Scooter

For those who follow my blog, you know I enjoy writing about my life, the funny things I encounter along the way, my personal interpretations of "things" that I find humorous and interesting and hilarious discussion or dialogue.  Riding my motorcycle is very theraputic for me; most of the time riding lacks much humor, nor does it allow me to engage in any sort of discussion.  What riding does allow me to do is to clear my mind and enjoy Americana, experiencing it through all senses, something cages (what bikers call closed in vehicles) will not.  Many times, though, there has been some funny dialogue that took place on rides when I've stopped to get gas, stay overnight somewhere or simply slowing down because there's contstruction work going on.  The book I'm still working on details a couple of those adventures and some of the events of those rides, but today I had a chance to think back on some of the more humorous things that have happened or been said while on the open road.

My buddy Kerry Lee has consistently given me a hard time because Scooter (the name I've given my bike) is Japanese made.  Harley Davidson riders always give the "rice burners" difficulty through good natured ribbing and Kerry takes every advantage of the opportunity with me--primarily because I'm a class A smart ass and wear him out at all costs.  I don't blame him one bit for taking what most would consider an easy shot at me, but while he and I were riding through the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee he lost the baffles from his 2002 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic.  The baffles are placed inside tail pipes on motorcycles and both muffle and change a bike's sound and are largely responsible for the musical roar you hear while bikers throttle their engines.  While we were riding his somehow came loose and flew out of the tail pipe.  When we stopped at a traffic light he was obviously embarrassed and upset at the sound of his machine, not to mention the bike's riding performance.  Not wanting to miss an opportunity to give Kerry some grief I glanced over at him, seeing his head hanging low to avoid the confused stares proffered by curious onlookers, and said with a straight face, "Hey, your bike sounds like a rice burner.  I know a good mechanic if you need one."  With that I erupted into laughter and we rode on, his bike sounding like a sick and dying big horned sheep, Kerry fuming at my wise crack.

While riding through New Orleans Kerry Lee and I decided to stay the night and hang out in the French Quarter.  We were in a club on Bourbon Street and I told him I had to go to the restroom but would be back in a minute.  Upon my return, I found him making out with a chick.  This chick was a parapelegic and bound to a wheelchair.  I was flabbergasted and felt my body going into shock, as I was certain he was probably breaking at least twenty laws even though we were in Louisiana.  Ugh.

During another ride, Kerry and I were in Destin, Florida and had spent a gruelling day in and out of construction.  The temperature was somewhere north of hotter than the hinges of hell but things were looking up as we exited a construction zone and traversed a bridge.  On the bay below a "fishing rodeo" was taking place.  By fishing rodeo, this meant hundreds of boats and thousands of girls in bikinis.  I was twisting in and out of traffic to get a look at the scene in the salty inlet when I noticed a set of red and blue lights erupt behind me.  I received a ticket from the most pissed off cop you could ever imagine to meet.  He was approximately four feet nothing and had obviously been bullied while in high school; now it was his time to get even with the world.  "Do you know how fast you were riding," he screamed at me?! 

"Nope, but I'm pretty sure you're about to tell me," I replied, hoping he would find my retort funny.  On the contrary, I earned a ticket for speeding and riding in the state of Florida with no helmet because I couldn't produce proof of $10,000 worth of medical liability insurance.  It's true--look it up.  When I gave the officer my medical insurance card, which didn't provide the amount of liability insurance I was covered up to, he inquired as to the amount.  "Well, if you'll call that 1-800 number on the back, sir (I was attempting to be polite after he obviously didn't find me funny), you'll see that I'm covered up to....."  He didn't give me a chance to finish. 

"Do I look like your GD (you know the abbreviation) secretary?"

"Tell ya what officer, why don't you go ahead and write that ticket," I replied?

While riding through Kentucky several years ago with my good friend Becky, I accidentally sprayed her with some very disgusting spittle, as she rode her bike just behind me.  This was during my chewing tobacco years and riding a motorcyle never deterred my from putting a wad of Red Man in my mouth.  She didn't find my spit funny at all, but I cackled.  As I look back on it (and especially since I've stopped smokeless tobacco) I see her side of the issue. 

Just today, on our ride from the Chicago suburbs to Beloit, Wisconsin, my wife, who never, ever sweats, remarked, "My butt is soaked."  The outdoor temperature was 90+ degrees and much hotter than that on the open highway.  I laughed all the way to the state line. 

There's been a ton of adventures and generally funny stuff that's happened while I've ridden across this great country.  These are just a sampling of the stories that reminded me of a time......