|07-25-2008, 09:43 AM||#1|
Joined: Jul 2008
Location: Banger if ya know her
You can go crazy again... the rebuttal
So yeah, I have been hearing some nasty rumors being spread on this site about Wheelgun's trip to the north. BY wheelgun's trip to the North. As his riding buddy and one of his best freinds, I am here to set things straight. I didn't even know the goat! Nope, sorry, wrong story, but I will have to set that one straight as well.
So it starts off as a story of 2 slightly insane guys, sometime in the early 90s...
see, Mark and I have always been Destined to be friends. That capital D is on purpose. My Grampy Mac and his Grampy Bernard were pals. His uncle Bernie was our youth leader. His father and my uncle Kevin are best friends. My father and his Uncle Myron are best freinds. His cousin Sam and my brother Sam.
So when I was going for my motorcycle permit (to get it in Maine, you have to attend an 8 hour class on motorcycle safety), my brother (who Mark looked after in High School after I graduated. We are only a year apart, but he also took the 2nd year senior program) mentioned it to this Mark guy that I had hung out with a bunch of times, so he wanted to go too. Out of a class full of loud Harley riders, a leather goods shop owner (don't ask what type), and some other ignorant people, guess who the teacher dumped on? Mark. He clicks well with people sometimes! So enter stage right, a pothead living on Mt. Dew and nicoteine, and a Pentecostal Preacher's kid working 12 hour night shifts at the local lumber mill. As this kid I work with says, "WTF?!" (he really says 'double-yew tee eff'. Its kinda funny, in a nerdy, wanna-punch-him-inna-face way.). but somehow, we ended up freinds and riding buddies. I can't tell you all teh stories here, it would take too long, but we both had different street bikes, mostly 700 range, and had a bunch of adventures. Running from the cops after we hit one with a water balloon (I had saddlebags full of em on my Virago 700, but it was totally Mark's idea), taking one interesting tour up a 4 wheeler trail, across a playground, and down an abandoned runway in an effort to leave the Potato Blossom Festival parade, the list goes on and on. But I digress.
Enter 12 years later. Mark works with developmentally-challenged adults (actually, he MANAGES people who work with them. Not bad for a guy who used to sell soda at the Ashland One Stop!) in Denver, CO. I fix jet engines for the Air Guard here in Bangor, ME (not bad for a guy who used to count bottles at the Ashland One Stop!). We hang out about twice a year, one of us flies to the other's place. But now he is headed up here to hang out for a week! Woohoo! Party time! I I ran up and borrowed my brother's bike, Mark's old nighthawk 700 for him. My brother grumbles and complains, he is using it all the time, it is such a sacrifice to let it go. So as we unpile stuff to pull it out of the garage, and wipe the pigeon crap off it, I notice it still has that sissy bar that Mark and I always planned to take off. So once I got it down to Bangor, I had to do some work. I had it detailed, fixed up a few things, and took off that silly sissy bar (that Mark always slung his helmet over, when he was sick of wearing it at high speeds. He tried the same thing with my Bandit 1200 a few years ago, and found out the sissy bar was a little shorter, resulting in the helmet bouncing merrily down the road. Oopsie! That halmet sucked anyway.)
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