Archive for June 2007
Maybe it’s the fair weather riders just now getting out on the road, but I received several requests this week to dig into the archives and bring this post back:
With the explosion in the last decade of Motorcycle shows on television, and all things Biker Culture in general, many people have bought bikes and attempted to purchase a lifestyle that you used to have to actually LIVE to get. Its amazing how easy it still is to spot a Wall Street type on a Road King (Think Discovery Channel guru Hugh “The Chopper King” King). Hey, I’m happy for anyone who wants to get out and get in the wind, and bikers are probably the most fun loving people you’ll ever meet. Some will find this hard to believe, but despite owning a $20,000 bike and few grand in leathers, You’re Probably NOT a Biker if:
If your 2500 mile oil change comes around every two years (or longer), you’re probably NOT a biker (You guys know who I’m talking about).
If you’ve ever missed a Boomer’s Bike Night because you didn’t have time to wash your bike, you’re probably NOT a biker.
If you’ve ever decided not to ride because it “might” rain, you’re probably NOT a biker.
If you’ve ever gotten a temporary tattoo at Fowlerville, you’re probably NOT a biker.
If the toe of your left boot isn’t somehow deformed from shifting, you’re probably NOT a biker.
If you’ve never swallowed a June Bug, had a Deer Fly go down your back and bite you on the butt, or pulled a Bumble Bee out of your left knee, or right testicle, (Now there’s a future post) at 75 MPH, you’re probably NOT a biker.
If you’ve ever left a bar because the barmaid wouldn’t make you an Amaretto Sour, you’re probably NOT a biker.
If, on a cold day, you’ve ever had to pull over to blow your nose, your probably NOT a biker. (Make sure you’re alone, or at the back of the pack when you try that maneuver)
If you’ve ever trailered your bike for any reason other than….well there is no reason to trailer a functional bike; Ever. You’re probably NOT a biker.
If you’ve ever seen a bike broken down on the side of the road and didn’t stop because you thought the owner looked “scummy,” Then you are DEFINITELY NOT a biker.
A couple of friends and I were discussing some of our favorite books last night at our weekly literary meeting…. Naw! Actually we were at Boomers Roadhouse for his weekly bike night and the subject of recent biker books came up over a few PBR’s.
A lot of people will disagree with me, but, from what I’ve read about him, I have a lot of respect for Sonny Barger. Sonny was a longtime President of the Oakland, California chapter of the Hells Angels and currently resides outside of Phoenix, Arizona.
In his book “Freedom–Credos From The Road,”Barger presents some the wisdom he has gathered from spending 50+ years “on the road.”
I wish that some of the liberal candy asses in Washington would read this book and take some of it’s concepts to heart. Whether it be the War on Terror, or the Illegal Immigration debate, they could learn a lot from Sonny’s direct approach to life.
The following is excerpted from the above book. I think I’ll e-mail this to every Senator, or Congressman, who has stated: “I support the troops, but I am against the war.”
“You win a war by kicking the enemy’s ass, not by negotiating with them. We go to war so that we may live in peace. I see value in war, although it’s an expensive proposition and should be your last resort. War requires absolute commitment. Peace won’t come until you’re entirely prepared to confront your enemy and make sacrifices back home.”
What I like about the above statement, besides the part about kicking the enemy’s ass, is the statement “War requires absolute commitment.” Where would we be in Iraq today if Senators like Harry Ried, John Edwards, Hillary Rodham (you know she can’t wait to drop “Clinton”), and Ted Kennedy, or Congressmen like Jim Murtha, and Nancy Pelosi, were to stand up and say: “We disagree with President Bush on many issues, however, we will not rest until our military has exterminated every last bit of terrorist vermin alive in the world today. We are committed to the security and safety of the citizens of the United States of America, and there is no amount of money we won’t spend, and absolutely no lengths we won’t go to, to ensure that security and safety. We will stand firmly behind the President until victory is won.”
I have to believe that once the mixed messages are no longer being sent, and once the terrorists believe that ALL Americans are on the same page, the War on Terror would come to a quick conclusion.
