Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Good-bye Reliability, Hello Retirement

Well the Honda is gone. I'm a little sad to see her go, for sure. We've been a lot of places together and I gotta say she's never let me down, but we're movin onto BIGGER and better things. Stay tuned for the replacement.

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Just a few of the 11,000 kms I put on the odo while she was mine.


  1. Harhahararar! Good pics and good times. you gotta make sure not to outrun me now! it was nice rollin wit the same motor, but your right, the bike was to small for you. that does not make the vt750 a girls bike. neither does the fact that Sr. bought mine from a girl.

  2. "Well," he said, "as your attorney I advise you to buy a motorcycle. How else can you cover a thing like this righteously?"

    "No way," I said. "Where can we get hold of a Vincent Black Shadow?"

    "Whats that?"

    "A fantastic bike," I said. "The new model is something like two thousand cubic inches, developing two hundred brake-horsepower at four thousand revolutions per minute on a magnesium frame with two styrofoam seats and a total curb weight of exactly two hundred pounds."

    "That sounds about right for this gig," he said.

    "It is," I assured him. "The fucker's not much for turning, but it's pure hell on the straightaway. It'll outrun the F-111 until takeoff."

    "Takeoff?" he said. "Can we handle that much torque?"

    "Absolutely," I said. "I'll call New York for some cash."

  3. At the entry desk for the Mint 400]

    "What's the entry fee?" I asked the desk-man.

    "Two fifty," he said.

    "What if I told you I had a Vincent Black Shadow?"

    He stared up at me, saying nothing, not friendly. I noticed he was wearing a .38 revolver on his belt. "Forget it," I said. "My driver's sick anyway."

    His eyes narrowed. "Your driver ain't the only one sick around here, buddy."

    "He has a bone in his throat," I said.


    The man was getting ugly, but suddenly his eyes switched away. He was staring at something else . . .

    My attorney; no longer wearing his Danish sunglasses, no longer wearing his Acapulco shirt . . . a very crazy looking person, half-naked and breathing heavily.

    "What's the trouble here?" he croaked. "This man is my client. Are you prepared to go to court?"

    I grabbed his shoulder and gently spun him around. "Never mind," I said. "It's the Black Shadow -- they won't accept it."

    "Wait a minute!" he shouted. "What do you mean, they won't accept it? Have you made a deal with these pigs?"

    "Certainly not," I said, pushing him along toward the gate. "But you notice they're all armed. We're the only people here without guns. Can't you hear that shooting over there?"