Gray's Coors Tavern, Home of "The Slopper"

A double cheeseburger smothered in Pueblo chili verde and onions. Fries on top available on request. Throw in a frosty schooner of beer for best results. Need I say more?

Bonneville Vintage GP

It was either ride to the Fort Bridger Rendezvous, or head to the Larry Miller Motorsports Park and check out some old bikes tearing ass around the track. I chose bikes of course. My neighbor showed up on his HD Rokr-C mid morning for the 113 mile ride to the Motorpark. I fired up my bobber "Lil' Sandy" and we hit the road. It was a clear day in the mid 60s, with a pretty strong headwind as we ventured West.

Things got a little hairy once we hit Park City, Utah drivers are notoriously bad, and we were required to fight our way through clear to just outside Salt Lake City. It was pretty rough riding from there on out due to my bike's hardtail frame. Still had a smile on my face, though. We got to the Motorpark around noon, and we were ushered into the park with our bikes. We wandered around the open garage areas scoping out the vintage, and some newer race bikes. We saw Hondas, Kawasaki, a Yamaha or two, but mainly Brit bikes. Triumph, Vincent, and a couple BSAs were represented in various forms of dress. It was impressive seeing these aged bikes all in running, well, racing condition.

We then cut through one of the pit garages, across pit row, to the safety wall adjacent to the starting line. We had a great view of the bikes as they were mashalled to their places ready for the race.

Long Road Ride....Yeah.....about that...

Some good, some bad. Okay, here's how it all went down. I hit the road at 0900 Friday the 11th of June. Cruised Provo Canyon, made fuel stops in Provo, Nephi, Fillmore, and was just outside of Beaver, UT when 'lil Sandy started missing. She sputtered and died. I pushed her under an overpass to shelter from oncoming rain, and found the battery dead as a stump. She ran on battery power alone for over 270 miles before she gave out. The charging system was shot. I'm a long way from home, and a fer stretch from a bike shop. I called up a tow service, and was flat-bedded clear over to St. George, UT. The HD dealer there wouldn't even look at the bike. While it is an "Evo" style engine, there is NOTHING HD on this bike. I can understand HD's reluctance to perform repairs. Still that's one "F HD" tick mark in my book. The shop foreman directed me to a custom shop about 5 miles down the road, and the tow-driver was happy to get me there.

So far, my expenses are $305 for the tow.

The folks at St. George V-Twin started to work checking my charging system with a multi-meter. Trouble was isolated to my stator, and voltage regulator. Dave and his son went to work taking apart my primary drive to get at the stator, and ran into problems. The plate connecting the engine drive shave to the transmission would not budge. It was getting late in the day, so I called Charles and told him I'll be staying in St. George for the night. He was in Mesquite and managed to get himself upgraded to a suite. Dick. The boys at V-Twin worked late into the night to get me running again. The next morning, 'lil Sandy was off the lift and ready to roll. $530.

I met Chuck at a nearby Chevron late that morning. We exchanged greetings, gassed up, and headed North back to Evanston, retracing my route down. It was awesome having a riding partner. I put my breakdown behind me and a smile on my face as we BRAAAAAAAAP-ed down the interstate. Dark clouds loomed ahead of us, and according to forecasts, we were in for some weather. Between Cedar City and Beaver, it hit us. Hard. We slowed to about 55-60 as we ran through 2" of water on the road, trying to stay in the wake troughs of the cars ahead of us. Visibility went to about 20' as we were pelted by heavy rain. Then came the hail. It was pea-sized stuff, and came down in sheets. That shit hurts at 60 Mph, but we rode on through it. Once through the storm, we pulled over at a rest stop to assess any damage. We stopped our bikes and looked at each other, wide-eyed and laughing our asses off.

Once we settled down, we mounted up and got back on the road. We stopped in Beaver for fuel and food. Charles got his obligatory picture in front of the giant rocking chair outside the Chevron. After a hot meal, and hot coffee, we braved the elements and hit the interstate again. While we did get a little wet further down the road, it was nowhere near the deluge we experienced earlier. Just South of Nephi, I hit the worst stretch of road I've ever experienced. BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, for nearly 20 miles. It was like riding over speed bumps at 70 Mph. I was getting the shit knocked out of me on my hard-tailed bobber. To make matters worse, this pounding broke my sissy bar. Snapped it clean between the fender mount and tail-light tab. I hit bad roads again in Provo and going through the canyon. I found myself holding the throttle with one hand, and reaching behind me, clutching the sissy bar with the other to try and minimize the abuse the fender was getting.

When we hit I-80, we slipped back into our cruising groove. Charles and I rode side by side for a while, meshing the thrumming of our engines, grinning like fat cats. It was getting late, and getting COLD. We didn't realize it at the time, but temps got down to about 38* ambient. Add 70Mph of speed and we froze our asses off. By the time we pulled into my garage at about 2130, we were hypothermic. We shivered and recounted our trip for about 40 minutes until our core temps got closer to normal. We later sat down to pickled eggs and PBRs. YUM. At 2242 my cell phone rang....

My platoon SGT was calling to inform me that our unit has been activated for flood control in Riverton, WY. WTF. "I'm on vacation", "you fucked yourself by answering your phone" said the voice on the other end. I must have ranted and cursed the next two days straight. After Charles and I rode over 800 miles, I've got to send him home because my dumb ass didn't turn off my phone during my vacation. SHIT. I didn't have to report to the local armory until Monday, so we made the best of our time. I gave Charles the nickel tour of Evanston, and I cooked up a prime rib I'd been aging for the last 8 days. We got our drink on, I farted like a wild man, and we watched "The Harbortown Bobber", and a couple Choppahead biker videos. Good F'n times.