I meant to write this yesterday, but the girls are out of school and fatherhood trumps my selfish wants everytime.
Most of you have heard about the Ann Coulter/Elizabeth Edwards exchange on Hardball with Chris Matthews. Whether you are a fan of Ann (like me), or admire Mrs. Edwards for her courageous fight with a deadly disease, ask yourself this:
What kind of “man” sends his cancer stricken wife out to fight his battles for him? I have a picture in my head of Mr. “I Feel Pretty” peeking his expensively coifed head out from behind his wife’s skirt sqeaking “Get her Mommy!” Edwards won’t go near a Fox News reporter, or any reporter that would do more than lob softballs to him for that matter, and yet he conspires with Chris Matthews to have my girl Ann ambushed on a liberal program by his terminally ill wife in hopes of creating some sympathy among female voters.
I am going to commit a completely altruistic act here. Anyone who reads this blog is aware that I am a Firefighter and a Biker. Those two things alone are obvious evidence that The Scolai carries far more than an average amount of scrotal material (for my Ohio readers that means I have rather large testes. Hold it! Sorry, I forgot I said “Ohio” readers. I meant to say “rather large ‘buckeyes'”). I am making an open offer to John Edwards.
John, using some of your ill gotten millions, find a qualified large animal vet, and I will allow “Sac Grafts” to be taken from me and supplied to you in hopes that you might, in time, actually grow a pair of BALLS! Of course this would probably cause you to switch party affiliation, start seeing a real barber, forego foundation, stand on your own two feet and fight your own battles. You might even find the courage to debate Ms. Coulter one on one. Although, since your testosterone level would be beyond conventional measure, I think debating her would be the last thing on your mind ( cause Conservative Chicks are HOT!).
For anyone who has spent the last few days under a rock, here is a video of the Ann/Elizabeth exchange.
Sorry about the sudden paucity of posts. I’ve been taking some time off and there are days I even forget to check my e-mail.
I have to wake up to wall to wall news coverage of the release of this spoiled, dick brained (hey she’s obviously had ’em everywhere else), no talent, seasoned whore, doing the model walk to Mommy and Daddy’s waiting SUV?
If you want proof of the sick society we live in, all you need to do is watch the pop media’s fascination with this vapid penis receptacle. The “Dumb Blonde” thing is just an act? If so, she deserves a special Lifetime Achievement Oscar. I think it is quite possible her chihuahua has more mental acuity, and has demonstrably better morals.
I think I’ll take the advice of my friend “Mr. Stress”; I’m going to have a cup of coffee, a marlborough, and chill out.
“It’s all about the ride.” If you’ve ridden motorcycles for any length of time you have heard that statement, or you’ve said it yourself. I came back from Ohio a day early when I heard a few of my friends were leaving. Smoochy is showing at a horse competition and, quite frankly, I missed her, Mrs. Scolai, The Princess and Mugsy. The ride down was a great time, 20 bikes, some guys packing their wives or girlfriends, most of us flying solo. We took the long way, riding a lot of two lane miles, stopping at a few cool bars and an American Legion Hall in Urbana where I saw my first “Blatz” beer since my Aunt Helen passed away.
It was fun and I am always up for that kind of rolling party. Today’s ride was different. Five guys, all riding solo, and kicking hard for the border. I have to give the great state of Ohio mad props, the absence of a punitive, regressive helmet law, propped up by a mole faced, canadian, communist, super nanny wanna be, makes “the ride” that much better.
A tight, five man formation. Leave the hotel and immediately hit the on ramp. Grab all the throttle you can hold and hang on. It’s overcast and occasionally rain drops smack you in the forehead. If there are a lot at any one time, you start to get an idea of what sand blasting feels like. Absent the rain, the wind is blasting you in a good way. On a bike you can feel minute changes in temperature, you smell diesel, the farms around you, the pavement, you name it. You are a part of your enviroment.
