“The Pace” – Bullshit

“You’re crazy”
“I couldn’t keep up”
“You might want to slow down a bit”
“This is going to only end one way for you”

When I started riding seven or so years ago I had no motorcycle experience what so ever. Right away I heard veteran riders speaking about “the pace” at rides, rally’s and gatherings. This mystical speed was unattainable to me for some time, “The perfect pace for the street, minimal brakes, perfect flow”

Do I take risks on the street? Sure. Recently a friend and I overstepped our safety margin and it ended in an unfavorable outcome for all involved. Was it a freak occurrence with multiple negating factors that lead to the incident? Yes, undoubtedly so. But instead of blaming the variables, we have tweaked a few things concerning our riding, and outlook on street riding in general. It’s not always about jumping side by side at 80mph over potholes.

Recently I had a moment of awakening, “The Pace” is different for every rider. There is no correct (or incorrect) speed as far as I am concerned. Sure, there are dangerous maneuvers, sketchy passes and down right stupid things we have all done on the street. But what might be sketchy to you could be unfathomable to another. Or butt-puckering to you is normal for an Isle of Man veteran racer.

The major factor here is experience. I am not talking about number of miles you have ridden, or how long you have been riding. Experience to me is far more complex than that, it’s an ongoing and ever evolving characteristic of being a motorcyclist. To enhance your skill set, it is key to become as proficient as possible in as many different riding styles in as many differing conditions as time/money allows. Whether it be dirt, flat track, road racing, mini bikes, supermoto, sport touring, you name it, they each teach you skills that will improve your riding as a whole.

Chastising someone for their speed has always been a touchy subject for me. I try to keep my judgments to myself, and very very rarely express riding input and then only to very close friends. If you see someone riding at a quick clip, maybe above your comfortable threshold of speed, it is important to not be so quick to offer input on their riding. As they likely do not care what you think, nor will they take it to heart. As a matter of fact I have seen riding friendships dissolve because of situations like this. For the most part, remember if someone is riding at a good pace (and they look confident and comfortable) say nothing. Forasmuch as your genuine concern for their safety may be, it will never be taken as interest in their well being.

 

Speed is relative and useless if you cannot control it.

5 Hour Mini Motard Race – Grange – UMRA

It’s been awhile since my last post. So let me take you back in time a bit.

Since completing the previous 24 hour Mini Moto race in August I caugt the little bike bug.
The TTR125 has gone through some motor mods, suspension upgrades and new tires. With the help of a friend of mine I slapped in a high comp weisco piston, BBR cam, and YZ85 front end (lowered 4″)

Flash forward a few months and I was jones’n for some more endurance racing.
I came across the UMRA racing organization down south in California, and just they happened to have a 5 hour endurance race at Grange, a track that “You must ride”

In steps Aaron:

We’ve been riding together out at the kart track in Stockton for a few months now. Our bromance is at an all time high. So, we signed up 6 days before the race, as per ghetto touring rules state: Everything must be last minute and janky. I adjusted the valves the night before and applied heat shielding to the bottom of the tank, cause race bike, bike prep complete.

We began our journey Saturday morning, both nursing mild hangovers (also, normal)

Stopped for gas somewhere along I-5 headed south from the Bay Area to LA:

When we decided to grab some grub, it was about the grubbing time hour. With only fast food around, we made the glorious decision to eat at Del Taco. Potato and Steak, get in my belly. Aaron munched on Fish Tacos, they didn’t include limes, the horror!!


The drive down south wasn’t too brutal. Good moto conversation and people watching for hours. No road trip is boring with SisterCousin.

Upon arriving in Apple Valley we needed to make one last stop to grab needed race items. Such as, but not limited to: Chips n Guac, dinner, breakfast, beer(lots of beer) some snacks etc. To Super Target! Away!! Well, Aaron got lost in said Super Target… I thought he died.

We finally arrived at the track around 6pm or so. Set up camp pretty quickly as it was getting dark rather fast. Also cold, very cold. Like, not prepared for the cold, cold. Aaron Eats went to work in the kitchen, delicious burgers and fries with all the sauces. This was the icing on the cake. No one else ate this good at the races, that’s for sure.

