one time i thought that it would be a good idea to get a motorcycle. i thought that i was a high roller at the time and could spare to blow a weeks pay on something like this. anyways, i remember pulling through the Want Add for a couple weeks and everything i found was just beyond that week's pay allotment. then i got a letter in the mail. it looked official and had an insurance companies name on the return address. i was about to toss it. i had insurance and it was at a good price so why shop around. not sure why i opened it but that was the start of this whole thing. there, inside the envelope was the first step in a long chain of bad decisions. it was a check for $850. i had completely forgotten about a stupid, little, nothing fender bender i had been in. to be fair, i had nothing to do with it outside of picking a parking space. when a girl with no credentials besides a Learner's Permit misjudged the length of her hood and gave my truck the smallest little kiss. her mother felt it was important to build some character right off the bat so after a cop, some signatures and a couple weeks, i find myself with adequate funds to repair my truck. yeah, okay.
i needed to find the sickest ride going. this fucker was gonna be all style, super fast and i was gonna ride it forever. yeah, okay.
i found this tight little package in the form of a '78 CB750 for six bills. a tire kicking session was arranged and my fate was soon sealed. along for the ride was "the boss" and best friend; a moral support kind of thing. neither of us knew shit. blah blah blah, i talked this dude down to five hundred but i wanted to take it down the street to nail it down. immediate deterioration. the brains of this operation is suddenly hit by a jolt of lightning right down the crack of her ass. with some well selected words, many being "fuck", it soon comes to my attention that among my list of talents is not found piloting a two-wheeled beast. this next recollection picks up at that point.
this dude's helmet i've crammed my squash into smells like grandpa's boxer shorts and has similar padding. safty is not the concern here; mount the steed. lets start the show and get this mule running, the knees must be in the proverbial breeze immediatly if not sooner. i see a red button, red always points towards progress. cram that thing down, this bike will feel your presense and it will succomb to your desires. reluctantly the spinny things in the bowels seem to patter down into some kind of concert that must be the idle. twist the wic. that is just pure fun rattling around downstairs, lets raise these old bones to the occasion. stomping the lever arm into its first gear position was not unlike stepping in dog-poop. always more force was applied then required and always the bummer moment when things start to cascade. leggo of the leash and we'll be in mexico by dawn. i twisted hard on the right and fucked off the clutch... i am piloting this grasshopper down the road with a fury and in a somewhat planned direction! who knew?
where am i? 3rd, for sure. go back down we need to end in first but not before i get to 5th. this loop that the natives call a neighborhood is now my TT. i traversed it in a triangle patter cause thats how i am rollin.
where am i? 3rd, for sure. go back down we need to end in first but not before i get to 5th. this loop that the natives call a neighborhood is now my TT. i traversed it in a triangle patter cause thats how i am rollin.