Yeah, it sucked having to suit up Monday morning, and instruct Charles on how to enter/lock-up the house on his own, but the events of the past 3 days was awesome. Would I do it again, HELL YEAH. Glad you made it out Chuckles, thanks for a memorable ride.

Next time, I'm turning off my daggone phone.

Long Road Ride

Just over a week away. Riding my bobber " 'Lil Sandy" down to Mesquite, NV to meet my bro Charles to ride back to Evanston, WY for some much needed R&R. We'll terrorize the good citizens here in a prime rib, pork, and booze fueled stupor for a week. Then head back to Mesquite the following weekend to see him home to SOCAL. Prairie dogs beware!

Toward the Gap!

I just spent the last three weeks at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri re-classing to MOS 21C.  I’ll admit this course was pretty tough.  Not so much on the academic side, but more in the fact that it was a “dry course”.  Yes folks, NO LIKKER, NO BEER while under orders for school instruction on FLW.  BULLOCKS!!  A pirate is only 1/4 the man without his daily ration of rum.  Alas, there was nothing I could really do about it facing the possibility of not receiving my DA Form 1059.  It has happened there before.  Thanks to three weeks of nairy a drop, I’m writing this update in a haze of two whole beers.  Again, BULLOCKS!

I cannot honestly say I did not have my fair share of fun during the course.  We learned AT and AP mines, worked with mine (metal) detection systems, primed and detonated explosives (TNT, C4, Shaped and Cratering Charges, Bangalore Torpedoes, and all the MDF associated with their detonation.  Following the ‘splodey stuff was bridging.  The ribbon bridge was first.  Two days were spent in the water on boats and sections of aluminum float bridge sections, their deployment, connection, and removal from the water.  We got PLENTY wet. 

After our time on the water, we moved to dry land for Bailey, Medium Girder, and Dry Support Bridges.  The Bailey Bridge was the easiest, yet oldest bridge still in use in the inventory.  Everything was metal, dangerous, and heavy.  Yet, took the least time and less effort than the next two bridges taught in the curriculum.  The next day, with sore muscles, we got after the Medium Girder Bridge (MGB).  While the parts were lighter than the Bailey, they required lifting many of the components anywhere from waist high to well over one’s head.  This action tired even the younger, stronger soldiers on the crews.  Needless to say, it kicked my ass.  Not having rum to numb the aches and knots of age and had work made it worse. 

The final bridge was the Dry Support Bridge (DSB).  This bridge required the least amount of physical work, fewest numbers of soldiers, and least equipment.  HOWEVER, the DSB needs the longest PMCS (1.5 days for a thorough by the book PMCS), has more that could go wrong than anything I’ve ever seen.  There must be 8 miles of hydraulic hose and electrical cables on this beast.  The idea is valid but the execution is taxing.  If one step is skipped, you’re going to break something, or kill somebody.  Piece of SHIT.  I’d like to have just 1/10th of the commission check earned by the UK prick who sold the Army this clusterf%$k. 

Anywho, after all is said and done, I survived the course, received first-time-go’s at all stations, and am now the proud wearer of the Engineer Corps Insignia on my uniform.  As usual the colorful cast of classmates has not changed in it’s diversity since I first raised my right hand to swear into the military.  Good times were had, memories made, and friendships built. 

ESSAYONS!

Where've I been?

I've been dealing with the worst possible event to ever occur in my live. The Pirate's fair maiden Sandra of 10 years passed on January 3rd, 2010 from complications due to liver failure. I've been totally keelhauled, and working on this damn blog has been far from on the top of my things to do list. I've been trying to manage setting to the task of trying to live on. Sea's have been fairly smooth, with the occasional 30' swells. Luckily they're getting farther between, and easier to navigate.

I doubt my blog will get furiously active in the near future, but there are some happenings coming up this summer that will fuel my internet quill and ink. So, hopefully I'll have some tales to tell soon.

Right now I'm at Ft. Leonard Wood, MO. I'm re-classing in the military to a new job specialty as an Engineer from Signal. Maybe more on that after this class is done.

Till then, I'm out.

The Nimbus...

Nim-what you say? The Nimbus is a Danish motorcycle produced from 1919 to 1960 by Fisker and Nielsen of Copenhagen, Denmark. Two basic models were produced, both with a 750 cc four cylinder engine. I was in Long Beach, CA on vacation and decided to ride the Prairie Schooner over to my buddy Charles' office for a lunch-time ride to Joe Jost's for what else, a Schooner, Special, and a couple pickled eggs. Charles' boss Dave said he'd like to check out my ride and join us. I pulled into the lot and saw their bikes. The Nimbus is not like any bikes I've seen before. An in line 4 cylinder with exposed valve rockers, hardtail strap-steel frame with a rubber band suspended seat. really a beautiful ride.



Dave came out and kicked it to life, with the first kick. I purred as it idled and the lifters whizzed away.

After the oohs and ahhhs, Charles fired up his Boulevard with a roar, and I spun up my bobber (no first kicks starts for me). The three of us took the scenic route to Joe Jost's via Skyline Drive over Signal Hill. It was a clear day, and the view was incredible. Palos Verdes Estates and Catalina Island were in clear view. While Charles and I were being obnoxiously loud, Dave and his Nimbus buzzed along. Hard to figure out how a 750cc "buzzes", but it was a very quiet bike.

We made it unscathed to Jost's, and the place was PACKED OUT. We all had a schooner, a couple eggs and one each of Joe Jost's famous "Special" sandwiches, a filling nutritious meal. Then a couple beers more. We seemed a little cockier as we left after lunch, but we all made it back to the office, I seemed to have a few more problems with my foot clutch than usual...Carlsburg-itis.



You can learn more at www.nimbusclubusa.com YARRRR!