I drank my 5 Miller High Life’s, cause I’m fuck’n classy as fuck (and Super Target had no good beers worth buying) and went to bed. Aaron, I later learned, drank his 5 beers and a lot of Scotch, and went to bed.

This is when things started to get interesting. In my haste of setting up camp, and total ill-preparedness, I didn’t stake down my tent. Well, in the middle of the freezing cold night, the wind started whipping. You can only guess what happened next… The rain fly ripped half way off the tent, so I climbed out, re-attached and tried to go back to sleep. Which I did for a few minutes. Then the tent counted down and prepared for lift-off… I was the only thing left on the ground.

Damnit.

So with my genius intellect, I crawled out of the tent and took off the rain fly. With less resistance, the air should just blow through the tent and I can finally get to sleep! (It was then 4am) Well, it sure did whip through the tent, and it was colder than a dogs dick in a Wisconsin winter. But I got 2 hours of sleep before the 2-strokes started up at 6:30am.

 

When I fell asleep, there were only 10 or so racers present at Grange, after crawling out of the tent I awoke to this. A completely packed grid with a metric fuck ton of people, all ready to race mini’s! Glorious.

Soon there after, I wandered over to the grill area where Aaron was making coffee! Woo! I needed that so badly. He muttered something like “Get your mug. something something or antother coffee” So I picked up the mug, opened it up (thinking there was water in it from the night before) and poured it out on the ground. My eyes widened in horror, I just poured out COFFEE!?! It looked like Aaron was about to cry. I fucked up, major fuck up. Somehow, he forgave me and made me a new cup. I deserved castration. Aaron Eats then quickly got to work, still a but tipsy from the night before, but none the less made the best breakfast burritos I’ve ever had.

Racing:
Compared to my previous mini race, this was a whole new world. Anything from stock NSR’s to fully race prepped CRF150R’s pushing 25HP. 65 2 strokes, 125 4 strokes, just to name a few. Which made for a totally awesome, and super intense racing experience. You couldn’t slack or day dream, had to keep it pinned the entire length of your stint, cause otherwise you was gonna get smashed. Did I mention that there were 30 bikes on the track at all times?! I had reached Valhalla.

Some pictures of Aaron rip’n around (white handguards)

Much to our surprise, our “modded” TTR was the least modded out of any other 125 4stroke present. There were three other TTR’s on the grid, all with either 12″ or 17″ wheels, which makes a massive difference compared to our stock steel wheeled 19/16 setup, as rotational weight is key with these mini’s. So we made it our mission to late brake and totally just fuck everyone’s corner entry. Yes, we are horrible people, no we don’t care about your feelings. It was totally awesome.

During the race the winds picked up to roughly 40mph (per Google weather) and it rained off and on a bit for the last 2 hours or so. Aaron had one little crash, and I had two crashes on my last stint. One being a really wicked high-side which rocked my dome.

It went something like this:
“Ohh man this is gettin’ hella greazy!”
“Ohhhhhhhhh!!”

*Insert TTR going to full lock and SisterCousin holding the throttle wide open*

“Ohhhhhhh I got this! I’m a flatrack pro!”

*Picture of sky and clouds*
*Back of head smashing into the ground*

“Uhhhhhhggggggggggggg gahhhhhhhh, what have I done!”

A few mins later I was back at it, in the moistness

Other than those few crashes, we had zero mishaps or mechanicals! Tons of “Oh shit, oh fuck!” moments, but that’s mini racing! If you ain’t sliding, you ain’t racing!!

We ended up finishing 4th, out of 4 in our class, which sounds horrible. But when you compare our lap results to that of our fellow TTR brethren who where on racing slicks (and rain slicks in the rain) and 12″ tires, being 3 laps down from third place is good enough for us. Actually, it is better than good enough, I’m pretty stoked. But since we didn’t podium we had to eat at Del Taco one more time. If we had podiumed, we would have eaten at Harris Ranch for a victory meal.

 

Drive:
But this story does not end there, oh no! We still had to drive home 6+ hours after racing all day, with essentially no sleep. Which, usually is not a problem. But after driving for an hour and a half or so, some white stuff came whizzing down. Then all of the sudden it was a white out, snow covered ground, ice, zero traction. None of those things are good in a 2WD loaded down small pickup with two tired guys.

