Sistercousin Tows an Old Friend

It’s about that time of year where I get a few weeks off in between edumacation times. These here times are golden, it’s time to ride!


So in preparation for happy non skool time, I reached out to my fellow sickly ill motorcycling friends, specifically looking for the funemployed and willing to travel.  I stumbled upon Linda, she checked all the boxes! She already had plans to ride up to Glacier National Park, sounded good to me! Until I looked at a map, that’s a long ways for this sister. That’s a lot of slab, which I do not want, not at all. Thankfully, a few days before our scheduled departure she came to her senses and canceled the slab’o’rama. We instead made “plans” to go ride in the mountains.

Off we went, I dun planned a loop, which I had just done a few days prior. (Getting the picture? I have a problem) It’s a nice loop, 1000 or so miles in 48 hours. Not aggressive at all!


We headed up towards Downieville/Quincy on for the first day, kind of slabby to get there, which makes me stabby. But we did it. Fun roads were slayed, smiles hidden in our helmets. Linda, in all her planning preparations did NOT bring a clear visor. So when dat sun went down, she was like “GO GO GO, I cannot see!”  Finally, at dusk, we made it to the hotel. (She doesn’t camp, so SisterCousin classed himself up for this trip, I even showered! Not once, but twice!!)

Upon arriving at the hotel, I asked her, “Did you see the sunset up on the ridge?! That is one of my favorite spots in California!” Linda replied, “No, I couldnt see anything! It was dark in my helmet”  Apparently I stomped around like an angry 5 year old hill billy denied his fried catfish. The horror!! She missed out on greatness.

Then, in true Quincy fashion, we pranced down to the local watering hole for refreshments. Beer was drank, Jameson was also drunken. She then whooped on the town pool master (who brought his own pool stick, you know he is serious)  Then she bought us dinner, fried chicken and jalapeno poppers. Sistercousin pigged out.

To sum up this story, we got nice and whoble-e on the walk back to the hotel. Mission accomplished!

I dun woke up early, hobbled down to get some breakfast, while Linda slept. She was hurting. Something about Asian genetics not digesting alcohol, what ever horse poo story that is.

In the morning, prepping for day 2:

I started mah shit bike and heard a weird, non normal shit bike sound.
It sounded like a Ducaca dry clutch rattle, but I do not has one of those!?

Bolts loosen, ShitBike just purges itself of unneeded items. 2/3 is good enough for GhettoTouring


We started riding, Day 2 start was kinda boring. We had to reroute a few times, which made the morning kind of drag on. Then we stopped for Cheeseburgers and map times.  I present to you, Sistercousin pre burger: “We go here and get durty now”


So we went there, and got durty!
But before getting durty, Linda was complaining about being tired. More or less, I told her to man up. But she couldn’t cause she is a lady. She needed a pick-me-up. I had just the right thing, but she was a bit weary… After convincing her, she agreed to have some of my hot juice. One zipper down and a big gulp of hawt juice later, she was all riled up and ready to slay dat dirt.

5 hour energy works miracles!


Shortly after the old DR brapp’d down the road. Nature called.
We’re still not sure if bears shit in the woods, but I am now confident that I do.

That burger was not sitting well, so I popped a squat and did business. While businessing, I glanced up and there was a bear about 50 yards away, just staring at me. I bet he was wondering if SisterCousin shit in the woods, he found out that I do!

As you can imagine, what ever shit was left inside me, was now in the bushes and I was running back towards mah ShitBike (only after wiping thoroughly, cause no one wants skid marked britches)
Cause fuck bears.
I’ve never put on gear so fast in my life. Thankgoodness for Stich and it’s easy on/off 6 second procedure. Get yourself one.


Our final destination for day 2 was Etna, we made it, more fun was had after bear pooping escapade.
Upon arriving in Etna, the first hotel we showed up to was “Booked solid” with no cars in the parking lot…

The grumpy hotel lady gave us directions to the only other place in town a B&B, what ever. SisterCousin likes breakfast.

