Pappy's Dream Bike

Finally found what I was looking for. This baby will take on the biggest Road Hogs. I am looking for a better seat for Bebe, but the rest of it is perfect. No more people not paying attention. Couple of blasts from my side mounted machine guns and I'll bet they'll think twice about pulling out. Amazing what you can find on the Internet when you are in a Darvocet fog. Hope you all have a wonderful TGIF. Surgery went fine and I'm feeling more normal. Well, normal is a relative term. I guess I'm never what most would consider normal. Thanks for the nice e-mails and comments.

You know you need more coffee when you try and enter your PIN number on your microwave panel. :)

Still Vibratin'

Hey I got an award while I was gone. Bz over at Mosquitoes Buzz likes my political incorrectness. Here's what she said,

"Dennis Price at Pappy's Balderdash for showing Attitude. Yes, he's not politically correct, but hey, I get enough of that with the network news."

Thanks Bz I will display it proudly.

You have to be a rider to understand. You saw the picture of my bike when I started right? This is what it felt like when I got back. I have been trying to decide if I need to invest in a real touring bike or just stay with the Cruiser/Tourer I've created. I've decided, I need a real Tourer with the Stereo, drink holder, cruise control, fairing, trunk, and all the other goodies. It took me nearly eight hours to get to my mothers yesterday. I did stop and shop at a motorcycle store in Corpus Christi on the way. It took me six and a half hours to get back today. 400 miles yesterday and 351 today. I was conditioning myself for some rides I want to take real soon. I looked at the new Royal Star Venture by Yamaha and I like it a lot. I also looked at Victory Cycle's new cruiser and it is really unique. I will need to sell a few toys to get into a new one, but I think the rides will be more enjoyable. My new Fulmer full face helmet was really comfortable, but I need to do some neck exercises to accommodate the extra weight. I am reading my 63 new e-mails and trying to get my hearing to return to normal. I'll be back with a vengeance soon. Oh by the way, I forgot to take any pictures. I'll do that when Bebe rides with me next.

Writing well means never having to say, 'I guess you had to be there.' - Jef Mallett

Pumpin' Iron

It's Monday night and the football game is on. I have no real interest in pro football anymore. I have decided to slow down the pace of my blogging activity and hopefully enjoy it more. On Saturday morning Bebe was at the gym with my daughters and they snapped this photo of her working out. I may need to pick up the pace of my workouts a little. I was out on a motorcycle ride with the Blue Knights. The Blue Knights are a national law enforcement motorcycle club. One of our fellow officers from South Padre Island was injured on his motorcycle while working Spring Break and the club was supporting a money raising barbeque lunch to offset some of his medical expenses. We left Harlingen with the sun shining and the temperature in the high forties. Before we finished our one hour ride to the island we hit fog and rain. The rain held off during the lunch and it looked like we might make it back without getting any wetter. However, we hit rain again as we got back to town and now my garage is full of leather gear on drying racks. I am trying to walk extra miles this week in anticipation of the Thanksgiving meal. Now that I think about it I should probably should increase the mileage.

My grandpa started walking
five miles a day when he was 60..
Now he's 97 years old
and we don't know where he is.

The advantage of exercising every day
is so when you die, they'll say,
'Well, he looks good doesn't he.'

We all get heavier as we get older,
because there's a lot more information in our heads.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it. - Jane Wagner

Roar by the Shore

The weather was great, so on Thursday I rode my cycle to South Padre Island, while Bebe was working, to see who had shown up for the Roar by the Shore. Lots of folks had already arrived and were enjoying their day riding along the coast. I pulled in at the convention center and parked my little rice burner (Japanese motorcycle for those who don't know) right there with the Harleys. I think she held her own pretty well. My Cobra pipes were saying "Potato, potato, potato" as I slowed cruised the parking lot looking for a place to light. Tomorrow will be the big day and Bebe and I will ride out and have a look. The weather is supposed to hold tomorrow too.

The drive in front of the SPI Convention Center.