So we made the tough decision to get dinner and think about or options for the night. So off to defeat dinner we went, Del Taco round 2! We soon decided to get the last hotel room in town (somewhere up in the mountains) as Highway 58 had just closed due to a metric fuck ton of accidents and whiteout conditions. Which turned out to be a good choice, surely.

We awoke to this:

But a good portion of 58 was still closed and Cal Trans was clearing snow/cars still… So we made the great decision to drive a tiny mountain road with no guard rail to skeet skirt around the closed section of freeway. Hey, fuck off, at least it was daylight! It was “interesting” we crawled down the mountain.

 

Once out of the snow, it was smooth sailing home. I-5, was boring, but we chatted about late braking and slamming the door in peoples faces for hours. I am sure we are well loved by the UMRA folks now. “That gawd damn TTR fucks from NorCal, no respect!”

But it soon became that hour of hunger again. We saw a sign for Del Taco. We looked at each other, nodded, and submitted to the gut punishment one last time.

 

The end!

 

 

2015 M1GP 24 Hour Mini Moto Endurance Race

Ever see something on the internet that just blows your mind and you physically exclaim “I must do that”? Well that was my instant reaction when I saw a race report a few years back on a M1GP Mini Moto Endurance. At the time, I was living out on the East Coast… So I had to patiently wait until the correct opportunity arose.

Flash forward a few years to present day 2015. I asked a bunch of fellow moto heads if they would be interested in racing this awesome little event. After receiving enough interest, I went out and bought a lightly used TTR125LE, registered the team and assembled the crew.

Ms.Cheeseburger was on board, no hesitation. Having never ridden a mini moto, or been in a race, this was a no brainer. She was on the team, cause Iron Butt status.

The Inhaler took a bit of convincing, he likes sleep, eating, and hooning for shorter periods of time, kinda like a princess. But after much prodding and nagging/ coercion, he too signed up. Having much experience on dirt bikes, this would be right up his ally. He too, had never raced anything.

Lastly our mutual friend Adam jumped on board, he is a seasoned veteran racer. Having taken many top finishes in Supermoto AFM races etc, having his race experience would greatly aid our goon squad.

With these fellow three sickly individuals, we made the bare minimum of four riders to make a team. The level of stoke was rising.

 

The Bike: 
This little turd bike was picked up in Hollister for 900 dollars, I drove down yonder in 100 degree heat spell in a truck with no AC. But mission accomplished, race bike acquired. It was a low hours bike, little to no use. I believe the bike was purchased 2-3 months before the race, I put some cool Bridgestone BT-45’s on it and some adult sized springs, as that is what the internet told me to do, and then the bike sat.

 

The Journey Begins:
Friday, the night before the race, our goon squad assembled at mi casa to load the gear, prep the bike, and drive down to LA. Yes, that’s correct, prep the bike. We adjusted the valves, shaved the front fender, applied our slick race number, gorilla glued a tail light on and off we went. Oh, and we each rode the little turd bugler around the block all of once. Super tested for durability. The bike had been ran for five minutes since I had purchased it. RACE READY!

After many hours of slightly hoon’n down I-5 Inhaler woke up from a Patty Nap and exclained “Arby’s!”, so Arby’s we did. It was a horrible decision (more on that later) Did a Walmart pit stop as well:

We arrived in Willow Springs at 1am on Friday night… Team Hired Goons slept for 4 and a half hours Friday night, we awoke at 6 am to nibble on the saltiest breakfast I have ever consumed in my life. Between Arby’s and breakfast salt explosion, none of us had working taste buds.

*smacks lips for hours*

Inhaler also took a snooze at the table:

Team Hired Goons arrives at Willow Springs International Raceway somewhere around 7:45am. Young Lee (race cooridinator) directed us towards our pit zone, which we would call home for the next 24+ hours. The team set up our pit in about 20 mins. Easy up wrapped in Tyvek tarp for extra shade, Ghetto Racing! All of the other teams had lavish pit set ups, multiple easy-ups, tables, grills, sound systems, lights, generators, trailers with beds etc etc. So we really just classed up the place.

Racer meeting, tech inspection and all that other pre race jazz was said and done. We had roughly 40 minutes to “practice” Having never looked at the course map, this was gonna be fun! Adam went out first, did his 4-5 laps, then the Inhaler, Ms Cheeseburger and finally myself. We all came back in giggling like small children, the largest grins I have ever seen. This was gonna be a BLAST!