We arrived, found out that they indeed had a room for us. But with only a King bed. Instantly, we exchanged the exact same glance of:

“Don’t you fucking touch me when I sleep”

Problem solved, bed acquired. Breakfast too!


The B&B was a pretty cool little place, but it reminded this cousin of a retirement home. They had a shack set up for PCT hikers (Pacific Crest Trail), there were a bunch of stinky hikers. I like sick and deranged people. So I wandered down yonder with mah flask to make new friends and hear crazy stories. Friends were made, all the whiskey was drank, then I heard a very interesting conversation…

The hikers were talking about relationships and how or how not they are working on the trail, or with loved ones back home. This german feller was like “I told my girl friend that I wanted to hike the PCT”, “she was not happy” , “But it’s my life, and I need to do what makes me happy”

All the american hikers were like “You’re a horrible person, you do not care about her or the relationship?!? Fuck you”

His response was simply amazing

“I cannot care about her or the relationship if I myself am unhappy with my own life, thankfully she came to her senses and understood”

I laughed. Long and hard. But it’s true! Can I blame my German heritage?

Day 3: More riding, epic riding actually.

Like, 6 straight hours of twisty,bendy,dirty goodness. No cars, no people, no stop lights, just mountains.
I cannot explain this. It is magical. You must experience it for yerself.

Just so much goodness


But after 6 hours of goodness, Linda’s brain was tired. So she bailed and brappp’ed away down 101 back to the bay area.
Myself on the other hand… aimed for the coast, for more bendy squiggles. I somehow managed to make a 5 hour ride, take 3.5 hours, with a 5 minute beer stop.

How? You might ask.

I’ve been testing this theory lately. While riding, take your right hand, twist it backwards with firm vigor and hold it there, often. It seems to make the miles go by quicker and bigger shit eating grins and giggles. The jury is still out on if this is “safe” But I will continue my testing. Stay tuned until next time!


Keep the dented side up.

Nothing Beats a Hobo-steak

This was from a trip back in 2013. I took 4 weeks to ride around the Western states, going from one national park to another. I ended up in Moab for my birthday and celebrated with a fat steak at Jeffrey’s Steakhouse.

It made me happy and stayed a couple days in Moab. I was parked out at the comfy Red Rock Lodge. I had the place almost to myself just after the blitz of Harleys that were in town for Memorial Day.


Moab had a peacefulness that’s lazy and comfortable. The red rock cliffs surrounded the city like a deep clay tub of soothing mud.

But the road finally called, I was headed to Western Idaho from here. I was suggested to Glenns Ferry, a historic state park that marked the spot where fronteers-people cross the Snake River on the old Oregon Trail.

Oregon Trail Map

Fleeing a storm front in Utah and then pounded by high winds on the open Idaho interstate, this 500 mile journey was a little more taxing than I expected. After lunch, I was actually nodding off on the ride down I-84! I took the next exit and found a parking lot, where a gentleman let me park and nap on the ground.


After a 45 minute respite, I collected enough concentration to ride the remaining 90 miles to Glenns Ferry. The exit took me through a little town and towards the state park on the edge of the Snake River. I had just an hour before the museum and exhibit hall closed to get a little history on this historic site. Amazing how the settlers from the 1840’s selected this spot to push their animals and wagon across this river.

With plenty of daylight left, I set up my tent on a nice green patch of grass before going back into town for dinner and a well deserved alcoholic beverage. A cut of steak, large can of what looked like a margarita and instant rice side dish was on the menu for a long exhausting day.


I threw that steak straight on the grill and listened to it sizzled and popped. I recalled the long events of the day and smirked at how that same morning, I was in Southern Utah. I thought of how I was doing what those early settlers must have done after that arduous crossing of the Snake river, trying to find a little comfort for the evening.