A biker babe who looked older than me was backing her Hog into the space next to mine. She and her significant other looked like the real deal, not RUBS (Rich Urban Bikers).

A cloudless sky and mild autumnal temperatures made for a pleasant cruise down the boulevard. I went to a little cafe on the beach for a tall glass of iced tea before I headed home.

Always and never are two words you should always remember never to use. - Wendell Johnson

"Muffin Top" Rides Again

Friday I finally broke down and bought another bike. My daughters have taught me many of the new generation descriptors for various physical types seen in our sedentary society. Since I am no longer forced to work out, I don't. Therefore I am now forced to wear my pants at a level below my actual waist line. The overlap that occurs when you finally get the frontal closures to work is called a "muffin top". I am mentally ready to get rid of it, along with my man boobs, but I just haven't convinced my body that I'm not going to die if I don't get a large vanilla cone at the Dairy Queen. I only notice the condition when I try to put clothes on anyway. The bike is a 2001 Yamaha Road Star. My friend just bought the new 2008 Harley parked behind mine in the picture, and didn't need his old Yamaha anymore. I decided to buy his old one and ride with him so he wouldn't miss it so much. On Saturday, we took the bikes to a "Flea Market" in Brownsville, TX and then we rode out to South Padre Island. The day was perfect for riding. We ran into some other bikers on the way to the island and rode in a noisy band of six for most of the way. Please don't tell my mother I have another motorcycle. I will probably have other adventures to share with you in the coming months.

Cajun Harley

Those country boys have a way with motorcycles. Maybe Jay Baby moved to Louisiana. Pappy

Jay Baby's Harley

I think I have mentioned this before, but some of my childhood, including my early teens, took place in south Mississippi. My family moved around more than most from this area, so I had some knowledge of life outside the county lines. I lived in town (although town was not what it is today) and many of my relatives still lived on what was left of small family farms. The era was mid to late fifties, and early sixties. I loved my trips to the country. I explored the woods, hunted, fished, swam, did farm chores, and experienced life in more ways than any "city boy" ever would. People from the rural South were for the most part poor, and even people with money rarely travelled as they do today. I was coming of age, and many of the lessons I learned about life involved asking questions about what two farm animals were doing. My parents recognized my curiosity, but they responded in more veiled terms than those used today. I was cautioned not to pay too much attention to any female relatives closer than third cousin. I required more explanation on this point since I had some pretty good looking ones in the first and second cousin range. But, I eventually got the idea and any future introductions to relatives I didn't know came with a statement of their relationship to my root stock. I was also cautioned that any serious consideration of a mate should not include Catholics, Yankees, or Republicans. So, when I say Jay Baby was my third cousin you will understand why I was conscious of that. Now, most of us were poor by today's standard of measurement, but Jay Baby, the youngest male in the family of Joe May and Vergie, was poor. I remember going to his house down a sandy lane that ran off the only paved road in the area and seeing his mother sitting on the front porch in her sun bonnet, probably resting from an early morning trip to the vegetable garden. The house was a small wood frame structure and it was very sparsely furnished. Jay Baby slept on a mattress on the floor with no sheets. There were no other furnishings in his room. The house had electricity, but no running water or indoor plumbing. So, it was a big surprise to everyone when Jay Baby came up with an old war surplus Harley Davidson motorcycle. He was older than I was by several years, but he was small in stature, probably in the neighborhood of 135 pounds. The Harley did not have an electric starter and required a pretty stiff jump on the kick starter to turn the engine over. Jay Baby had some visible bruising from being thrown by the kick starter into or over the handlebars. However he was mighty proud and totally fearless on the big bike. We, heard the roar of the Harley before we caught brief glimpses of Jay Baby flying down the paved road clinging to the handlebars with his stringy hair pushed straight back in the wind. He looked like a dragon fly riding a Buffalo. Everyone worried for his safety. The roads off the main road were gravel. In between times when the county road grader smoothed the ruts, the auto traffic would form tracks with a hump of gravel in the center and raised gravel humps on either side. The gravel in these humps was loose. A car could loose traction and slide when it hit these humps at the wrong angle. I have seen Jay Baby flying down the gravel roads with the back end of the big Harley swishing back and forth like a horse's tail. The bridges over the small creeks along these roads were wooden with no side rails. Two wooden tracks were laid across the cross members to accommodate the wheels of a car. It came as no surprise to anyone when we received the report that Jay Baby missed the bridge while trying to regain control of his big Harley and went airborne into the water. We were relieved to learn that his only serious injury was to his pride. A week or so after the accident we heard the big Harley's throaty rumble once more and watched the curve for Jay Baby to appear. However, when we saw the bike it had kids sitting on every available surface. Jay Baby sold the bike for fifty dollars to a family down the road with a bunch of teen and pre-teen boys. I never saw him on a motorcycle again.

