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A Man And His Hoggie
Here's the bike of a fellow you wouldn't want to run into in some dark corner of F.A.O. Schwartz.


Posted by aalkon at April 3, 2005 9:25 AM

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Hey - there's a reason a Harley is called a "Hog": they actually used to have a pig as a mascot, in the pits at National dirt-track races. Though the electrical tape makes the bike look tacky (few Harleys look decent to me, anyway, cookie-cutter as they are while pretending), the Hog doll is pretty common.

Take a look at, or the many "biker rally" sites out there (Laconia/Weirs Beach, Sturgis, Daytona). Lots of ripe new material for the Advice Goddess(c)!

Here's a good story for you, gratis:

One of the traditions of Daytona Bike Week is the assembly of literally thousands of custom bikes, the likes of which we can see on "Orange County Choppers". Some of the builders produce truly delicate and precise work, which can cost $150 thousand - for a bike which will be ridden less than a thousand miles per year. The $30K - $50K range is quite popular, and the demographic contains a number of disreputable people - lawyers, drug dealers, record company executives, etc.

Typically, these people seek a particular kind of passenger: the Biker Bimbo. Whatever mental qualities these ladies may have is unknown; I, and others I have quizzed frequently on the subject, have determined that this is secondary to other, ah, considerations. Generally, the more prosperous the rider and expensive the bike, the higher the "class" of his passenger: cheap junk = skank, $$ = Fine. Note the capital F, added for emphasis. Sometimes the relationship between rider and passenger is one of convenience, currency unknown.

Anyway. One fine Daytona night, the Mrs and our friends stopped at a convenience store, having worked up a thirst shopping for motorcycle accessories near the Daytona Speedway. As we chatted, I saw an expensive "chopper" at the intersection, and the people associated with it seemed to be arguing. Shortly, we saw the passenger left in the street.

Her approach left those of us with a conscience somewhat at a loss; I was figuring out how to address a scantily-clad blonde, obviously the current Miss Nude California, as a real person without stuttering or getting smacked by my wife.

Fortunately, I was saved by the realization that one of us had no conscience, and was in the deadliest jam of his adult life. I smiled serenely as Miss Bombshell asked, "Can one of you give me a lift? My ride left me. I just live down the street a half-mile or so."

My brother-in-law was the one with no conscience - but he was completely married to a burly woman who was tending their four children whilst he recreated with us. I saw him realize what was happening: he had room on the back of his motorcycle, and could be the gallant knight rescuing a truly delectable damsel in distress. Yet, he had to face the reality that yes, we would indeed describe said damsel in detail to his loving wife. He also had to face the real possibility that the same man who could casually leave a girl like this on foot would be waiting anxiously at the probable address, perhaps with a goodly supply of alcohol, PCP and firearms nearby to help him wait.

Fortunately, we were also talking to a sales rep from Kawasaki, who took the girl presumably where she wanted to go.

We haven't missed a Daytona Bike Week event since, but we never saw him again. The brother-in-law is OK. Physically, at least.

Posted by: Radwaste at April 3, 2005 8:07 PM

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