When my hobo-style steak came ready, I savored with pure delight of how something could taste soooo good. Rice and a sweet beverage hadn’t tasted soooo good in so long. The steak I had on my celebratory birthday, a fine steak, did not even match how this hobo-steak could feed a road-weary soul!

Recipe for hobo-steak:

  1. Steak from store, your choice of cut
  2. Few spices you had put in a bag before you left on a 1 month trip
  3. Throw it on the grill over the fire
  4. Flip just a few times


Icon Airmada – Review

Now you’re probably wondering why a respectable hillbilly like mahself would wear a poser squidlicious Icon helmet. I ask myself the same thing every dayum day…

I’ve owned just about every helmet you can freaking imagine. Arai Vector 2, Shoei Qwest,RF1100,RF1200, a few Sharks, a few AGV’s, a few Suomy’s, a Nexx etc etc. A lot of helmets, I is a gear freak. I thought the RF1100 was mah lid, it did save my life in January in a pretty brutal crash which I flew down the road 420 feet…

I briefly worked at a Honda dealership out der on that Right Coast, I went out on a test ride one morning and left mah lid out in the rain afterwards. So after work my bossman lent me a Icon Airmada to take home (no one likes a fishbowl for a helmet) I was like “Ugh, is there anything else you can lend me? Icon? Really?”
He laughed “It’s actually a nice helmet, give it a shot ya whiner”

Begrudgingly I did give it a shot, cause my wet RF1100 was sopping whet.
This helmet first off fit like a glove, it cradled all the good parts of my head. But I thought “I look like dat squid over yonder, I can’t do this”  I returned the helmet after my brief one night stand. Ready to plop my Shoei back on, cause Shoei. But it felt like poo compared to this little plastic Icon Airmada. What Teh Fucks!?

Flash-forward about 6 months, post accident in January (where I wrecked wearing mah Shoei) and I was on the hunt for a new lid. I scoured ebay for a lightly used XS Shoei or Arai, cause I is a broke/cheap little bastid. When suddenly I saw a Icon Airmada XS for $97 NEW, there were a ton of them. But I couldn’t do it. It’s an Icon. Squids wear them. I ain’t no squid.

So I found a nice Arai Vector 2 for cheap, but it felt like poo compared to that Airmada, so I bought another RF1100, it too felt like doodoo. So I sucked up my huge gear boner pride and bought me a Icon Airmada. OH THE SHAME I FELT.

Finally got my grubby little mits on the Airmada, it’s not the prettiest looking helmet out there, but fer 97 hobo dollars, I ain’t complaining. Another cool side note, it has passed a ton of pretty strict countries safety inspections:
Not bad for a little poly shelled helmet.

Not sorry about all the dead bugs

I was also drawn to it for the fact that it comes in 4 different shell sizes. I wear an XS lid, which is hard to find a helmet that doesn’t look like an astronaut helmet on my shoulders. Not to mention smaller lid = less wind resistance = MOAR HP

The interior:
Icon uses their HydraDry liner, which is pretty spiffy. It does that wicking stuff really well. The liner is comfy, soft, supple, and has just the right amount of squish. The one thing I have noticed after about 5k miles of wearing it, the liner does get a bit filthy, as it is a light grey color. But I’m a bit filthy, so I’m totally ok with this. All the pads pop out so you can has wash times with them in tub.
Even with my nasty beard, the padding isn’t getting torn apart, both the Shoei and Arai showed signs of mah beards destruction powers.
8.5/10 for niceness.

This is the one area which is noticeable between the poly shelled Airmada and say a Shoei or Arai. It is a bit noisier, even with all the vents closed. Not overly noisy like a Suomy. Also, not noisy enough to make me choose a different helmet for a 1400+ mile weekend. Good earplugs are my friend.
6/10 for noise


It has vents, they vent air.
How well?

When I pop all the vents open, I can feel a slight breeze on mah nekkid skull. But the thing sound like sticking yur head behind a running small jet. But fresh air!
I love the chin vents, on a hot day the two side chin vents allow fresh air straight to yur mouth. Most excellent thing indeed. I’ve had zero fogging issues, which is another excellent thing.
6.5/10 for the vent times.

