This stuff happened like a month ago, but I've been... preoccupied, and haven't taken the opportunity to share this (or anything else) with you, my faithful SG friends.
My imaginary friends came to life! And they're made of meat!
So I'm in this motorcycle cult, and they've been after me for years to make it out to a gathering. I've always had to beg off. It's just too far for me to ride, I'm too sick and too broke, blah bleh bluh. So some of these fucksticks pooled their cash monies and bought me a plane ticket to something called DOOOOOOOOOM!!
Seriously, I felt like I'd won the lottery or something. "We're gonna fly your gimpy, impoverished ass to this cult meeting and put you on an exotic Italian race bike and bomb around on great twisty roads, then pour absinthe down your gullet."
I was deeply honored, humbled to my sticky, gooey core.
A large part of the weekend was spent trying to put faces with names and names with screen names (still working at that), but I like the hell out of everyone I met.
My face hurt for weeks from all the smiling! Seriously, I haven't smiled that much in YEARS.
Another large part of the weekend was spent milling around the parking lot in varying degrees of hangover, looking at bikes, sitting on bikes, talking about bikes, wrenching on bikes, riding bikes...
One guy rode from Chicago to Gettysburg with a busted headlight, so a couple of us fixed it while he slept in.
We all rode over to this scooter rally, and it was a fucking HOOT!! Scooteristi really know how to put on a shindig!
A buddy lent me his bike -- first time I've been on a scooter in decades -- and I ran the gymkhana course. I'm certain I got zero points for skill, but judging from crowd reaction I think I must've shown some style or something. I'm sure it was good for comedic effect if nothing else.
Retarded levels of hooligan fun!
I fucking love this photo! It's been my desktop wallpaper ever since I got back.
The Cool Kids:
Dipstick Jimmy:
aka TRON:
This guy doesn't know it, but he's about to crash in a scooter race, fracture his skull, get a concussion and require stitches.
On the verge of tragedy:
His crash was a bummer, but he's come out alright it seems, and his deal was the only bit of real fuckshit the whole weekend. Glad he's okay!
Just a few of the cool-ass motherfuckers I met...
This guy assures me that I'm nicer than I think I am.
Our lovely bartender.
I really loved The Oasis! Somebody left a pack of smokes at the base of this lamp. A buddy and I placed beers there, and it somehow never ran out of beer or smokes...
My friend brought a bottle of absinthe, and it didn't seem to agree with him...
As much as I love licorice, that green shit truly is vile! Not as bad as his mint/chili liqueur, which was genuinely awful. My favorite flammable libation of the weekend is still the double espresso vodka, I'm gonna have to find me some of that!
And then there were the bikes! Ohhhh, what wonderful motorcycles there were!
I spent the majority of the weekend staring at this bike. It's just so beautiful!
If I wasn't riding it, walking around it, looking at it, touching it, looking at it some more, I was talking about it. (I told an elderly woman allllll about it on the flight home.)
The 999 is a harsh mistress, an Italian supermodel with very long legs and razor sharp hip bones and a penchant for S&M. Abject misery to ride... until you turn up the volume knob and that hyperspace thing happens! Suddenly, you find yourself somewhere you hadn't planned to be just yet. It was terrible to ride and I loved it!
I got to ride a variety of bikes this weekend. The Ducati, a Triumph Speedmaster with a hotrod motor, a Suzuki Bandit 1200, the 883 Sportster we fixed the headlight on, a Moto Guzzi V11 California... but I think the funnest bike I rode all weekend was a Honda NT650! Sure, I looked like a monkey fucking a football, but after the Ducati that little NT650 was so friendly! Not super powerful, a bit cramped but just a blast to throw into corners!
I loved every bit of it, even the parts that kinda freaked me out... It was an ADVENTURE!!
I hate to fly. I used to love it, but I got bigger and the planes got smaller, and it turns out I have a touch of claustrophobia (I chalk that up to being cuffed and stuffed in the back of a cop car with two similarly beefy miscreants and left to stew in our juices for a few hours with the heater cranked WFO. That was back in about '95, and I haven't been the same since.) TOTALLY worth it to get to DOOM!!
