Moved On
22nd March 2006, 19:23
Back from the archives of the mindray sattellite...
Train Tracks
I would like to share an unbelievable experience I had last Saturday afternoon with all of you XLFORUM members. It happened while I was riding my bike. I can hardly believe it myself. I’m feeling all right now, but things could have really gotten out of hand.
I was riding some country roads about 20 miles from home. I’m just a riding around the curves and up and down some hills minding my own business---------------------------------------like I always do. As I approached a railroad crossing outside an old abandon farm town I began to slow down as the signal flashed and the crossing arm was coming down. I could have made it across the tracks, but I believe the law is written for good reason and we should all respect and obey it. However, reflecting back on this incident, I admit to having second thoughts about that. I could see this was a very long train, so I turned the engine off, lowered the jiffy stand and remained sitting on my bike. Suddenly, two other bikers rolled up on each side of me. Their sudden appearance startled me, at first, as I didn’t even hear their engines over the racket of the train’s engine and air horns. These guys were big, and I mean BIG. I nodded and as I glanced behind me three more bikers closed in. I have to admit, I really felt intimidated. I could sense these guys were not affiliated with any HOG organization. I even thought to myself that they would probably flunk Hells Angels 101. They were as tough and rag tag as you could ever imagine. They all appeared greasy with frazzled beards, long unkempt hair and no helmets. Their bikes looked to be 1970’s backyard chopped, dirty with very little chrome. I recall one of the bikes headlights looked as if it was held on with bailing wire and no headlights or front fenders on the others.
I smiled and nodded at the other guys but it was not reciprocal. I continued to look ahead as the train cars rolled by. Suddenly I received a push on the shoulder by the guy to my right. It wasn’t a hard push but it was inappropriate. I look at him and nodded again exclaiming, “Howdy, how you guys doing”? The guy replied, ”We is doing just fine, Helmet Head”! I was taken back by his reply but just smiled and nodded again. After a few more very uncomfortable seconds, the guy on the left pushed me a little harder and exclaimed, “Why you got that helmet on, twinky boy”? I knew this was not a good situation and could only reply that I just thought it was safer to wear my helmet. They all started honking their horns and laughing. I glanced at the long endless line of train cars yet to clear the crossing and felt completely trapped. I then exclaimed, “Come on guys, I’m just riding around, minding my on business-------------------like I always do!” There was momentary silence. “What’s that piece a S#$% your riding?” one of the guys in back yells out, as he kept flopping his front wheel against the side of my back wheel. I know I sounded a little meek when I responded that it was a 2004 Harley Davidson Sportster Custom 1200cc. All I could hear was the roaring laughter HarHarHarHarHeeHeeHee, Hardy HarHarHooHoo! It went on and on! One guy screams out, “Man, you got yourself a girly bike!” Their laughing reached a fevered pitch. I became really scared, at this point, but for some reason I just yelled out, “ Oh yeah, well Evil and Robbie Kneivel rode a Sportster and it was only 1000cc’s. Immediately, the two guys on either side of me roared even louder. I also informed them all that, “Evil and Robbie also wore their helmets”. At this point, the bikers were completely out of control and lost in their laughter, to the extent that they had to lay their bikes down while they rolled on the ground, holding their stomachs and almost choking. I was feeling absolutely helpless while still sitting on my bike in the midst of these lunatic bikers.
At this point, the train seemed to have no end and as the laughter increased, a surprising anger was building up inside of me. These guys loved the power and authority they were feeling at my expense. I stepped off my bike and as I glanced at the two bikes on the ground, I noticed they were right wheel drive. It just came out, “Hey, those bikes are right wheel drive, so they are Sportsters, too!” Suddenly, total silence and the biker’s faces were again instantly mean and angry. “What did you say, you little helmet twink”. I replied, that they were making fun of my bike but informed them that they were riding Sportster’s, too. The two guys got up off the ground and the other three got off their bikes and started walking to my rear. The one with a spocket chain, wrapped around his waist for a belt, screamed “These are Harley Choppers, man, they ain’t no G@# D@#$ F@#$%^& Spoooortsteeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrssssssssss”! I said, “Okay, Okay, guys, I don’t want any trouble!” By now, I’m surrounded and a guy in back of me screams, “How’s your little twinky helmet on your little twinky head gonna help your little twinky ass from getting a ass kickin, man”? “This here is gonna be your burial ground”!