 

We decided Adam was going to do the Le-Mans start, for the sole reason that the rest of the team was just too damn lazy to run anywhere… As running is an inferior mode of transportation. Well, it was an excellent move on our part, Adam donned his race Tutu (thanks Walmart) and got a decent start from the way way back of the grid. Drummers were drumming, motorcycles were revving, this banana’s adrenaline was a pumpin!

Adam hauls butt!

I’d just bore you with a break down of each stint, hell, I don’t remember half of them. Seeing as we only had 4 members on our Goon squad, we each rode 6 stints, ranging from 1-2.5 hours each. At the beginning of the race, it was just too effing hot. We were lucky if we made it an hour before pitting. But everyone was posting good lap times, so we were totally okay with this. The first 6 hours went off without a hitch, no crashes, lap times stayed consistent, time in the pits was minimal, the grins on our faces just kept getting bigger and bigger. After everyone had done two stints out on the track we just sat there in our ghetto hovel laughing like lunatics. Riding this silly little TTR around a go-kart track was the most fun any of us could remember ever having. Who knew 9 horse power could be so much fun!?

We soon realized that the TTR was having front end issues, it was pogo’ing so hard through the corners, the front tire was only making contact with the ground half the time. (It turned out to be a combination of things… The tire was not seated entirely on the bead, we were running extra hard fork springs, and the oil in the fork was probably OEM being 9 years old… Pogo bike for the win!)

Cheeseburger out there hauling the mail:

I went out on my third stint, ended up following a really quick Grom, setting our team, lap record of a 1:01, and then low siding pretty hard thirty seconds later. Luckily I was wearing a Helite Air Bag Vest. It took the brunt of the impact, but once I had stopped sliding I realized I could not get up. It was like being a little turtle stuck on it’s back. I couldn’t get my footing, and my arms wouldn’t touch the ground. It took a minute to get up, then I couldn’t bend over to pick up the bike! So I ran around the other side of the bike and pulled it up by the handlebar. At least my tail bone didn’t hurt! Lesson, don’t try and keep up the the Groms, the front end just doesn’t have the traction.

 

Things started to get weird…

The sun set, around the time we all started to do our third stints, fatigue started to set in. Also, this was about the time where we realized that we would have to make multiple runs to the gas station, as we had only brought one 5 gallon gas can… This would eleminate any down time as the night dragged on…

Most of us had already consumed 2-4 Redbulls/ 5 hour energy’s, as sleep was minimal the night before. Before my third stint I drowned a Redbull and half a 5 Hour energy and hoon’d out onto the track. Instantly I got behind a XR100 with a bigbore kit. We had an epic battle for close to an hour and a half. Well, I thought it was epic, we braked so hard into corners I thought the poor bikes were going to sheer in half. But I finally passed him! Only to get behind another TTR! We battled, and battled and slammed the door in each others faces over and over again. Finally, again, I passed him. Then I got behind the Catalyst Reactions Grom. Not exactly sure which of their lady riders I got behind, but we played for a long time as well. Then it donned on me, I had been out on the track for a really long time. I looked up finally and saw Cheeseburger practically throwing a tantrum in the pit board section. Ok, one more lap around and I will pit.

*Insert face plant*

Yes, I lowsided, again. Once rolling into the pits Adam gassed up the bike and ripped out onto the track. “Grant, you have been out on the track for two and a half hours…” Woops?!

That was around 3am. Most of the evening/ morning was just a big blur.
Kinda like the Inahler, so fast he is a blur:

We each finished our 4th stint somehow. The Inhaler and Adam passed out for a few hours, they needed their beauty sleep.

 

The Morning Sun: 

6am came around, we still had six more hours of racing?! Cheeseburger and I had about 45 minutes of sleep the night before, Adam and the Inhaler had “a bit” more. Somehow, between the pogo fork front end, and the complete lack of sleep for two days, Hired Goons was staying consistent in our lap times. Looking back, this is a miracle in itself. We were bouncing between 8th and 6th place for the last 8 or so hours, so this was crunch time! On one of the Inhalers last stints, we woke him up ten minutes before his time to go out. He threw on his leathers, jumped on the bike and I pushed him through the pit area, (as the bikes had to be under foot power only in the pits) he exclaimed in a half delirious half sleep deprived wail “I just woke up!”