Same thing when my buddy marched me 100 yards from his domicile to the kickass coffee shop that's about as big as a postage stamp with all these tiny people milling about. I stood there waiting for my mocha to arrive, wishing I was smaller, wishing I'd ordered just plain coffee, feeling the first tinges of a panic attack start to tickle the back of my neck, breaking out in a sweat. Couldn't get out of there fast enough, just glad I didn't knock anybody over upon my exit. TOTALLY worth it for the excellent mocha!
I had to walk to the train station about a mile from there, catch a train to the airport. I'd thought about taking a cab to save my knees, but I'm glad I didn't because just a few blocks into the walk I met a girl coming up the sidewalk, a girl I used to know on SG years ago! Small fucking world, huh?
The best part of the trip? Meeting my fellow cultists! It was a little overwhelming meeting all these people, it's usually just me, my elderly father, two cats, various random deer, turkeys, raccoons, 'possum, skunks, coyotes, etc. I'm sure some thought I was a jerk because I couldn't remember their names, but that's the most people I've met since... since...
I got to ride some great roads on a variety of bikes, which gave me fresh perspective on my own bike. My riding skills were challenged, periods of exultant glee punctuated with moments of genuine terror, and I think I'm a better rider for it. I took my own bike to my usual destination (the only curves around here) a couple days after I got back. For the first couple miles, I thought my back brake must be dragging, my bike seemed so slow and heavy. Then I remembered that it's an old bike and needs to be flogged a bit to get it to dance. After that, I found myself attacking turns with renewed gusto. I find it shocking how much my antique wheels & tires weigh! That 19" front is a real gyroscope, not nearly so flickable as I'd grown to think. Riding that Ducati didn't ruin me for my bike, but gave me a bit of perspective. They're equally uncomfortable, but the Ducati's seat gets super duper fucking hot! The exhaust runs right underneath it, and it cooked my balls!
The worst part of the whole trip? That's easy: Coming home.
I held off on starting the injections until I got back from my trip, and it made me sooo sick!! I don't care for it AT ALL. I only puked a little, but the nausea, pain and fatigue were all over me all the time. I took it for a couple weeks, then just couldn't bring myself to continue. I sat there with the loaded syringe for a long time, then finally squirted that vile poison in the toilet, where it belongs. I go back to the doctor tomorrow, I plan on talking long term medication strategy that doesn't make me feel worse than the disease. I lost about three weeks, just didn't feel like doing jack diddly fuckall.
My imaginary friends came to life! And they're made of meat!
So I'm in this motorcycle cult, and they've been after me for years to make it out to a gathering. I've always had to beg off. It's just too far for me to ride, I'm too sick and too broke, blah bleh bluh. So some of these fucksticks pooled their cash monies and bought me a plane ticket to something called DOOOOOOOOOM!!
Seriously, I felt like I'd won the lottery or something. "We're gonna fly your gimpy, impoverished ass to this cult meeting and put you on an exotic Italian race bike and bomb around on great twisty roads, then pour absinthe down your gullet."
I was deeply honored, humbled to my sticky, gooey core.
A large part of the weekend was spent trying to put faces with names and names with screen names (still working at that), but I like the hell out of everyone I met.
My face hurt for weeks from all the smiling! Seriously, I haven't smiled that much in YEARS.
Another large part of the weekend was spent milling around the parking lot in varying degrees of hangover, looking at bikes, sitting on bikes, talking about bikes, wrenching on bikes, riding bikes...
One guy rode from Chicago to Gettysburg with a busted headlight, so a couple of us fixed it while he slept in.
We all rode over to this scooter rally, and it was a fucking HOOT!! Scooteristi really know how to put on a shindig!
A buddy lent me his bike -- first time I've been on a scooter in decades -- and I ran the gymkhana course. I'm certain I got zero points for skill, but judging from crowd reaction I think I must've shown some style or something. I'm sure it was good for comedic effect if nothing else.
Retarded levels of hooligan fun!
I fucking love this photo! It's been my desktop wallpaper ever since I got back.
The Cool Kids:
Dipstick Jimmy:
aka TRON:
This guy doesn't know it, but he's about to crash in a scooter race, fracture his skull, get a concussion and require stitches.
On the verge of tragedy:
His crash was a bummer, but he's come out alright it seems, and his deal was the only bit of real fuckshit the whole weekend. Glad he's okay!
Just a few of the cool-ass motherfuckers I met...
This guy assures me that I'm nicer than I think I am.
Our lovely bartender.