I don’t know why, but I reached up and unsnapped my helmet and threw it on the ground and I screamed, “You filthy Sonsabitches! You want a piece a me! Huh! Well do ya punks! Well, come on, lets go cause it’s Go Time”!
I don’t remember much after that, except that there were lots of fists flying and big knives swishing past my eyes. I do remember ducking and bobbing, bobbing and ducking and ducking and weaving and bobbing and ducking and weaving. It seemed like the fight lasted a lifetime but as I try to recollect, it was more like five minutes. Finally, there came an end and I was completely out of breath, I looked around me. I felt the hot sun heating the sweat pouring down my face. I finally grabbed a huge satisfying breath. It was deathly quiet except for the faint clickity clacking of the distant train. I listened to my labored breathing and could still see a glimpse of the red caboose as it disappeared into the fresh spring landscape miles away. I felt so alone, standing there in the quiet countryside, five huge burley bikers spread eagle around me. I remember stumbling to my bike. My bike was the only bike still standing. I picked up my helmet and wipe the blood away from a couple of cuts over my eyes. I didn’t want to get blood on my new Harley helmet. I kicked a leg over my bike and as I made sure it was in neutral, I noticed some scuffing on my new Harley boots. It was disappointing, but the least of my concerns. I looked again as the bodies of the enormous bikers began to stir as if coming into a new life.
You XLFORUM guys might not understand this, but I actually couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. Do you understand what I’m saying here? Why couldn’t these bad bikers have just been nice? I mean, why couldn’t they just have acknowledged my friendly Howdy Doo and replied with a simple hello, but nooooooooooooooooo, they had to be bad asses. Why do people have to act so tough, all the time? Why, oh why? Dr. Phil probably knows, but I don’t! All I know is that sometimes a guy has to do what he has to do. In this case, I had to protect himself. As I placed the key into the ignition, a couple of the biggest bikers started screaming, “Please don’t hit no mo man! Don’t hit me no mo!
It was a pitiful and sad scene, I must say, as the bikers started getting up off the ground. I watched as they kept spitting out dirt and wiping the blood and sweat from their faces. I dropped her in gear and started riding off slowly. I rember just shaking my head and thinking to myself, that I hope some lessons had been learned here today.
Billy
Gazza
Train Tracks
I would like to share an unbelievable experience I had last Saturday afternoon with all of you XLFORUM members. It happened while I was riding my bike. I can hardly believe it myself. I’m feeling all right now, but things could have really gotten out of hand.
I was riding some country roads about 20 miles from home. I’m just a riding around the curves and up and down some hills minding my own business---------------------------------------like I always do. As I approached a railroad crossing outside an old abandon farm town I began to slow down as the signal flashed and the crossing arm was coming down. I could have made it across the tracks, but I believe the law is written for good reason and we should all respect and obey it. However, reflecting back on this incident, I admit to having second thoughts about that. I could see this was a very long train, so I turned the engine off, lowered the jiffy stand and remained sitting on my bike. Suddenly, two other bikers rolled up on each side of me. Their sudden appearance startled me, at first, as I didn’t even hear their engines over the racket of the train’s engine and air horns. These guys were big, and I mean BIG. I nodded and as I glanced behind me three more bikers closed in. I have to admit, I really felt intimidated. I could sense these guys were not affiliated with any HOG organization. I even thought to myself that they would probably flunk Hells Angels 101. They were as tough and rag tag as you could ever imagine. They all appeared greasy with frazzled beards, long unkempt hair and no helmets. Their bikes looked to be 1970’s backyard chopped, dirty with very little chrome. I recall one of the bikes headlights looked as if it was held on with bailing wire and no headlights or front fenders on the others.