*starter clicks, engine screams, and he goes WOT down the back straight*

I’m still not sure if this was the funniest thing I had heard all weekend, or I was dipping into the insane/sleep deprived filth pool. But I had to sit on the ground and laugh for a few seconds as tears rolled down my face.

A few seconds later he was out there trying to beat my lap times:

I finally managed to get some sleepy times from 7:30-9:30am’ish. Banana was real tired:

Finally I was awoken by Adam and the Inhaler. “Hey, Cheeseburger has been out there for about an hour or so, it’s about your time to go. Get dressed”
“Oh, and it’s about 10am, we really only have 2 hours left”

“Awesome!” I exclaimed

“So we were thinking… maybe… you could just do it?”

I snapped back to reality, wait. They want me to do a two hour stint, at the end of the race, in the 100 degree heat? Quickly I glanced up at Adam and Inhaler, they resembled shells of the racers they were the evening before. Adam was hankering for a shower, the Inhaler just didn’t want to ride no more.

“I can try to do the two hours? Just check in with me at an hour or so to see how I feel” I groggily replied as I hopped on the bike.

Well, the next hour or was was too a blur. I did lots of laps, went real real fast. Watched our competitors pit a few times and I thought to myself “It has to be about that 1 hour mark if they are pitting, I am freaking exhausted, have the worst dry mouth ever, and my legs are cramping. I should pit” A few laps later I see the Inhaler and Adam in the grandstands, but instead of asking if I was “ok” (cause let’s face it, none of us are “ok” at this point) Inhaler is up there just waving me on like a mad man. No one is in the pits, no one is in their leathers. I’m gonna die out here.

Somehow, I rocked out with my banana out and pound out even more laps. The front end chatter was getting worse and worse every lap as the track heated up. It was like riding a darned jackhammer through the corners at 30mph. My legs were on the verge of complete failure. The saliva in my mouth had turned to a mucus like substance. Sweat was dripping into my eyes. Make the pain go away! But miraculously, my lap times got faster?! I went from pulling 1:07’s to 1:05’s down to 1:04’s! Zero Fucks Given, but still trying not to crash on the last hour of racing.

Soon there after I started seeing the racers from Japan/Taiwan walk out to the finish line. Their team was pulling the fastest lap times around the track by far. Great riders, fantastic sportsmen to boot. As time dragged on, they started laughing at me as I rounded the corner to the front straight, as all of the visible front end chatter was hilarious to watch. Soon, their laughter turned to cheering?! They were cheering for me! As the riders on the Groms would pass me (as they were pulling sub 1 minute laps) they would all turn around and give me a big thumbs up and a grin. Damn, I must be the laughing stock of the track, excellent… But to be honest, the team of racers from overseas really gave me a second wind. I was so close to calling it quits and pulling into the pits before they showed up and started cheering. If you are reading this, I cannot thank you enough!

Then entire paddock started pouring out onto the race track. The end must be near! Thank Mexican Baby Jesus! I’m gonna live!

All of the sudden there was a metal on metal screech, the bike pitched from one side to another with the rear wheel locked.
“Oh mother of…”
I held on for dear life as the bike went lock to lock three times and eventually came to a skidding stop on the side of the track. I jumped off, looked down and saw that the chain had fallen off the sprocket and jammed in every place possible.

 

I took off my gloves and threw them into the atmosphere. The corner worker ran up screaming “NOT THE FOOR-TWEANTY BIKE” I couldn’t help to laugh as he tried to push start it. This poor child had sat out in the sun for the entire race, he just wanted to see the hooligan mobile finish the damn race!

Well, we didn’t finish… DNF, two laps from the end of the 24 hour race. It’s hard not to laugh at that.

All in all, this long mini moto race, was by far the most fun I have ever had on a motorcycle. 8+ hours (mostly sleep deprived) pinning it to win it on a 9 horse power bike, with a top speed of 35mph. Today marks 4 days after the race, the DNF smile is still strung across my face. Not only are we headed back for next years race, but we’re going to prep the crap out of our small not so race ready bike. Engine goodies, suspension mods, full super fast race bike exhaust, gotta beat the Groms!

