Motorcycles Bartenders F-Bombs

  Sun., July 11:  Back on route 82, we rode into New Mexico.  Stopped in Roswell to check out the goofy tourist trap, alien museums, stores selling t-shirts and plastic flying saucers.  Ran into rain in the mountains just west of Hondo.  Rain turned into high winds and cold, sideways, blowing rain.  Blinded by the rain, and buffeted across the lane, I slowed to 35 mph, and put on my flashers.  I had to remove my goggles and squint between my fingers to see.  We rode through the “squall” but rode into another, a few miles later.  There were four squalls in all, and cold rain got down the neck of our rain suits.  Rose said, “I wanna go home!”  But we took our high speed descent out of the mountains, and the temperature rapidly heated to about ninety degrees.  We hit Socorro and got a room for the night, 8 half-quart cans of PBR, and a pint of cheap vodka.  And we did a load of wash. Mon., July 12:  Took route 60 west to...

 Jetting The Carb: UPDATE 167,000 miles on Superglide WOT It’s fairly easy to tell if the idle jet is correct, but according to Nightrider website, if you don’t have access to a dyno, you need to do a W.O.T. run. Wide Open Throttle.  WOT TEST:  TO TEST THE MAIN JETTING, YOU MUST BE IN FOURTH OR FIFTH GEAR, AND RUNNING FAIRLY HIGH RPM (4000+), THEN OPEN THE THROTTLE ALL THE WAY TO THE THROTTLE STOP, NOTING THE FEEL OF THE BIKE. And immediately afterwards, you shut her down, and check the plugs. But anyway, I’d changed my pipes, and I just wasn’t getting the POWER, that I thought I should have, so I put in a bigger main jet. The long hill on 84 west outa town Rolling fast on the Superglide No one in the right lane 95, 100 miles per hour some stupid SUV Plodding along at 65 eases on over check left, there’s room hit the middle lane And the plodding SUV Can’t decide, straddles the line So he hits the gap Between lanes And blasts on through But just for a sec he touched the re...

 Thoughts of a Old Roadglide Geezer at 156 thousand miles:  Great on the highway, but low-speed handling and parking suck due to weight and high center of gravity. Each time she layed down was a memorable event requiring human or mechanical assistance. "Dirt biking" up to the fire tower, gravel parking, rain-slick stop signs, all treacherous: easy to lay her down, hard to get her back up. Just like one of my old girlfriends, back in the day. I carry a small scissor jack now. And those tar snakes are the work of the devil.

                     The Dude rode from his house to the farm market, on the crude, mud spattered Ironhead Sportster, with only a backpack with which to carry home his produce, and a big backpack it was, because he would buy enough for the week. The Dude, as usual, was doing his grocery shopping, mostly all at the farm market, except for the bread, and his bakery of choice happened to be in an old neighborhood noted for street gang hoodlums. The Dude, tall and lanky, was for the most part, a vegetarian.    But now, I must step back, to the incident of last week. He’d parked on the street a few doors down from the bakery. When he came out with two still warm loaves, he saw some young street punks around his bike, and one of them was even sitting on it, posing, like he was riding. There were three of them, altogether, brazenly watching him as he approached. Two more stood in a nearby doorway, looking amused, and smoking f...

  We rode around Ranchos de Taos with flimsy directions looking for Dennis Hopper. A dirt road led back to Jesus Nazareno Cemetery: a carved wooden cross, loose stones, an American flag, a blue glass bottle. Born in Dodge City, died of prostate cancer. Rebel Without a Cause. Easyrider. We rode away, stopped in front of nearby Paul’s Bar. It looked like Hopper's kind of hacienda.