BELOW, LINKS TO CHAPTERS FROM MY BOOKS.
AND, A PICTURE OF THE NEW BIKE
5. Cisco. complete story.
THESE FILES RESIDE IN "DROP BOX" AT TIMES A NASTY LITTLE SPLASH SCREEN WILL APPEAR ASKING YOU TO SIGN IN. IGNORE THIS, JUST X THE SCREEN AND CONTINUE READING.
A FEW SNIPPETS FROM BOTH FINISHED NOVELS. THIS IS BAIT, TO ENTICE YOU TO READ MORE. Also, I have included THREE TRUE TALES WRITTEN ABOUT SEVEN YEARS AGO. “Waiting at the Car Hospital” IS PARTICULARLY RELEVANT AT THIS TIME WITH OUR IMPENDING ELECTION. THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO LOOK. I HOPE YOU ENJOY. AFTER READING PLEASE DROP ME A LINE, LET ME KNOW HOW YOU LIKE THESE STORIES. I VALUE YOUR OPINION.
Picture of the New Bike
My grand motorcycle affair began with a much older mature black A.J.S. She was my first love, a wayward cantankerous mistress lighting a passion in me enduring to this day. I graduated from the Ajay moving from antique classics to many legendry offerings and sampling the cream of the British motorcycle industry. From Borough to Rudge, Scott, Vincent, and Vellocett I rode each one with love and sometimes trepidation. Girder forks and no rear suspension was a poor choice on twisty rain-slicked city streets.
Ladies, with their carefully arranged hair and pretty painted faces would sometimes ride behind. Those who did would seldom repeat the experience. “Oh, I wouldn’t be seen dead in that nasty old leather jacket” was a common complaint. So, on they would perch, colorful chattering parrots in their crisp print summer dresses. Within a few minutes, a faint black stripe would appear on their backs, extending from their legs, reaching to their trim waists and sometimes higher. This was oil mist from the rear drive chain. Any make, and any model the results were always the same. A few resolute passengers would accept ruined hairstyles and oily clothes as a badge of honor. Most did not, seeking a higher road well away from the rough boys with their horrible, loud motorbikes.
There were always alternatives, The Lambretta and Vesper riders, no smoke oil or noise. Nice well behaved boys dressed properly and obviously from good homes. The sort of boyfriend a girl and her parents could rely on. They would ALWAYS leave the dance in time to arrive home as promised.
The age of the magnificent British motorcycle was soon drawn to a close. Japanese machines cheap, reliable and quiet flooded the market. They did not leak oil and most had electric starters like cars. A good strategy, build better sell at an unrealistically low price and when the competition is eliminated you have cornered the market. Then is the time to raise prices. Not quite so simplistic but, not too far from the truth.
Undoubtedly the Japanese bikes were very good and certainly cheaper. They lacked one important ingredient, and still do. An intangible quality that is not easily described.
The scent of it may be found in a back alley gym, where fighters train against a heavy bag. A sound of it is heard if you listen to Tommy Johnson singing Canned Heat Blues. You will see it in Frida Kahlo paintings and a thousand other places. It is simply a distillation of effort and integrity. The angels know it well, they call it SOUL.
For some time I have nursed an ambition to tour the southern states on a motorcycle. Repressed desires from my youth perhaps? Possibly, but this persistent need will eventually have to be satisfied. Bike of choice is a big flathead, Harley. Four speed preferably. I have owned two eighty-inch shovelheads both fine custom machines, but there is just something about a large capacity side-valve that pulls at me, the old SOUL thing perhaps. I am still looking for a Harley but in the meantime, I am content with my new bike.
The possibility of a random splinter should never be ignored. So, write with your comments. Actually, any comment you may have on any part of this site is welcomed. Please feel free to vent .
NEGATIVE COMMENTS OF OUTRAGE, DISGUST, AND CONTRARY OPINION ARE WELCOMED. So, slide on over to the "links+ comments" page and leave a message. Remember though, my prophet is not your prophet, never will be. I do not subscribe to prophecies.
MOREOVER!
NO MORE THREATS OF PERSONAL VIOLENCE or DEATH. Please gO FORTH AND GET A JOB.
AND LEST WE FORGET.
BEER IS PROOF THAT GOD LOVES US AND WANTS US TO BE HAPPY.
NEW MOTORCYCLE.
- THE Darkling. 4 Chapters.
- BEYOND the GATE. 2 Chapters.
- Ring of Fire. complete story.