I’d like to congratulate Catalyst Suspension Team, “If it ain’t Grom, I don’t want to be right” They rocked out for 24 hours and took the win!

Joe of 4TheRiders took a good portion of the pictures listed above, you know, the ones that look professional.

Beat the Meat

Well, once again, it had become the time to ride. Cept this time we has a new hoon’ing member. He goes by the Inhaler (explanation later) Cheeseburger had planned a delicious route up north once again, but this time we did it backwards and a in a big loopy kinda orientation, cause dis here California is on fire, and smoke burns mah eyes.

My bossman let me take out a super fancy 2014 BMW 1200GS, who in their right mind would do such a thing… So this edition ain’t so ghetto, or at least on mah end. It was all fancy and electronic. I painters taped all the leading edges of them there fairings, so they didn’t get chipped, cause this cousin is far too expensive to repair.

 

So Thursday night, Inhaler rode up to mi casa from his dwelling about an hour south. We then rode up to an undisclosed location north to crash at a sick persons house, the feller has somewhere around 11 motorcycles. He needs treatment, just one more should do.

Inhaler muttered something as we went to sleep:
“I wonder how many men there are in their 50’s and 60’s, freshly divorced, living in half demolished and under-construction homes with 10+ motorcycles?…”
I LOL’ed until tears.

Cheeseburger: I found us a real nice place to stay with a sick feller I know from hoonin’. He’s one of the regular guys I ride with. I figured it would be nice to get a jump start on day one. His garage is sweet. He even has bikes in his dining room. He is a true inspiration for me. 

 

Shortly after leaving motorcycle garage mecca, we romped up north some more, stopped for snacks and safety.

 

It was starting to get warm, so Cheeseburger gifted Inhaler this cute little skull and crossbone bandanna. Ain’t he just cute as a button!?

 

Cheeseburger: I do think this is pretty cute. I explained to Inhaler that a bandanna is a beautiful thing to have out riding. He’s starting to get it. 

 

We hoon’d around for a quick minute, then took another break for snacks. Riding between Fast and Stupid is draining, must hydrate! Hydrate or die!

Finally we made it up and inside that “Lost Coast”
It’s one of them special places only special people get to go. The beauty cannot be captured in a picture, so I didn’t even try.  But here’s a picture of our break after goaty Lost Coast hoon’n

 

Cheeseburger: The lost coast is just…. I knew I had a problem when I rode it two weekends in a row. It’s four hours from my house just to get to the start of it. It’s goaty, twisty, remote. At times it is like you can reach out and touch the sea. True magic. 

Eventually we dun got real hungry, everyone had a hankering for a burger. So burgers is what we dun got. They were so tasty. Here is where we first witnessed the rare and rather spooky Inhaler inhaling. He finished that double cheese burger in about the time it takes to lick a stamp. It was just gone! We tried to warn him that all dat meat was gonna hurt. He didn’t care.

Cheeseburger: Inhaler is overall a pretty civilized boy. He hasn’t been roughed up by us yet so I was shocked to look over and his burger was gone after 45 seconds. I don’t think I’d finished putting ketchup on my burger before his was gone. Also, at this point I REALLY wanted to take a 90 minute diversion and see if our favorite ridge road was open on account of all of the things being on fire. DENIED. 

Witness Mistress feeding her little Wee. It is a thirsty beast. Especially when it is being pinged off the rev limiter for close to an hour. Fast times were fast.

Cheeseburger: My wee does what it wants. It eats all the oil it wants. It goes when I ask. If she needs a wee nip after hoonin’ times who can blame her? 

If this doesn’t make you happy, then go crawl in your special place and cry until clarity.
Witness this new Bridgestone T30 sport touring tire, completely heat cycled, bubbled.
We don’t need no stink’n track dayz. Just give us 299!
(If you know bout this tire, you know it is super hard compound… and does not do this on the regular)

 

Cheeseburger: I don’t know how this tire ended up in this condition. I was on mah best behavior. 

After even more hoon’n we stopped so I could get dat der whore bath. Gotta clean mah face, dis here beard gets gnarly quick. Bugs nest, things grow.
The Inhaler wasn’t feeling too hawt, he had to lay down for a quick little rest.
Inhaler: “Make the pain stop”
CheeseBurger: “In 2.5 hours when we get to camp”

 

Cheeseburger: We told him to take it easy on the cheeseburgers and ice cream. It got real smokey for a spell, too. For some reason SisterCousin thought I was going to take us the short route to our camping spot. But that would have meant giving up my happy place and missing out on some sweet riding. As if. 