The best car safety device is a rear-view mirror with a cop in it. - Dudley Moore

Ain't Misbehavin'

Yesterday, while teaching my grandson the finer points of relaxation, I thought of my young teen years. My parents were very practical and never wanted me to have anything to do with motorcycles. I had friends who had motorcycles, and I took every opportunity to ride them just as fast as I could. I never knew if the folks ever found out or not. I thought of those first fearfully wonderful seconds before the centrifugal clutch on that old Cushman scooter took hold and gradually flung me into uncontrolled ecstasy at a top speed of 35 miles per hour. I was hooked. The scooter had a manually cocked kick starter in the center slot directly under the seat. The motor was also directly under the seat. After cocking the kick starter, you pushed it hard with your foot to the floorboard and if everything in the universe was properly aligned, it started. A single cylinder engine started its slow, "toook, toook, toook, toook... slowly picking up speed with each stroke. The accelerator was on the right hand grip and when turned, it gave the engine enough rpms to engage the centrifugal clutch. The old red scooters would vibrate forward and gradually pick up speed. I thought they were wonderful. I wish I had one today. Not only would it probably be worth a mint, it would solve some of my problems with high gas prices and my continuing need for transportation.
Some of the older guys had Cushman Eagles. These scooters had a suicide shifter on the left hand side and were the ultimate in motorized two wheeled transportation.

But I had to be satisfied with riding whatever I could borrow for a few minutes, or ride as a passenger. Other scooters around at the time were Mopeds, Allstates, Vespas, etc. and a variety of real motorcycles. I remember the first two stroke motorbike I ever saw was a small cc Yamaguchi that smoked like a mosquito sprayer, and sounded like an angry bumble bee. Most guys went for American built bikes until Honda jumped into the Market. I came out of the closet as an adult and started riding my own bikes. My first purchase was a Kawasaki 450 cc and I continued upward in power from there finally topping out with a Honda 750 cc. My wife rode with me one time for a very short distance before demanding I take her home. She said I didn't have sense enough to ride a motorcycle. I sold the Honda and didn't return to riding until after I retired. I had gotten a lot smarter over the years, and she actually got to the point where she enjoyed riding with me. I am currently without two wheeled motorized transportation, and I'm missing it. I don't miss all the horrible death stories everyone who doesn't ride a motorcycle seems to know. If you ever purchase one I'm sure you'll hear most of the ones I've heard. That's exactly why I've never tried to learn how to fly a plane; I don't think I could take the stories.




And remember, no matter where you go, there you are. - Earl Mac Rauch



THE MOTORCYCLE

Radial hooves
Pound the trail.
Throaty, thundering
V-twin wails.
Jet black coat,
Glistening chrome,
Studded leather,
Charging on.
Poly forehead,
Cyclops eye.
It’s an Iron Horse.
Watch him fly.