This is where this helmet shines, the Icon Optics are fantastic. The clear shield is has no distortion what so ever. Which is rare in a helmet these days it seems.


Now you’re asking yourself “Why does this guy like this helmet so much if it is noisy, has mediocre ventilation and finds it ugly?”

Because it fits so well! I’ve worn this helmet for 14+ hour days in the saddle with zero pain, hot spots, or discomfort. When ever I go for a ride I stare at my Vector 2, RF1100 and the Airmada. Every single ride, I snatch up my Icon Airmada and go out hoon’n. Something about it just works. If you are looking for a new lid, don’t overlook this little puppy! Even though it’s “Cheap” it’s loaded with good fun bits that’ll keep you happy as a clam.


(This is not a sponsored review, I paid for this helmet wif mah own tree fiddys)

WARPED 2015, where I meat SisterCousin… for the very first time

I mentioned before, I met SisterCousin at the WARPED Rally (BEAT THE NOBS) near Kernville. It sure is pretty round those parts. Here’s a little road I saw on the map when I was choosing my route, it looked so nice and squiggly. When I got on it I was not disappointed in the least. You can see the road hugging the hills as it climbs up. Down by the creek it was verdant and green. The smell was divine. After a lot of straight line slab to cross the central valley this was a sight for sore eyes. As usual, in the time before SisterCousin, I was riding solo and I was fine with that.




The ride only got better, twistier, and colder as I climbed in elevation up past 7,000 feet before descending down to Kernville. As I climbed up the vegetation and colors reminded me vaguely of Baja until that gave way to pine forests. The picture below of of the bit that reminds me of Baja.

pretty ascent

When I arrived I saw I had had a hitchhiker. I felt like some kind of bad killer.




Our rally is held at a campground. The name WARPED is an acronym for Western Adventure Riding Party and Endurance Drinking. Emphasis on the drinking with lots of folks and not much riding. I decided to get out there and scoot around a little. I went up a nearby road for about twenty miles then turned onto a road that looked like it could be interesting. It was and it sure was pretty. Twisty, too, and the pavement was in real nice condition but gravelly.


I went up until I saw some blocks of ice on the road and decided that was a sign from DOG that I better split. I rode all the way into town to get some beer before parking the piglet for the night.


(In case I have not mentioned it yet, ROKSTRAPS are pretty much the best invention, ever, in the history of mankind. That Tecate did not budge.)

I was about to meet SisterCousin, who was hangin’ with mah buddy Thumper. I was like, who in the pork snappin’ hell is this whippersnapper dressed like a highlighter pen, riding a ratty looking SV to an adventure rally? I’m still trying to figure this one out. Something with that boy ain’t right.


The highlighter….

Here I am across the campfire

safe cheeseburger

I had invited Thumper to ride home with me and she was happy about this. I usually ride solo. I consider myself kinda slow, like going at my pace and doing things my way. Basically, I am a pain in the ass and real, real selfish about my riding time. She invited SisterCousin to ride along with us, I said yeah and off we went.

I had asked the local shop, the Cycle Smiths ( good people, the lady there is a long distance endurance rider, yeeeehaw!) where I should ride before I left. So we set off in that direction. I wasn’t sure where exactly I was going and it was a bit odd being in front of other riders, especially one I did not know. This is still something I was grappling with in mah head at the time. On the descent I let SisterCousin move ahead and he took a photo of me. I thought it was cool, I love pictures of me and the bike in motion.

dat road

We rode together for another few hours before I ditched Thumper and SisterCousin. I wasn’t finding my flow and I wanted to ride alone as I was accustomed to doing. Honestly, I didn’t think much about the ride back cuz I felt like I had been riding like crap. But maybe SisterCousin sensed a kindred spirit or something cuz he did ask if we could ride again, see here.