Luckily for him, the burger passed through his there insides and he regained hoonie status.
We romped up to Mistresses’s happy place. It is so beautiful, even in the smoke. *spooge*

 

Cheeseburger: We were pondering the majesty of the mountains. This spot just kills me. I leave a little piece of my heart there every time. Also, we night hooned up this road. Good times. I don’t know why I love night riding so much but I do. 

Made it to camp around 10:30pm on Friday night. We was all real real tired.
Set up dem tents, had some sweaty meat with cheese fer dinner. Drank some bourbon, took some drugs, then I dun there almost brushed mah toofs with bourbon. Luckily I saved it at the last minute as I was bouts to pour the precious liquid on mah brush. That would have been alcohol abuse!

The next morning I arose at 6:45, as my alarm was going off across the campsite in my top case and neither of those lazy fookers moved an inch. Also, I really didn’t get much der sleeps that night, as I didn’t pack a sleeping bag, cause it’s August and California is on fire, should be hawt right?

Wrong.

I shiverd all night until I got up, put my wool socks on and wrapped mah bare legs in a jacket. I is smurt. Who needs pants!?

So at 6:45 I crawled out of bed, donned my stich and snapped some snazzy pictures of our home.

 

Cheeseburger: I am the mistress after all. I will get up when I wanna. 

Inhaler, so tired, yet so stoked, much confused and very cold.

Dat crick

CheeseBurger and Inhaler looking at a little fishie, which Inhaler poked with a stick cause it looked dead. It wasn’t, it was very much alive.

Cheeseburger: He was a cute little fishie. Inhaler thought he was dead. Fishie was just hiding. Then we saw a frog. I love frogs and think they are adorable. 

Once on the road we hauled, hoon’d, cried in our helmets. Them roads, so epic. I cannot use words.
Exemplary.

 

Cheeseburger: That road WAS spoogetastic. All I did was git curious after seeing the road carving up the mountain on our last trip. I love that our repertoire of roads is constantly expanding. 

Inhaler

Mistress CheeseBurger

SisterCousin!

 

Slide-e times were had, giggles ensued, eyes watered from the sheer and pure bliss.
Then we got dat hunger again, cheeseburgers it is!

Cheeseburger: What Sis isn’t telling you is that we mapped out cheeseburgers, were told it would take X minutes and made it there in X/2 minutes.

If you get my drift. Back to SisterCousin…

 

Once again, the Inhaler gulped down his burger in record time, but he had this lust for the soft serve, so off we went to fix his craving. I dun tried to snap a photo before he took the first bite… But alas, I was too slow. The Inhaler inhaled dat sweet sweet tasty cream.

Shortly after soft serve was demolished, we had to stop at my favorite swimm’n hole. It is a bit chilly on da willy, but so soothing. Inhaler did not approve.

 

Cheeseburger: I cannonballed my ample behind in the water without warning. That water was cold and real refreshing. AAAAH. 

Post swim

This gets SisterCousins rare *Two Thumbs Up* approval.

 

Cheeseburger: I sometimes ask myself if SisterCousin could get any weirder. The jury is still out on that one. He also neglects to mention that we got nice & dirty right after this and before hitting Lassen. 

We was haul’n rooster testicles through that there park, thankfully right after we stawpit, dat pesky Ranger drove by and mean mugged us. I gave him the “Ain’t doin nothing wrong (at the moment)” glare.

 

 

Cheeseburger: Speak for yourself. I am pretty sure I was up to no good as the ranger rolled by. 
Obligatory Lassen picture

Finally we made it over to Quincy, Ca. (my special happy place)
Stopped at a local bar, got a drink, then headed over to Moons for Dinna. After making us wait for 20 mins, they still had no time frame on when we was gonna be seated. So we rode over to Subway. Cause us hoon’s can’t wait, we had riding to do still!

 

Cheeseburger: Now hold on a gosh darn minute. This is where I christened fresh meat as the Inhaler. See, we watched him put a foot long sammich down his throat in the time it took us to finish about a third of our sammiches. He also was threatening to shove his inhaler in his helmet the whole ride because California (and my happy places) is ON FIRE. So there’s smoke and that’s no good for him. So I told him his name was the Inhaler. He stood up, walked away and chuckled. He liked the name and it stuck.