Dennis Price

Edible Mammals

I found this picture on the web the other day, apparently from L.A., and it put me in mind of day six of my diet. Anything with edible meat on it had my attention yesterday. During the day I went to the back yard to practice my stalking skills on the Anole lizards living in my flower beds. However, they were spared when I got a call from a friend who said he was cooking fajitas and wanted us to come over for supper. I was limited to meat and tomatoes, but I don't think they ever tasted better. Today and tomorrow are the last days of the diet, and are designed to slowly move participants back to normal (but restrained) eating habits. I calculated my weight loss at around nine pounds yesterday. I am going to buy a thermal cover for the pool today to prevent night time heat loss. This should mean a return to the water in a week or so. I know why hippos enjoy lolling in the water all day. They look cute, but are in the group of cute animals you want to avoid when paddling in a fiberglass canoe. Especially if they've been dieting.






ARTIST: Richard Thompson TITLE:

1952 Vincent Black Lightning

(Selected verses)


Said Red Molly to James that's a fine motorbike
A girl could feel special on any such like
Said James to Red Molly, well my hat's off to you
It's a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952
And I've seen you at the corners and cafes it seems
Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme

And he pulled her on behind
And down to Box Hill they did ride.
Says James, in my opinion, there's nothing in this world
Beats a 52 Vincent and a red headed girl.


I was put in the country mood once again after Beth blogged on Lacy J's song "Sixteenth Avenue" yesterday. I also found a picture of a 1952 Vincent motorcycle engine and it put me in mind of a bluegrass song "1952 Vincent Black Lightning". The Del McCoury Band did a nice job on this one. Del has a high tenor voice and delivers a good rendition of this sad story. I may even pull out my Martin and give it a try myself today.



There's so much pollution in the air now that if it weren't for our lungs there'd be no place to put it all. - Robert Orben

Roads

Day three of the diet. I am a little light headed this morning. I will shave before I weigh this morning because my beard is very heavy. I used to have a motorcycle very similar to the one pictured above. Mine had a passenger seat, saddle bags, a sissy bar, and a luggage rack. I needed all the extras, because on occasion my wife travelled with me. She loved to ride, but it took a little more gear and prep time when we decided to ride together. I love backroads and highways that are no longer used by the main flow of traffic. When I went on my longer "Rideabouts", usually alone, I tried to find obscure little roads off of the Interstate highways to travel on. Some in my family thought I had become senile and encouraged me to sell the bike. I decided to try a Jeep as a substitute. I like my little red Jeep, but I can't help but miss the feel of the road beneath just two wheels. Maybe when I do get senile, I'll buy another motorcycle. I wrote a Country Song about the rambling life and I'll share an amended version as a poem this morning.

Heat Waves

Heat waves are rising from the pavement.
Reflections of my enslavement.
A wild and restless spirit’s got to roam, Oh Lord.
I’m a drifter just looking for a home.

Another winding road lies before me.
It’s something I’ve seen many times before.
And I wonder as I sit and watch the sun rise,
just where I’ll be when I see its final glow.

The cities I have seen go unnumbered,
and the faces of the people I don’t know.
I think one day that I might try and count them,
but for now I must get on my feet and go.

The road I travel sometimes bathed in sunlight.

At other times it’s covered up with snow.
I’ve even seen Alaska’s midnight sunshine,
and I’ve waded in the Gulf of Mexico.

One day I’ll walk that final highway.
Stretch my thumb out for that final ride.

Headed for that final destination,
and a place where I can lay my load aside.

But those heat waves keep rising from the pavement.
Reflections of my enslavement.
A wild and restless spirit has to roam, Oh Lord.
I’m a drifter just looking for a home.

Vehicles

I think we all like vehicles. If you are truly concerned about your carbon footprint, you may prefer a bicycle, but the idea of being mechanically assisted in our goings and comings has appealed to us for a long time. Most teens can't wait to get some kind of car to call their own. I know I have the thrill of learning to ride my first bicycle buried somewhere in memory. My parents didn't want me to have a motorcycle. I rode them every chance I got, but never owned one until I was an adult. After I married, I bought several. I finally convinced my wife to ride with me on my first big bike, a Honda 750. After enduring a few minutes of hair raising thrills as I tried to impress her with my riding skills, she told me I really didn't have enough sense to be riding a motorcycle. I deferred to her better judgement and sold it. I didn't own another one until after I retired. The car pictured above is a 1954 Willys Overland Coupe. My dad bought it in 1963 for two hundred and sixty five dollars. It was my first car.