Our initial ride, before we was family

Our initial ride… Before SisterCousin became family

SisterCousin sent me a message:


Amazingly, the boy showed up at crack o’dawn thirty, before I even did. We went to church, had breakfast, smelled a few flowers and then we rode. I dragged that poor broken boy around some of the goatiest roads I could think of, this way, that way, up, down, bump, twist, GO! He just followed me, happy as could be. With sweet roads like this, can you blame him?


When I’d pull over for a quick break he’d have this loopy look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was on dope or dogfood. Turns out, he was just a little too excited about the roads. He’d never been on them before and here I had just combined a few years worth of my own  exploring into one sweet, sweet ride. I think he developed some loving feelings for western Sonoma county on that ride, which pleased me. It is one of my happy places. (I have a lot of those)


As we were heading down a descent (I get slow going downhill)  I realized he was riding right on my ass and I wasn’t the least bit concerned and he seemed, well, happy back there. I stopped to smell the flowers and take in the view. I asked if he was having fun (yes!). I was starting to think that any fella who can follow me blissfully and not need to stop or fuss was a good egg. I have had people complain about riding with me before, it makes them tired. Whatever.


We rode all day and then split. I headed home and so did SisterCousin. When I got home I saw he had sent me a message from our meeting point that morning:


So I did, a few weeks later. My new year’s resolution for 2015 was one overnight motorcycle trip per month and I had plans in my head for a ride over Memorial day….
Mistress Cheeseburger

July 4th Holiday Weekend – Screw Fireworks, Ride!

Pre ryde – Day 1

Mistress Cheeseburger sent me a fancy interweb message a few weeks back about riding motorcycles, I like motorcycles, she knows this, but SisterCousin doesn’t make plans so I promptly forgot. Whammy, flash ferward two weeks and Wednesday night or so she said sumthin like “You ready for dat weekend ridez?”
“What rides? I like rides? Let’s rides”

Just like dat, I was in.

Sistercousin had to fix his bike lickity split. Needed a new frunt tyre, new lights, lubez (can never have enough lubez) Got all my shiz in order, packed my ghetto trunk full of things and stuff. Turned down sex with someone who wasn’t, or I think wasn’t mah cousin, to go ride bikes. Yeeeehawwww


Then it was Friday morning, we dun met up at Sturbucks in Emeryville, Homedepo next door had it’s alarm going off, the homeless were pissing in the street, there was a black guy in zerbra pants dancing to Kelly Clarkson. I luv the east bay. Cheeseburger rolled up and yelled at me “You park like an asshole!”
Sidewalk parking is not asshole’ish, it is goshdarn manditory! Git it right!
Then I ates a bagel. Mmmm bagels.

Twenty minutes later I got a Performance Award from a big kind feller on a Harldy. His flash’n blue and red lights were mesmerizing, he gifted me a pretty little yeller piece of paper dat reads mah name and things I allegedly did wrongz. Hooligan’ism isn’t wrong, it’s god damn right!
Mistress Cheeseburger snapped dis cool pic of me getting awarded:


Then we brappeled along until somewhere, where we drank moar caffeine and bought some jerky, I ruv me some jerky. It is SisterCousins life sustenance. Den trouble dun showed up, BanjoBoy. Such a sillywilly hillbilly, he rides on of dem big tour’n bikes, but I think he is too stoopid to realize it ain’t a dirt bike. Somethin ain’t right wif him. But he is pretty funny, and he can ride goods too.

The three of us rode our bykes all over. Up, down, left, sometimes right. Mostly left. Hours and hours of lefts, with some rights. So many giggles, lots of gravel, some stops for gas. Every time I wanted dat foods, BanjoBoy just looked at me and rode away.  I thinks he likes watching others suffer, good thing I like to suffer.

We finally stopped for runch somewhere up in the mountains. Banjoboy took off his Stich and the mountain town drunk came up and started chatting him up. Probably because BanjoBoy’s little behind looks so cutes in his little bike shorts, dat camo t-shirt he had on completed the outfit. Oh, the cowboy boots too, always dem boots. Well the drunk guy talked, no one listened, we ates our cheese burgers. Den the drunk guy got drunker and left.