I really loved The Oasis! Somebody left a pack of smokes at the base of this lamp. A buddy and I placed beers there, and it somehow never ran out of beer or smokes...
My friend brought a bottle of absinthe, and it didn't seem to agree with him...
As much as I love licorice, that green shit truly is vile! Not as bad as his mint/chili liqueur, which was genuinely awful. My favorite flammable libation of the weekend is still the double espresso vodka, I'm gonna have to find me some of that!
And then there were the bikes! Ohhhh, what wonderful motorcycles there were!
I spent the majority of the weekend staring at this bike. It's just so beautiful!
If I wasn't riding it, walking around it, looking at it, touching it, looking at it some more, I was talking about it. (I told an elderly woman allllll about it on the flight home.)
The 999 is a harsh mistress, an Italian supermodel with very long legs and razor sharp hip bones and a penchant for S&M. Abject misery to ride... until you turn up the volume knob and that hyperspace thing happens! Suddenly, you find yourself somewhere you hadn't planned to be just yet. It was terrible to ride and I loved it!
I got to ride a variety of bikes this weekend. The Ducati, a Triumph Speedmaster with a hotrod motor, a Suzuki Bandit 1200, the 883 Sportster we fixed the headlight on, a Moto Guzzi V11 California... but I think the funnest bike I rode all weekend was a Honda NT650! Sure, I looked like a monkey fucking a football, but after the Ducati that little NT650 was so friendly! Not super powerful, a bit cramped but just a blast to throw into corners!
I loved every bit of it, even the parts that kinda freaked me out... It was an ADVENTURE!!
I hate to fly. I used to love it, but I got bigger and the planes got smaller, and it turns out I have a touch of claustrophobia (I chalk that up to being cuffed and stuffed in the back of a cop car with two similarly beefy miscreants and left to stew in our juices for a few hours with the heater cranked WFO. That was back in about '95, and I haven't been the same since.) TOTALLY worth it to get to DOOM!!
Same thing when my buddy marched me 100 yards from his domicile to the kickass coffee shop that's about as big as a postage stamp with all these tiny people milling about. I stood there waiting for my mocha to arrive, wishing I was smaller, wishing I'd ordered just plain coffee, feeling the first tinges of a panic attack start to tickle the back of my neck, breaking out in a sweat. Couldn't get out of there fast enough, just glad I didn't knock anybody over upon my exit. TOTALLY worth it for the excellent mocha!
I had to walk to the train station about a mile from there, catch a train to the airport. I'd thought about taking a cab to save my knees, but I'm glad I didn't because just a few blocks into the walk I met a girl coming up the sidewalk, a girl I used to know on SG years ago! Small fucking world, huh?
The best part of the trip? Meeting my fellow cultists! It was a little overwhelming meeting all these people, it's usually just me, my elderly father, two cats, various random deer, turkeys, raccoons, 'possum, skunks, coyotes, etc. I'm sure some thought I was a jerk because I couldn't remember their names, but that's the most people I've met since... since...
I got to ride some great roads on a variety of bikes, which gave me fresh perspective on my own bike. My riding skills were challenged, periods of exultant glee punctuated with moments of genuine terror, and I think I'm a better rider for it. I took my own bike to my usual destination (the only curves around here) a couple days after I got back. For the first couple miles, I thought my back brake must be dragging, my bike seemed so slow and heavy. Then I remembered that it's an old bike and needs to be flogged a bit to get it to dance. After that, I found myself attacking turns with renewed gusto. I find it shocking how much my antique wheels & tires weigh! That 19" front is a real gyroscope, not nearly so flickable as I'd grown to think. Riding that Ducati didn't ruin me for my bike, but gave me a bit of perspective. They're equally uncomfortable, but the Ducati's seat gets super duper fucking hot! The exhaust runs right underneath it, and it cooked my balls!
The worst part of the whole trip? That's easy: Coming home.
I held off on starting the injections until I got back from my trip, and it made me sooo sick!! I don't care for it AT ALL. I only puked a little, but the nausea, pain and fatigue were all over me all the time. I took it for a couple weeks, then just couldn't bring myself to continue. I sat there with the loaded syringe for a long time, then finally squirted that vile poison in the toilet, where it belongs. I go back to the doctor tomorrow, I plan on talking long term medication strategy that doesn't make me feel worse than the disease. I lost about three weeks, just didn't feel like doing jack diddly fuckall.
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