you go highwayman

 

"I'm moved to tears. That Highwayman is eloquent." LOL

 

To each his own to lay what ever value he/she sees fit...~yawn

 

If he runs for office he's got my vote!

 

I buy my boots and put them on 1 foot at a time just like everyone else, and they are NOT Harley boots.......

 

Ah!!!! the perfect addition to stir up the CABIN FEVER Blahs...............

 

I am a recent convert to HD after riding metric all of my riding life. All the diatribe about it's not what you ride, but that you ride.......if it aint' HD it ain't Sh*t......I've heard it all. That being said, I truly love my '08 HD FLTR. I also loved EVERY bike I've owned, starting with the CB750K I started on and now my HD. I get real tired of the "battles" being fought over which is best.....wind in my face feels just the same as it did on a metric. But, that is and remains.....JMHO.

 

Good to see all the pussified "bikers" are still alive and well but still unable to comprehend satirical humor. If you have never kick started a Harley, you are not a biker, IMFHO.

 

Here's one of my favorites:

The Roadhouse

There you are, giddy with the thrill of it all. Took a big gamble that the Harley Man wouldn't show up at the Roadhouse. You've parked your Asian atrocity cycle in his unspoken reserved spot. And now you're settled at the Harley Man's end of the bar, carryin' on in a grand style, what with your stars 'n' stripes bandana, cut-off gardenin' gloves and chaps home-made from river waders. Foaming at the mouth with bilge 'bout being a real biker, a Viet vet and any other counterfeit boast you can make up on the spot. Never mind the only folk you could rustle up to listen to this depraved charade are the village idiot and some trailerpark bartramp you're plying with cheap booze. For an atrocity rider it don't get better than this, an' you know it.

You're fixin' to take the village idiot out front to show off your atrocity ride. You've done ripped the badge of vulgarity from the tank, so the idiot should fall for it. The tramp from the park better stay put at the bar, you reckon, she'd for sure know it's not the real thing. Women have their intuition and such. But maybe she'll believe what the idiot says.

And then you hear it. It couldn't be true, it's gotta be the freight train pullin' through town. But no, it gets louder real quick, it's for sure that unmistakeable rumble of the mighty Big Twin. The real V-twin, unlike that decrepit farce from some godforsaken land you jerk around on. It roars right up to the front door, shakin' the windowpanes, and with a terrifying backfire shuts down.

All bets are off. The Harley Man is here. All your liquor-fed courage melts into a cold sweat. The make-believe swaggerin' is now outta control tremblin'. The main doors burst open, the music stops and everyone suddenly goes quiet as the Harley Man enters with crushing stomps. There he is, with those beefy ripplin' muscles, the stance of a prize bull and the scariest scowl you've ever done seen. He's staring right at you and it's clear you're fixed for a trouncin'. But it's really your lucky day after all, as the Harley Man has some drinking to tend to so lets you go with a hefty kick in the *** and the ridicule of all in the House as you crash to the floor. Outside, you find your atrocity cycle hurled into the ditch but you accept the simple justice of that, too.

It might be a spell before you drop by again.

-The Highwayman

 

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