Then we rode bikes some more, up, down left and this time lots of rights. There was a lot of that stuff that bikers hate, gravel. We all likez that junk. Slippy slidez, when in doubt, throttle out! BoyHowdy! Finally Banjoboy hathed to head homes to his wifes. I dun’t has one of them, neither does Mistress Cheeseburger. So we kept ghetto touring, after buying some meat sticks. Mmmm meat sticks.


A bit later we dun set up camp in them mountains, but it started to rains, so Cheesburger took her hammock down and we set up a ghetto chanty camping tent under my construction site salvaged Tyvek tarp. GHETTO TOURING. We was comfy as could be on them rocks, and ants, and beetles (that climbed into Burgers hair, but I couldn’t stop laughing as the beetle just burrowed away deeper and deeper into her hair… laughed until I dun cried myself into a silly stooper, I dunt think she likes me no more) Neither of us slept much, cause rocks, ants, the thought of more beetles, skeeters, pretty much we were busier than a cat covering up shit on a concrete floor all night flicking things off.

Ghetto chantey in all its glory:

Soon after setting up our GhettoTouring homestead, we dun decided to trudge through them woods and climb a big rock to watch da beauty of a sunset. I only brought my flippyfloppies, so it was a challenge, as I already dun drank a portion of whiskey. But the cuts and scrapes were so worth it:



Day 2

I dun’t has much to say bout this day other than


And I had to takes a whore bath, cause whores gotta bathe too…

There was also a newt in the bathing pond, LOOK AT IT:



Then it got hotter than two hampsters fart’n in a wool sock! Both dat temperature and and dem roads. We had wet t-shirt contests all day, I soaked mah dingle berries to keep them nice and cool. As cool berries are key to comfort.

More road spooge and dem views:

Mistress leaving me again… Don’t let her fool ya, she ain’t slow!


The day was 400+ miles of hillbilly, wiener hardening bliss, no cousins involved!

We dun stopped for some tasty TacoHell before stopping for the night. I tooks off mah crispy stich and found this little feller! He was dun try’n to sting mah pecker!!!!! Nooooooo!!! Not mah one-eyed trouser snake! He was probably trapped inside mah britches for a good while. Skurry stuff.

After all day road spooging, and a near death experience with the little bee… We stayed with mah new found Ma’ma’s / Cheeseburgers Ma’ma house. I got’s me a shower and a good nights sleep, not on rocks, but I did miss the ants biting my ankles. Did I tell you I like to suffer?


Day 3

I guess it was time to heads home, as SisterCousin has to continue with his Edmumafuckincation. Mistress Cheeseburger has one of them fancy yobs that pays money or things and stuff. So off we went.

The Hoon’n started shortly after leaving, real fast hoon’n. Fast sidewalk hoon’n, fast freeway hoon’n, erratic hoon’n, you name the type of hoon’n it happened. Then Denny’s. So much meats in and around mah mouth and Mistresses mouth. We both wanted to die of shame/salt overdose. Mistress swore off food for the rest of the day.

We rode sum moar, places, things were seen, more wiener hardening roads were slayed. Then I got hungry… Thankfully so did mah ghetto touring partner in crime, who swore off food earlier.  So we pulled over and had cheesebugers. After eating dem burgas, I noticed some little leggies sticking out of Cheeseburgers byke. SHE DUN MURDERED IT!

But do not fear, we gave the little dead traveler a nice burial under some dirt n sticks’n’things in the woods.

Soon there after we rode real fast past police officers, small childrens and stoopid tourists. GET OUTA MAH WAY. This is when mah tire started to be lyke, “you gonna die son” Der was no treads left in dat center. None. De nada. I ride the most powerful bike in dis here world. I kept spinning it on corner entrances when I power-downshifted.  But do not fear, I motarded mah ghetto touring rig to victory. Lots of unintentional kegel exercises!

