Ya Fuckin' Chili

Rich and I had a good, long, hot as hell day in the shop - welding, grinding, drilling, and tearing apart the shovelhead that'll be on its way back to Nebraska in two days. Sitting out in his driveway in the cool night air, we decided to get some laughs in afterwards by discussing George Carlin stand-ups and watching a few through youtube on my phone. Whether you like him or not, he's right on a lot of the subjects he jokes about - politicians, everyday expressions, and in this case... bikers.

I saw photos of Willie G. at Born Free. As much as I love Harley Davidson, really, I do - I can't help but wish it would turn itself around, like this country we live in - lots of show, and no go.... Without HD, much of what we love in this lifestyle would not be a reality. So those of you who say "Fuck the Factory", try and remember there's a great American Company called Harley Davidson in the great city of Milwaukee, USA - no matter how much it's lost it's way in the form of Apparel, glitter covered do-rags, and selling shit with its name-brand at double the cost of most other companies.

If I had the chance to speak with Mr. Davidson, I'd run this by him and see what he had to say about it. Dentists, bureaucrats, and pussy-boy software designers might help stockholders get a return on their investment, but it's a sad state of affairs...maybe he has no control over it?



Riding back from the Dice Party at Kung Fu Tap and Taco in Des Moines, 2010, Rich and I hit a huge storm from Lincoln to Kearney, NE. 130 miles of a torrential downpour, filling my hole-y cowboy boots and drenching the two of us to the point where I was stripped down to my underwear in a gas station bathroom using the electric hand-dryers to dry my shit out. I'm not complaining, it comes with the territory. What really chapped my ass was what happened when we were sitting in the station, drinking coffee, trying to warm up. This conversion van rolls up, pulling a trailer, with three brand new baggers on it. I started laughing and walked away, avoiding any interaction with the three tools getting out of their comfortable cage. One of these "bikers" cornered Rich and asked where we were coming from, where we were going, the usual small-talk. Rich mentioned we were coming from Des Moines and that we were on our way back to Denver. This fool replies, "Denver, oh we're going way past that". Rich said, "Where ya headed" and the guy says "Cheyenne". Shit you not, Cheyenne. For those of you familiar with the Mountain West, or just American Geography most third graders probably know - Cheyenne is approximately 100 miles north of Denver. From where we were at that point, riding west on I-80, Cheyenne was actually 40 miles closer than Denver.

I've said it before, I'll say it again - I don't care who gets into motorcycles, what background they have, or what they ride. I'd rather see a hipster(as much as I hate them) riding a piece of shit XS-650, with three months experience, and actually living it, than these douchebags trailering three garbage wagons while they sat back in their AC, reclined seats, listening to their radio, and staying comfortable and dry. Horrible example of how anyone with two-wheels should enjoy them.

Hey skeezex, ya ain't cool, ya fuckin' chili, and chili ain't never been cool...