THE MEMORY MAKER

I can still hear my dad yelling, “Shift! Shift! Shift!” as I over-revved the engine in every gear. I learned to drive in it, a 1954 Willys Overland with three on the column and a manual clutch. It was the last car that Willys made, and there weren’t many of them left on the highway. My dad bought it in 1963, the year he died. He paid two hundred and sixty five dollars for it. I always remember him when I think about the little green coupe with a white top.
The six-cylinder engine was fitted with dual exhaust, but its throaty little rumble had been silent for over a year. It languished in an old white wooden garage detached from our house. The humid air of Hattiesburg, Mississippi bathed it daily right down to its flat dry rotted tires. Dust and spiders attached themselves to every available surface.
I couldn’t afford tires, gasoline, or insurance, so I just watched as the old car waited. My job sacking groceries at the local A & P Supermarket didn’t pay much, but I saved every penny. Sometimes I just sat behind the steering wheel thinking about the day when I would roll it out of the garage. The old cloth interior smelled dusty and mildewed.
My first purchase was a battery, and later I bought a set of four Mohawk recapped tires. They cost eight dollars apiece. Each wheel had to be taken off separately and rolled to the tire store for mounting. Once this was done, I pushed it out of the garage and washed it inside and out. I waxed, buffed, and polished the faded finish until I could see myself in it. It was finally ready.
I put the key in the ignition and turned it. The starter whirred and turned the crankshaft over and over, but the gas in the tank was old and the points rusted. I tried again and again until the battery started to fail. Finally, it coughed, chugged, and wheezed as it arose from its long sleep. Little puffs of blue smoke filled the air behind the tailpipes. I let it idle for a few minutes until the clatter of the lifters quieted. Then I rolled it out for its first exercise.
In the months that followed, I painted the little coupe black. It looked like a stretch Henry J. with little rounded humps on the rear fenders. Its hood and grill resembled a Studebaker’s. I redid the interior in red and white. For flair, I placed the waxed wrapper from a Tootsie Roll Pop on the interior dome light so that it would glow red at night when the doors were opened.
Parts were hard to find and had to be ordered most of the time. . This meant I had to be creative. Once, the return spring on the accelerator pedal broke. When the accelerator pedal was depressed, it stayed depressed. I ordered the part from a warehouse in Michigan that carried parts for cars no longer in production. It took about four weeks for the new spring to arrive. In the meantime, I tied a strong cord to the rod behind the gas pedal. The string was long enough for me to hold in my right hand while I shifted. I held tension on it as I drove. When I needed to shift, I would pull back on the cord. This lowered the engine speed long enough to change gears. My younger sister would sometimes hold the cord when she rode with me. I would yell, “PULL!” when I needed to grab another gear.
The old Willys had another little quirk. I suppose it was a safety feature. Pushing the car forward would not start it. In order to do a “weak battery” start, you had to put the transmission in reverse, push the car backwards, and release the clutch. This meant that when I wanted to spend some quality time with a young lady watching the stars, I had to park on a slight rise with the hood facing up the hill. I spent many daylight hours looking for secluded spots with the proper gradient.

Fifty Four Willys


It sat alone in an old wood garage.
Its engine long silent.
I found it one day.

Painted green with white top.
Covered with dust.
Nose coned,
hump fendered,
like a stretch Henry J.

I painted it black.
New tires all around.
Filled it with Casite.
Drove it to town.

THE MOTORCYCLE

Radial hooves
Pound the trail.
Throaty, thundering
V-twin wails.
Jet black coat,
Glistening chrome,
Studded leather,
Charging on.
Poly forehead,
Cyclops eye.
It’s an Iron Horse.
Watch him fly.