Hey all you weirdos, freaks and lurkers... Fingers here to bring you sat. dessert.
I suffered an internet let down - wind and cable don't work together. So it's Saturday in Buffalo - went riding last night with my squeeze. We hit a reunion show for a band I used to go see in the 70's and 80's at the famous Barrelhead - the scene of the fight between me and the judges kid I wrote about.
I figured going to the show that I would run into a lot of old friends... but what the fuck? All I saw was bald, grey, fat and old. Everyone tells me I look the same as I did when I was 25.... must have been the 35 years of drug use that kept my youth - just kidding. I barely made it though those years and I certainly don't recommend it - you might not make it back to reality; you know the "real world." Things are changing in Buffalo it's starting to get cold - main line choppers run fucking great in colder weather but I'm not used to it yet. I know it's still 900 degrees in FLA [fuck FLA - the land of sunshine and assholes]. Nothing beats Buffalo. Besides dodging potholes and manholes covers its a gas riding up here. Why cant they put manholes in the middle of the rode were nobody drives? Just "the man" out to fuck with us again...
When I got to the reunion show with the band Faretrade I was reminded of a little incident that happened to me in 1984... something I like to call my HIGH SPEED DISMOUNT D.O.T. APPOVED. I remember this all very well because it's one of the only times in my life (prior to a few years ago) that I was stone sober.
I grew up in west Seneca but lived on the Eastside so I had brothers here and there... Well, I hung at this kool old ginmill on the Eastside called Chixeys Station with the Eastside crew F & W, Lapper, Jimmer, Rebel, Big Al - a whole new bunch of freaks. I introduced my W. Seneca freaks to the Eastside crew and we all just gelled together.
One night while chillin at our hang out in West Seneca RAYN'S Pub we decide to jam over to CHIXEY'S which was always happening and I knew I could score some cheap coke. My brother Fudd had just bought a brand new HD with the evo motor and the buzz was that they were the shit. I'll be the judge of that, I thought to myself. I've always been into speed - big inch motors, nothing like a hot rod chopper. At the time I had a 98 inch shovel with a Delorto dual throat carb I had just put on a few days before... now, this fucking thing screamed. It weighed in at about 500 lbs. I weigh about 145lbs on a good day. So, the bike had no problem toting me around...
So we split Rayn's and hit it hard to the Eastside with me and Fudd draggin' all the way. We catch a red light with me and Fudd eyeballin' each other with one thing on our mind - racin' baby. The light goes green and we go wide the fuck open. I never got out of the throttle - speed shifted every gear with the front wheel coming off the ground first through third. We were headed up a bridge and at the top I bang into fourth gear at about 85mph. I'm about a half a bike length ahead of Fudd with 5 others behind us when my whole world comes crashing down on me. After speed shifting fourth at the top of the bridge the front end goes into a high speed wobble that made me look like I was impersonating Evil Knievel at the Fountian jump. Fudd screams past me grinning ear-to-ear as I try desperately to get control of my high speed demon to no avail. I totally lose control and the 20 inch ape hangers are ripped out of my hands. From this point everything happened real fast as it usually dose at 90 mph. As I reached for the apes the front end goes into a violent shake - one that I remember clearly to this day. In my sober mind I said to myself "it's time to bail out." So, at 90mph that's what I did. I pushed myself off to hit the pavement fast and hard. I hit the ground and started a 90 mph death slide... then I remembered that there were 5 bikes behind me - oh shit. But, as luck would have it, I looked over my shoulder just as they flew by. Next thing I saw was hotrod chopper in a fight of its own after sliding on its primary for what seemed like miles it flipped over to the carb side - all I could think was fuck, I just put that carb on. Fudd got to the end of the bridge and freaked he had seen me go down as he passed me... saw the whole thing in his mirrow. He truly thought I was dead [would of killed your average man not fucking fingers, haha...] the others were hard on the brakes as they passed me sliding for my life. Back to me sliding.... about mid-slide I decided to get up and try to run it out, that didn't work out too good for yours truly - nobody can run that fast not even superman. So, I hit the pavement again and resumed my slide. I notice my chop has finally come to rest about 1000 feet from where this whole disaster started screamin' wide open still and in gear, tire turning - whole bike going in a slow circle. I was now headed towards the curb which looked 10 feet tall when I decided to get up and try to run again and once again I was going too fast to run... but this time I was able somehow redirect myself away from the curb... Well, the slide finally stopped... The first thing on my mind was my chopper. I started to run towards it with everyone running towards me. You should of seen their faces when they saw that I was still living and breathing. I was met by Lisa and Nancy screaming at me to just sit down - "why?" I thought... that's when things started to come into focus.
My right foot felt weird and something was hitting me in the ass. The chicks are trying to get me to sit down on the curb so I do just as some of the guys finally get my chop shut down by sticking their hand over the carb - the key was ripped off. I look down and realise that the right heel of my favorite cowboy boots was ripped completely off, that's why my foot felt weird. My wallet was ripped out of my pocket and the chain was hitting my bare ass. I had wore away the ass of my jeans to the flesh - like assless chaps. Not one fucking broken bone just roadrash. My ass finger tips were pretty fucked up. We started to gather up all my broken parts and get the fuck out of there when the man rolls up on us. Seems a concerned citizen called in a bike wreck. So, here's me walking towards my chopper and a hands full of parts and my ass hanging out when I hear "are you ok?" I say "yeah, just broke down." He says "then why is your ass hanging out of your jeans?" I say "starting a new look man." He shook his head and left the scene - must of been to weird for him. To Fudds amazement I was very much alive. He kept telling me "you should of seen that, fuck you should have seen it from my point of view." We put a couple of belts together and towed my chopper home - that's the way we used to do it, no trucks, no trailers. When we got to my house my brothers Don Kellogg and Mark McCluskey wash the gravel out of my ass I change my jeans, grab another pair of boots and jump on F&W's chopper and hit Chixey's. But instead of coke that night I opted for the pain pills - Old man Larkin was offering...
I awoke the next day to reality... fucking pain! The sheets had super glued themselves to my roadrashed ass and my body felt like I just did a HIGH SPEED DISMOUNT AT 90MPH D.O.T. APPROVED.
"You should have seen it from my view. WOW! What a ride."
Me and Fudd did finally get a chance to drag and finish. I won hands down. RIP FUDD. I miss you my brother - make sure I'm on the guest list up there.
Side note - the cause of the near fatal wreck was that my front wheel, an invader 5 spoke, was way out of true causing the front end to try and gyrate
till next week...
Gotta go out riding before the white shit hits [snow, not the other white shit].
CHOPPERS Till Death!
FINGERS.......d.o.t. approved.....oh yeah I named that chopper "blind faith."
"death only closes a mans reputation and determines if it good or bad"