General Posts

There were too many boxes to pack on the bike so Sullivan hauled his kids' Christmas gifts to the UPS office in his boss's van. A worn out but sympathetic clerk took his money, reminding him that the holiday was only two days off and there was no way the kids would get the presents

“If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.”–Voltaire (1694 – 1778)When I first took to the road, I only desired to experience firsthand what was known exclusively to the earliest of worldly explorers. Discovering not just a new place, but living a new life, a new culture, a new fuck under

The smell of Wild Turkey mixed with the spicy boiling Top Ramen scent on Iron Buffalo’s single apartment stove. A loner, he worked for Custom Chrome, lifted weights and tinkered with his only major possession: a hot rod chopper. He sipped the drink as he stirred the vegetables and steak-chunks and thought about his recent

“Okay, beam me up Scotty.” Tinker put down the phone and stepped into the pentagram.Eight hours behind and nearly five thousand miles away in Vancouver, Henry flicked aside long grey hair, wiped his granny glasses, and checked an identical ‘gram on the floor for the umpteenth time. He returned the detailed instructions to the envelope

The teardrop tank was full. So was my wallet. My coal black chopper burned rubber and blended into the asphalt stretching below me and the dark sky above. The milestones popped out every other minute and so did stars from behind clouds. Sturgis conquered I was off to see Sofie at the town beyond the

As he headed home in the small hours with the baffles closed on Poke’s open duals and Bonzo snoring snug as a dormouse inside his jacket, Tinker heard the screams. He traced them to a bus stop where a trail of spilt handbag crap led to the darkened mouth of an alley.Coasting up, his headlight

“Some geezer wanting to unload an old Indian,” the snout had said over his free beer. “Got the address right here if you see me right.”That had lured Tinker into one of those concrete concentration camps laughingly called ‘estates’. Nobody with any sense went there, nobody with any choice. Dumps for the chumps and gutters

Tinker saw a bike stalled at the side of the country road and pulled over. It’s what you do, hurry or no.“You okay?’ The question was superfluous. A gormless spottie stood irresolutely beside his neglected-looking Japanese one-lunger. “Crapped out on me, didn’t it. Now the pig won’t even start.” Spots lit another fag; there were

Tinker stood in the tiny cubicle and relaxed. His reflection finally appeared in the mirror and he combed the tangles out of his silvered black hair , tying it back in an inconspicuous queue. His full beard had been trimmed, even worn a clean shirt and tie. Quick check of the wrist watch, deep breath–Show

It was a small house, even had a chimney, cost me $35. I wanted to kick it's resident's ass. Bruno, the name sure sounds tough, but any wimp could have him running for cover. That's my German shepherd pet, and he was in his single room home hiding his face in his fairly strong paws.

In a slick downtown Chicago H-D dealership, Joe Jacobs sat at his highly polished antique desk, desperate and disillusioned. The 45-year-old service manager had just been dumped by the love of his life. He couldn't focus on his work, his ever-increasing workload, on his uptown lifestyle, or on the frozen streets of Chicago. He hurt

The white lines reflected under the Road King’s headlight. They passed by in perfect rhythm, almost hypnotic. Jasper felt like he was flying. There was no breeze; the night air smelled sweet and the bike sang a beautiful tune from true duals. It was the perfect ride considering the circumstances.Jasper was on his way to

Editor's Note: Here's a rough piece of fiction from a Bikernet reader. Although his prose are scrambled his story comes across. It's a classic, and if you love stories of found antique motorcycles, you need to pick up this new book from Motorbooks. It's full of true stories of classic vintage motorcycle discoveries. Some I

Bernard “Wolf’ Hodkins scratched his grizzled, gray beard and peered down into the depths of Snake Eye Canyon. A few pieces of rusting chrome resting on the bottom of the chasm glinted from the last rays of a fading sun. He sighed and looked over at his towering companion. “It’s hard to believe that it

A Small Inspirational Bikernet award for James.I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'You're definitely going to shit yourself' chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of

She was a dark and stormy bitch. The allusions to mythical vamps and witches could not do justice to her vile demeanor and wicked ways. It was obvious that I would have to concede. I may be a healthy youthful sprite but she was a powerful cursed creature of doom. Together we could have ruled

I rumbled across the weedpatch serving as a yard and came to a stop beneath a drooping cottonwood tree. Mongo never bothered to look up even as my dust settled over him. As always, he was fine-tuning one or another of his 110-inch stroker's high—performance whazzits. After a bit of tinkering, he wiped an already

Absolutely incredible I say to myself, no one for 75 miles. The winding Montana mountain road is so desolate I wonder if the Indians or Lewis and Clark were the last to see it. Not to mention it’s slightly, umm, shall we say hillier than Indiana? I round the curve and there’s the guy I’ve

“Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction.”Yup that’s what Pa used to say; back in the days when horses traveled cross-country and tin-cans served us humans’ supper. But this ain’t a tale about those times. And with the faces of these Chinamen, you couldn’t

As we barreled down Farm Road 1725, I knew I was at the perfect place for the day. Halfway between New Waverly and Humble, Texas, I was flying down the road, racing Mike to my son’s school. Here it was 2:20, and he gets out of school at 3:10. I had never been late to

BORDERLAND BIKER Chapter 4 CHAPTER 4 of BORDERLAND BIKER It scuttled off into a nearby field of wrecked carsPretty sure the bikes are yours from the picture ID I found in the dry clothing I’m borrowing from the bag on the Wide Glide. Of more importance is the question; am I awake, still asleep, or