Maintaining your position, passing tractor trailers and slow moving cagers, you catch a glimpse of your speedometer and realize that for 10 plus miles, you have been riding at over 100 mph. You are ALIVE. This what you were made for, jamming down the road with a close group of friends, feeling the rain, the sun on your face, the wind over and through your hair (until you hit Michigan, thanks Jenny), throttle it back to a comfortable 80 mph, cruising speed for the highway. You fall into an easy rhythm and go with it.
You hit a stretch of construction with the accompanying heavy traffic. Throttle down some more and be on guard. Sure enough, here comes “Soccer Dad” in his spousally approved suburban assault vehicle and the requisite gaggle of nose pickers. Not watching, off in his own world, he is completely oblivious to the close call he is about to create. 3 bikes pass him, 2 are less than half a car length behind, without even a glance back “Soccer Dad” starts to change lanes. He is snapped out his waking dream as your hand comes off the throttle and punches his window.
You were seconds from becoming road kill, and this jerk off looks at you like it was your fault. Time, once again, to start carrying the ball bearings. Death cheated once more, you say a quick prayer of thanks to God for his traveling mercies, spike the throttle as the construction zone ends and put some distance between you and trouble.
Cross the border and stop once more for gas after making sure to throw a finger of protest at Lansing by riding a few extra miles in freedom, leaving the lid strapped to your saddle bag. An hour later, you hit your driveway and again praise God for his mercies and for bringing you home safely once more.
Yeah, It’s All About The Ride.
I am going to be out of town for the next few days. My Motorcycle Club’s annual rendezvous is being held in Dayton, Ohio, and I will be entering the “land down under” on Friday. As a Michiganiac, I have a natural superiority complex when it comes to Ohio. Fun Fact: Ohio has NO natural lakes! None! Not one! It does border Lake Erie, but we all know what Ohioans tried to do to that lake in the sixties and early seventies.
Ohio’s one redeeming qaulity is it’s enlightend take on helmet laws for motorcylists. THERE IS NO HELMET LAW IN OHIO!!!! Are you listening Gov. Grandtheft? I mean Granholm? uh… Mulhern-Granholm? Whatever that Canadian born Communist calls herself.
Take a minute to check out the newest member of the Scolai blogroll: The Tygrrrr Express. Eric commented me on my post: Scolaism II, and after reading his site all I can say is: WOW! This guy is a writer and he has an uncommon amount of common sense.
Have a great weekend,
Since posting the “Cat’s in the Cradle” video on Fathers Day, I have been thinking about Harry Chapin. Growing up, I loved his music. As an adult, his stuff means even more to me because I have lived many of his stories. His untimely death was a loss to us all.
Today, as I was driving around thinking about how complicated certain parts of my life have become, a story Harry told about a conversation with his grandfather came to mind:
“My grandfather was a painter. He died at age 88. He illustrated Robert Frost’s first two books of poetry. He was looking at me one day and he said, “Harry, there’s two kinds of tired. There’s good-tired and there’s bad-tired.
Ironically enough, bad-tired can be a day in which you won, but you won other people’s battles, you lived other people’s days, other people’s agendas and dreams, and when it’s all over, there’s very little you in there, and when you hit the hay at night, you toss and turn, you don’t settle easy.
Good-tired, ironically enough, can be a day in which you lost, but you knew you fought your battles, you chased your dreams, you lived your days. And when you hit the hay at night, you settle easy, you sleep the sleep of the just, and you can say, “Take me away.”
Harry, all my life I wanted to be a painter. So I painted. God, I would have loved to have been more successful. But I painted and painted. And I am good-tired, and they can take me away.”
I shared this story with my girls when they were little and, from time to time, I remind them of it. I can’t think of a better philosophy of life. Further, I think it’s the best illustration of “To Thine Own Self Be True.”
There have been times in my life when I have given in to someone else’s agenda, won their battle for them, and then hated myself for it later on. There have been many more times when it has seemed that everyone but Jesus and my Mother was against me, but I let events play out and, in the end, at least it was my victory or my defeat, and I slept well because it.
So kids, here’s a challenge from your old Uncle Scolai: Try to live always so that at the end of the day you are “Good-Tired.”