After a delicious Subway dinner, we romped up into the mountains on my favorite road in the world. In the pitch black darkness. Yes!!!! Night Hoon!

Later on down the road we found our “campsite”, rode down a dirt road for awhile, didn’t see any signs for said camp ground, so we pitched tents where we stopped. I joked that we were probably camping in a one of them Cult mountain folk Praise the Lord camps. But, Advil was washed down with bourbon, tents were set up (with rainflys this time to conserve body heat, cause it was NIPPY and I had no sleeping bag…) Cheeseburger lent me her blankie, cause I was gonna die otherwise.

 

Cheeseburger: I sometimes feel like a mama bear to the boys. Sis was cold, I had a big flannel blanket I brought as extra. I was glad it was there. 

In the morning we awoke to this:

We just so happened to be camping about 200 yards away from the lake, where a sheet ton of other campers were. This was perfect for us, as we don’t like people. People suck, motorcycles rock.
Upon leaving, and riding back down the dirt road there was a sign that read something along the lines of “God is great, thanks for coming to our retreat”  I KNEWS IT.

We had some durty hoon’n to do on this Sunday. It was also a steady 101 degrees, talk about hawt.
Filthy, sweaty, grindy, sensual, durty roads.

Here the hoon’s are hugging what tid bit of shade is available.

Happy durtay timez!

 

Cheeseburger: I love this photo. SisterCousin failed to mention the twisties in between, the extra dirt, the other extra delicious twisties and happy route one times we had. Sis and Inhaler had stopped for food. I was not hungry and needed to hoon off by myself for a bit cuz I get like that. I was gonna head down route one mahself but then I had a sheriff turn around, perhaps to talk to me about riding bikes… I wasn’t feeling social so I made a left turn and went up a road I had seen on the map. Hmm, pavement ends sign. OK. Wait, through traffic not advised? So I keep on. No trucks? Good thing I am not in a truck. And off I went down ten miles of really narrow, seldom traversed dirt road. One lane wide, dug from the earth in spots. I saw a mama bear and her two cubs. Well… watched them haul ass away from me. I almost dropped my bike once on a real narrow turn. I was glad when there was pavement again and wouldn’t you know, it was on the boys route home. So I changed from my wet clothes and relaxed while I waited for them to arrive. 

Later on that day we stopped for our 2nd to last stop on the trip. Inhaler uttered “I’ve been moist all weekend” Sounds like someone has a yeast infection!

 

Cheeseburger: I needed a wee nip after those dirty times. Also, it was I who said I was wet from the waist down. ha. 

Up next was the railing of 128. It’s all our special road. Much speed, lots of style, safety definitely third. This was finally when the GS and I felt like one. So much evil, lots of safe passes were made. My face hurt so badly after that road, too many smiles per mile, I didn’t know that level of happiness was possible. *mind blown with a 12ga hollow point slug*

Lastly we hopped on 101 South headed back to the bay area. Cause it was late, we all had work in the morning and 3 days of riding 13+ hours a day, at speeds between Fast and Stupid took it’s toll. Mistress had other plans, no relaxing ride home for us. WOT for most of the ride, passing cruisers, schooling sportbiles, filtering safely at sane speeds. You name it, we did it.

Another  mindbogglingly good weekend in the books.
It’s hard to believe that 1500 miles went by so fast.

 

Cheeseburger: It was good, fun times. I know how to map a ride. We just need MORE days off and more rides. And yeah, I may have moved quickly but I just wanted to see the sprotbike riders fancy power ranger suits. 

 

 

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…
Fan’flipping’tastic

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.

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:
DOT FMVSS 218 (US), ECE 22-05 (EUROPE), SAI AS1698 (AUSTRALIA) & PSC (JAPAN) SAFETY AND TESTING STANDARDS
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.

Noise:
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

Ventilation:

It has vents, they vent air.
How well?
Decently?

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.

Visor:
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.

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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)

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!
PIN IT TO WIN IT!!!
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.

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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

SPOOOGE

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:

 

EPIC MIND BOGGLING ROAD SPOOGE

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.