Motorcycles Bartenders F-Bombs

That's Paul Riding My Old Ironhead With The Fifteen Dollar Piston Blasting over the mountain, I was giving her the gas,  full throttle, right against the stop, passing all the cars. That's when I heard the bang. BANG . Sounded like a 12 gauge , and the Ironhead starts losing power. Cars that I passed, start to pass me. And I notice that she’s smoking some. Well, something ain’t right; I’m turning around, I'm heading for home… And by the time I get home…I’m limping, mostly running on one cylinder. FUCK! I think that was the word out of my mouth. And I’m laying down serious smoke . The trouble was the front jug. Front one is easy to take off, so I pull off the head, and loosen the cylinder, start to slide her up over the piston. And here, is where I actually showed a lick of sense: Before I pull the jug all the way over the piston, I put a clean rag around the connecting rod, under the piston, to prevent broken metal from falling off the piston, into the crankcas

Bar Harbor and Peggy's Cove The village of Bar Harbor appeared to be a yuppie feeding frenzy. Maybe I was on the wrong roads, but I didn't see any convenience store or deli where I could get a cheap six pack of beer. Cold and soggy, we went back to the room and drank some whiskey. Hunger set in and we went next door to Jack Russell's for lobster stew, beer and wine. Eastport is about as far east as you can get in the continental United States, and is just across a narrow channel from Canada, and our phones didn't know where we were;  GPS confusal. Mine made weird noises, then shut off. Rose's said she was being charged a $2.00 "global fee" for every text she made in Bar Harbor. Bought some cheap US gasoline before getting into the line of cars waiting to cross the border into Canada. The female Canadian border officer asked us questions like, "…where are you going?”(that was easy) "…how long are you going to be in Canada?", and "…what i