Motorcycles Bartenders F-Bombs

  George had been working on a project that involved rusty wheels from old railroad cars, a Sportster engine, and a makeshift drive train. It was actually a small, working railroad vehicle, big enough to comfortably fit three people, and the planks smelled like creosote. We got ahold of Hank, and the three of us rode our bikes to the railroad spur, where George had his project. He'd called the railroad, and got permission to use the tracks on Sunday, as there was no other usage that day. We secured our bikes near the siding, behind an old station, and went to look at George's masterpiece. And there it stood: rusted metal and oily oak planks, with dual chrome pipes and megaphone mufflers. He set the choke to fire that bitch up, and when she was ready, George worked the throttle while me and Hank pushed her out onto the main line. We all jumped on, and putted down the rails towards Meridale. I thought that George or the railroad made a mistake, and that we'd come around some

  Lackawack, NY, was destroyed and "relocated", including graves, so New York City could have ample reservoir water. Its tannery employed 350 men.

  Hank loved his shovelhead, but it leaked like the Exxon Valdez, and he became frustrated. He’d try to fix one leak, then get another. So, a few years back, he bought a brand new Victory motorcycle, hoping newer technology, would make it leak free. So I found a small dropper bottle and filled it with clean 20w/50, and carried it in my pocket, so that when Hank wasn’t looking, I could put a few drops under his bike, adding to his frustration. We’d go out by his brand new parked bike, and I’d say, “Hank, what’s that under yer bike?” And he’d bend down, put his finger in the oil, and say, “What the fuck!:” Eventually, he caught on, and he called me a mutherfucker. Hank died a couple of years ago, but I still have the dropper bottle.

It was time for a new tire; I was beginning to hate the worn Michelin Commander 2, especially since one of them dumped me on a wet hill. The wheel bearings felt a little “notchy”, and the brake pads were worn, so “routine” maintenance was in order for the rear of the Superglide. But “routine” turned out to be not-so-routine. When I was putting in the new brake pads, they wouldn’t run parallel, something was holding the inner one. A large flat screw-driver between the pads will usually push them enough to put in the pins…but, no…one of the pins wouldn’t go, so I used a little force. BAD MOVE. It felt like the pin threads in the caliper started to strip. A damaged Anti-Rattle Spring turned out to be the cause of my dilemma, and now I had to deal with stripped threads. So I ran a tap through the outer caliper and saved the threads. The inner part of the caliper was still a problem. The ends of the pins “snap” into place. There appeared to be a small snap ring, under a small bushing, that