the difference between a Harley Davidson and a vacuum cleaner? The location of the dirt bags. Why do Harleys have fringes? So you can tell if they're moving. How is a Harley Davidson like an old dog? They both like to ride in the back of pickup trucks. How do you know your Harley is handling great? You can almost keep up with the logging trucks when you're riding in the canyons. What is the difference between a Harley Davidson and an old dog? The dog can get in the back of the pickup by itself. What's the difference between a Harley taken to Daytona on a trailer and one that's being ridden there? The one on the trailer is going about 30mph faster. Why couldn't the Harley mechanic repair the doorknob? Some things just can't be fixed with only a hammer and a rope. Where can you find the largest collection of Harley jokes in the world? On the showroom of the Harley mega-store in Milwaukee Why do Harley owners love chrome? Makes the parts easier to find when they fall off. You know you're a Harley rider if? 1. You're unable to let your bike simply IDLE at a stop light. 2. You confuse the word "character" with the more accurate term "engineering flaws". 3."Water cooled" means standing on the side of the road, in the rain, waiting for a wrecker

$10,000 06' Suzuki GSXR 1000 Farmington, UT 84025 - Aug 7, 2006 2006 Suzuki 1000. This bike is perfect! It has 1000 miles and has had its 500 mile dealer service. (Expensive) It's been adult ridden, all wheels have always been on the ground. I use it as a cruiser/commuter. I'm selling it because it was purchased without proper consent of a loving wife. Apparently "do whatever the f*** you want" doesn't mean what I thought. Call me, Steve. (801)867-8xxx

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% General American English

25% Yankee

15% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

10 reasons why a Motorcycle is better than a Man: 1) Bigger and better ride 2) You're always on top 3) Longer and better vibrations 4) It's always there when you want it 5) You can kick it and it won't kick back 6) It doesn't want to know who you rode last night 7) You can dress it the way you want and it won't complain 8) Because it's a fast start and a longer ride 9) Motorcycles won't insult you if you are a bad rider. 10)Motorcycles don't care if you are late.

You might be a redneck if you think the last 4 words of the Star Spangled Banner is "Gentlemen, Start your engines" . You might be a redneck if you've been on television more than 5 times describing what the tornado sounded like You might be a redneck if you've ever financed a tattoo You might be a redneck if you've ever made change in the offering plate You might be a redneck if you see a sign that says "say no to crack" and it reminds you to pull your jeans up. You might be a redneck if you've been too drunk to fish You might be a redneck if you've wallet and your dog are both on a chain You might be a redneck if you go to the family reunion to meet women You might be a redneck if you buy your wife earings that double as fishing lures You might be a redneck if you mow the grass and find 3 cars. You might be a redneck if you’ve been accused of lying through your tooth You might be a redneck if you’ve ever worn a tube top to a funeral home You might be a redneck if you’ve ever opened a beer during a eulogy You might be a redneck if you’re dad’s cell number has nothing to do with a phone You might be a redneck if you’ve ever ridden an electric floor buffer You might be a redneck if you’ve ever used a bar stool as a walker You might be a redneck if you think silence of the lambs is what happens when Larry walks out to the barn You might be a redneck if you think fast food is hitting a deer at 65mph.

A ten year-old boy was walking down the street when a big man on a black motorcycle, pulls up beside him and asks, "Hey kid, wanna go for a ride?" "No!", said the boy, and he kept on walking. The motorcyclist pulls up to him again and says, "Hey kid, I'll give you $10 if you hop on the back" "NO!" said the boy and proceeded down the street a little quicker. The motorcyclist pulls up to the boy again and says, "Ok kid, I'll give you $20 and a BIG bag of candy if you hop on the back for a ride." At this point the boy turns around to him and screams angrily, "Look Dad, YOU bought the Honda, so YOU ride it!! when you buy a HARLEY I'll get on .

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ... "WOW!! WHAT A RIDE!"

"I was riding my Harley when I saw a sign by the road that said [Sisters of St. Mary's Convent, 10 miles, get screwed for only $50.], I thought, nahh must be a joke. A little further, there was another sign, [Sisters of St. Mary's Convent, next exit, follow signs & get screwed for only $50]. Well I thought I gotta check this out, so I took the exit & followed the signs. Pulling into the parking lot I saw only a couple of other bikes. I went up & knocked on the door, a nun actually answered. I said, "um, I saw the signs by the road." "Oh" she smiled, "Come on in." So I did, then she said, "You want to go down that hall on the right & then knock on the second door", so I did, (knock). A half dressed nun with the greatest body I've ever seen on a sister answered, & smiled, she said "I'm just getting finished so just put the $50 in the jar on the dresser & go through that door at the end of the room, & wait a sec" She winks, & points to the door, & then saunters out wigglin' one hell of a nice ass. I put my money in the jar, & went out the door. To my surprise, I found myself back in the parking lot. I thought this must be a mistake, & turned back to the door. There was a sign that read, "YOU've just been screwed for $50 by the Sisters of St. Mary's, Sinner"