The Scolai

“Just a Good Guy…With a Few Bad Habits”

Poetic Chaos

with 3 comments

“Rowin’ the gears, across the tarmac encrusted planet…everything is Zen. Rollin’ the throttle and keepin’ the now outdated carburetor in its sweet spot, the solid lifters start the process that ends in the mechanical pull forward. Metal pressing against spring steel; aluminum flexing one way as iron holds its ground. You can feel the bottom end loading up as torque is generated in its place.

Rough cut gears drop into undefined slots as you push the shifter forward. Belts and chains tighten, sending the whole mess pressing to the ground, the exhaust belching loudly, reverberation richochets off the guardrail.

The hardened steel chaos of a primitive motor makes sense as the whole shit-storm is solid mounted to the base of your spine. Plunging headlong you slam your bike into the hard right hand curve of the on ramp, twisting the wick, the rear tire digs low and the front end gets light…ramming speed.

Hard-dicked and splitting lanes you sucker punch your way past the head shaking hordes making their way home from “T.G.I. Panty Waste” back to their “soft porn” lives. Theirs is an existence of fads and fashion. Yours is a testostorone rush of spent high-test and 50 weight. They break pencils; you test the tensile strength of everything.

Hundreds of handcrafted parts spinning and colliding come together in a cataclysm of white hot flame and abused bearings. “Squeeze-suck-bang-blow.” repeating thousands of times a minute, one misalignment, one weak part or foreign debris and it all comes to a catastrophic end.

Forged pistons forcing connecting rods into precarious angles transfer this hostile momentum into gyratory effort. RPMs increase and the ever pounding pulses become a steady pull as the engine balance falls into place. With a slight wrench of the throttle you blast past the encumbering sloth of “family trucksters” as you bulldoze your way to the open freeway ahead. On the road behind you, a wake of roadside garbage and discarded women. Ground Control, we have hit light speed…We’re Outta Here!”

That pretty well describes it. The piece above was written by Painter George and excerpted from the June 2007 issue of “The Horse-Back Street Choppers” (in my mind the ONLY motorcycle magazine worth your time).

If you read that piece and felt it in your gut, if your pulse raced and all you could think about was knocking down some more miles, you get it. You have probably lived it, and once you do, its in your blood; you’ll never lose the feeling.

RUB’s and yuppie crotch rocket commandos will never know that feeling. RUBies, because their bikes spend more time on trailers than on the pavement; the crotch rocket bunch, because their 400 pounds of plastic is engineered a little to perfectly.

For me, its giving the finger to power hungry piss ants who want to tell me how to live. Its 100 miles an hour through freeway rush hour traffic screaming at the top of my lungs at the moron who’s “hypermiling.” Its riding as hard as I want to live, pushing my bike the way I push myself in the gym. Its growling, snapping, and threatening to tear the head off, every smarmy, self important, P.E.T.A., Greenpeace, Global Warming, Left Wing Lunatic numb nut out there. Its yelling “I’m an AMERICAN! I’m a MAN, not some eunch from Nancy Pelosi’s and Hillary Clinton’s semi-wet dreams. You can’t shut me up, you can’t tread on me! Cross me and I’ll tear your f**king heart out and eat it in front of you!! 




Written by thescolai

August 6, 2007 at 2:34 pm

3 Responses

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  1. What is that all about???? I loved it !!! good job !!

    William Hampton

    August 7, 2007 at 7:38 am

  2. When are you gonna let go of this alter ego? You’re actually a pretty nice guy. It’s ok. . .embrace it.


    August 7, 2007 at 9:14 am

  3. My therapist says that this type of self expression will prevent a heart attack. NOOOO I don’t have a therapist, but expressing some liberal tendencies makes my mother-in-law smile!


    August 7, 2007 at 10:43 am

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