After a bit, we slabbed home. Mistress must have had somethin up in der somewhere, cause she wanted to go fast. So we went fast. It was skurry, I had no tyre to go fast on. Dem triple digit speed on that close course with mah rear tire just wiggling around back yonder made mah poop hole tighen up. Since my kegel muscles were tired from the earlier puckering… I was ride’n dat gravy train on biscutt wheels all da way home.

I gots back to mah shack, took off my stich, and my bruther dun hollared frum across the yard:
“That would gag a maggot on a gut wagon”

“Yur welcome”

My job is done here.

Ghetto Touring: The Tourers



About SisterCousin:

I didn’t meet mah Momma until I dun turned 24 years old, the first thing she said when she saw me from across the yard from the trailer was “SisterCousin! I’m so glad yur here!” Thus SisterCousin hath been born on that day, I am a new man.

More About SisterCousin:
I like long motorcycle rides, talking about motorcycles, working on motorcycles, smelling motorcycles, beer, bourbon, titties, sleeping in the dirt and getting bitten on the ankle by ants. Whore baths are my ideal cleansing method, and the day wouldn’t be complete without a good toof brush’n, cause ain’t no one gonna wanna grope their toothless cousin, not even in the dark.

About SisterCousins Ryde:

I only ride the best bike ever created. Suzuki one day came up with an idear to make the bestest bike. It has a vtwin like a Hardly, but runs like the rest of them jap bikes. It’s a SV650, it goes places, it does things, it has tried to kill me numerous times, I hath tried to keel it a few timez mahself. We just refuse to die! It’s held together with, but not limited to, JB weld, Zipties, Gorrila tape, Solder, lubez, paracord, and the hopes and dreams of all the young’n hillbillies in this fine nation of ‘Murica.



Mistress Cheeseburger:

I am mistress cheeseburger and I like to ride motorcycles. I’ve been at it since December 2010. My riding life has been changed by four big events. I had two bikes before I got my 2005 DL650 and neither of them can hold a candle to the strom. I can flog the everloving shit out of that bike and it just goes… and goes.. and goes. I bought the strom for a song from a good buddy – that’s event one.

Event one led to event two: Once I bought the strom I was taken under a local Buddhist hillbilly’s wing and learnt the ways of the banjoboy – relaxin’, bein’ smooth and finding your zen flow. I’ve been chasing the banjoboy for two years now and he has taught me how to ride and shown me great places off the beaten path.

Event two prepared me for event three – meeting Jeff, an OFG (old fast guy), who invited me on his stellar annual NorCal ride. I was the first woman to ever attend the ride and I remember being nervous about crashing the boy’s ride and keeping up. They welcomed me and invited me on their weekly local ride. It has made me smoother and it plants the seed for longer rides. Sunday is my church of the twisted throttle and they are my fellowship.

Event four was meeting my SisterCousin, appropriately enough, at the ADV WARPED rally. The name fits ’cause neither one of us is right in the head. I didn’t think much at first until we ended up riding home together. He messaged me a few days later saying LET’S RIDE and so we did, and it was magic and now I am a member of ghetto touring, which is the product of SisterCousin’s sick mind. Actually, I’m usually leading the way ‘cause the OFGs have showed me where the good shit is and SisterCousin, while a faster, better rider than me, likes following me. Why, I don’t understand but it is what it is and it’s the best thing ever.


BEST. THING. EVER. I lurvs me some SisterCousin – but he isn’t a kissin’ Cousin so don’t get too excited.

If you want to be a member of ghetto touring, all that’s needed is to be a broke ass motorcycle addict willing to put in the miles on whatever bike you have so you can git the hell out of dodge, do it as cheap and possible and cover ground. If sleeping on rocks under a tarp after hundred of miles of twisties sounds like heaven, welcome to the fellowship.
Mistress Cheeseburger