I smiled and nodded at the other guys but it was not reciprocal. I continued to look ahead as the train cars rolled by. Suddenly I received a push on the shoulder by the guy to my right. It wasn’t a hard push but it was inappropriate. I look at him and nodded again exclaiming, “Howdy, how you guys doing”? The guy replied, ”We is doing just fine, Helmet Head”! I was taken back by his reply but just smiled and nodded again. After a few more very uncomfortable seconds, the guy on the left pushed me a little harder and exclaimed, “Why you got that helmet on, twinky boy”? I knew this was not a good situation and could only reply that I just thought it was safer to wear my helmet. They all started honking their horns and laughing. I glanced at the long endless line of train cars yet to clear the crossing and felt completely trapped. I then exclaimed, “Come on guys, I’m just riding around, minding my on business-------------------like I always do!” There was momentary silence. “What’s that piece a S#$% your riding?” one of the guys in back yells out, as he kept flopping his front wheel against the side of my back wheel. I know I sounded a little meek when I responded that it was a 2004 Harley Davidson Sportster Custom 1200cc. All I could hear was the roaring laughter HarHarHarHarHeeHeeHee, Hardy HarHarHooHoo! It went on and on! One guy screams out, “Man, you got yourself a girly bike!” Their laughing reached a fevered pitch. I became really scared, at this point, but for some reason I just yelled out, “ Oh yeah, well Evil and Robbie Kneivel rode a Sportster and it was only 1000cc’s. Immediately, the two guys on either side of me roared even louder. I also informed them all that, “Evil and Robbie also wore their helmets”. At this point, the bikers were completely out of control and lost in their laughter, to the extent that they had to lay their bikes down while they rolled on the ground, holding their stomachs and almost choking. I was feeling absolutely helpless while still sitting on my bike in the midst of these lunatic bikers.
At this point, the train seemed to have no end and as the laughter increased, a surprising anger was building up inside of me. These guys loved the power and authority they were feeling at my expense. I stepped off my bike and as I glanced at the two bikes on the ground, I noticed they were right wheel drive. It just came out, “Hey, those bikes are right wheel drive, so they are Sportsters, too!” Suddenly, total silence and the biker’s faces were again instantly mean and angry. “What did you say, you little helmet twink”. I replied, that they were making fun of my bike but informed them that they were riding Sportster’s, too. The two guys got up off the ground and the other three got off their bikes and started walking to my rear. The one with a spocket chain, wrapped around his waist for a belt, screamed “These are Harley Choppers, man, they ain’t no G@# D@#$ F@#$%^& Spoooortsteeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrssssssssss”! I said, “Okay, Okay, guys, I don’t want any trouble!” By now, I’m surrounded and a guy in back of me screams, “How’s your little twinky helmet on your little twinky head gonna help your little twinky ass from getting a ass kickin, man”? “This here is gonna be your burial ground”!
I don’t know why, but I reached up and unsnapped my helmet and threw it on the ground and I screamed, “You filthy Sonsabitches! You want a piece a me! Huh! Well do ya punks! Well, come on, lets go cause it’s Go Time”!
I don’t remember much after that, except that there were lots of fists flying and big knives swishing past my eyes. I do remember ducking and bobbing, bobbing and ducking and ducking and weaving and bobbing and ducking and weaving. It seemed like the fight lasted a lifetime but as I try to recollect, it was more like five minutes. Finally, there came an end and I was completely out of breath, I looked around me. I felt the hot sun heating the sweat pouring down my face. I finally grabbed a huge satisfying breath. It was deathly quiet except for the faint clickity clacking of the distant train. I listened to my labored breathing and could still see a glimpse of the red caboose as it disappeared into the fresh spring landscape miles away. I felt so alone, standing there in the quiet countryside, five huge burley bikers spread eagle around me. I remember stumbling to my bike. My bike was the only bike still standing. I picked up my helmet and wipe the blood away from a couple of cuts over my eyes. I didn’t want to get blood on my new Harley helmet. I kicked a leg over my bike and as I made sure it was in neutral, I noticed some scuffing on my new Harley boots. It was disappointing, but the least of my concerns. I looked again as the bodies of the enormous bikers began to stir as if coming into a new life.
You XLFORUM guys might not understand this, but I actually couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. Do you understand what I’m saying here? Why couldn’t these bad bikers have just been nice? I mean, why couldn’t they just have acknowledged my friendly Howdy Doo and replied with a simple hello, but nooooooooooooooooo, they had to be bad asses. Why do people have to act so tough, all the time? Why, oh why? Dr. Phil probably knows, but I don’t! All I know is that sometimes a guy has to do what he has to do. In this case, I had to protect himself. As I placed the key into the ignition, a couple of the biggest bikers started screaming, “Please don’t hit no mo man! Don’t hit me no mo!
It was a pitiful and sad scene, I must say, as the bikers started getting up off the ground. I watched as they kept spitting out dirt and wiping the blood and sweat from their faces. I dropped her in gear and started riding off slowly. I rember just shaking my head and thinking to myself, that I hope some lessons had been learned here today.
Billy
Gazza