5. Cisco. complete story.
THESE FILES RESIDE IN "DROP BOX" AT TIMES A NASTY LITTLE SPLASH SCREEN WILL APPEAR ASKING YOU TO SIGN IN. IGNORE THIS, JUST X THE SCREEN AND CONTINUE READING.
A FEW SNIPPETS FROM BOTH FINISHED NOVELS. THIS IS BAIT, TO ENTICE YOU TO READ MORE. Also, I have included THREE TRUE TALES WRITTEN ABOUT SEVEN YEARS AGO. “Waiting at the Car Hospital” IS PARTICULARLY RELEVANT AT THIS TIME WITH OUR IMPENDING ELECTION. THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO LOOK. I HOPE YOU ENJOY. AFTER READING PLEASE DROP ME A LINE, LET ME KNOW HOW YOU LIKE THESE STORIES. I VALUE YOUR OPINION.
Picture of the New Bike
My grand motorcycle affair began with a much older mature black A.J.S. She was my first love, a wayward cantankerous mistress lighting a passion in me enduring to this day. I graduated from the Ajay moving from antique classics to many legendry offerings and sampling the cream of the British motorcycle industry. From Borough to Rudge, Scott, Vincent, and Vellocett I rode each one with love and sometimes trepidation. Girder forks and no rear suspension was a poor choice on twisty rain-slicked city streets.
Ladies, with their carefully arranged hair and pretty painted faces would sometimes ride behind. Those who did would seldom repeat the experience. “Oh, I wouldn’t be seen dead in that nasty old leather jacket” was a common complaint. So, on they would perch, colorful chattering parrots in their crisp print summer dresses. Within a few minutes, a faint black stripe would appear on their backs, extending from their legs, reaching to their trim waists and sometimes higher. This was oil mist from the rear drive chain. Any make, and any model the results were always the same. A few resolute passengers would accept ruined hairstyles and oily clothes as a badge of honor. Most did not, seeking a higher road well away from the rough boys with their horrible, loud motorbikes.
There were always alternatives, The Lambretta and Vesper riders, no smoke oil or noise. Nice well behaved boys dressed properly and obviously from good homes. The sort of boyfriend a girl and her parents could rely on. They would ALWAYS leave the dance in time to arrive home as promised.
The age of the magnificent British motorcycle was soon drawn to a close. Japanese machines cheap, reliable and quiet flooded the market. They did not leak oil and most had electric starters like cars. A good strategy, build better sell at an unrealistically low price and when the competition is eliminated you have cornered the market. Then is the time to raise prices. Not quite so simplistic but, not too far from the truth.
Undoubtedly the Japanese bikes were very good and certainly cheaper. They lacked one important ingredient, and still do. An intangible quality that is not easily described.
The scent of it may be found in a back alley gym, where fighters train against a heavy bag. A sound of it is heard if you listen to Tommy Johnson singing Canned Heat Blues. You will see it in Frida Kahlo paintings and a thousand other places. It is simply a distillation of effort and integrity. The angels know it well, they call it SOUL.
For some time I have nursed an ambition to tour the southern states on a motorcycle. Repressed desires from my youth perhaps? Possibly, but this persistent need will eventually have to be satisfied. Bike of choice is a big flathead, Harley. Four speed preferably. I have owned two eighty-inch shovelheads both fine custom machines, but there is just something about a large capacity side-valve that pulls at me, the old SOUL thing perhaps. I am still looking for a Harley but in the meantime, I am content with my new bike.
The possibility of a random splinter should never be ignored. So, write with your comments. Actually, any comment you may have on any part of this site is welcomed. Please feel free to vent .
NEGATIVE COMMENTS OF OUTRAGE, DISGUST, AND CONTRARY OPINION ARE WELCOMED. So, slide on over to the "links+ comments" page and leave a message. Remember though, my prophet is not your prophet, never will be. I do not subscribe to prophecies.
MOREOVER!
NO MORE THREATS OF PERSONAL VIOLENCE or DEATH. Please gO FORTH AND GET A JOB.
AND LEST WE FORGET.
BEER IS PROOF THAT GOD LOVES US AND WANTS US TO BE HAPPY.
NEW MOTORCYCLE.
REFERENCED IN (BEYOND THE FENCE) BOOK. Sold with 128,000 trouble free miles.
ALL MATERIAL ON THIS SITE IS PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT. NO DOWNLOADS UNLESS BY REQUEST PLEASE.
ALL MATERIAL ON THIS SITE IS PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT. NO DOWNLOADS UNLESS BY REQUEST PLEASE.