JRO
Well-known member
Sorry, but the Bikes, Blues, and BBQ motorcycle rally was held recently, over in Fayetteville, Ark.. I would have gone, but I
can't rub shoulders with that many armatures. They came through here, for four days. Clubs, big and small; geeksquad
rednecks and Skoal-sniffing urbanites, all mounted on their favorite Harley/actual/clone. They're living, man.
Individuals. Reckless nimrods asphalt-surfing their own way through the tube of life...
Somehow, they remind me of the citizens populating Rand's Anthem. Many of them have even discarded the use of the pronoun 'I', preferring instead, to discuss why we ride. I was accosted at the filling station by (yet) another of
these conversationalists, and I'm afraid I just walked away from the 'bikers' trying to engage me. Frankly, I don't care why
they ride. Their riding, actually just gets in my way; lumbering along on their damn thumpers, clogging up the
road, and making enough noise to drown out an Alice Cooper concert. Add to that, the fact that 3/4 of them can't handle
their damn potato-fetchers well enough to keep from being accident hazards, and seem unaware that they don't have the only vehicles on the road, and I'd rather deal with the college girls herding their Hondas (car-type, that is) down the pavement, obligatory cell-phones surgically implanted to the sides of their heads, any day. ANY DAY.
Later, I wasn't so lucky. A late middle-aged Harley man caught me outside of Autozone, and wanted to talk about his bike,
and mine. I don't know how many times I've heard his story, but I'm pretty sure it's been told beforebeforebeforebefore:
"Crotch-rockets are too fast, and I don't know who'd ride one. Them kids are crazy. Me an' Jim an' Leo was cruisin' the
four-lane, and this kid pulls up, doin' ahunnerd, flips us off, pulls a wheelie, and rides it past us. Thas jus' crazy."
Just once, I'd like to meet a cruiser-bruiser, who hasn't had this happen to him. Or, at least one who is willing to keep it
to himself.
In any event (as evidenced by this new version of the Kawasaki Voyager), the problem is growing. Aside from making me look good, cruisers (and all too many of their enthusiasts), seem to have much in common with basal cell carcinoma. They're ugly. They're slow. And, they're growing. Without radiation, there's little chance they will go away, either.
So, what's with all the people in the marketplace, buying the damn things? I think the reason is clear:
Starting about 1957, aliens came, and began fucking monkeys.
Thus, the origin of cruiser riders. If you don't believe me, catch an episode of FX's 'Sons Of Anarchy'.
See? I told you so.
Around 1973, the Air Force and Navy acquired enough land and carrier based high-altitude interceptors to chase these
interspecie-fornicating flying-saucer bubbleheads out of our atmosphere. The occasional UFO gets through, but our military
has remained pretty successful, ever since. However, if Barrack Hussein Obama gets elected, the first item on his agenda is to cut the military budget. So...
You get the picture.
This is why Kawasaki is gearing up to add yet another cruiser top the lineup, which normal people don't need, or want.
Oh, well.
