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Cypher’s Cycle

There was the squealing of tires that Ray though must sound much the way apig might squeal at the moment of slaughter. The white car veered out ofcontrol, slicing across the next vacant lane and directly into the path ofa road hazard sign. The Nova lived up to its namesake becoming a fireballof twisting metal.

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Cypher’s Cycle

Ray pulled up to The Place and looked up at its weathered sign. Severalpick-up trucks and a rusted El Camino sat along side the little bar. Hestood up tall and proud from the scoot and sauntered into the bar like agunfighter looking for trouble.Vintage Conway Twitty assaulted Ray’s ears as his eyes adjusted to thedarkness.

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Cypher’s Cycle

Razor Ray opened a bloodshot eye and groaned. It wasn’t bad enough thathis three day-speed binge and Jack Black hangover made his head feel asif the points of a million stilettos were tapping on the inside of hisbrain pan. It wasn’t bad enough that the insides of his eyelids felt as ifthey were being eaten

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Linda Lou

The jukebox was playing Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird. The tempo was picking up, and Bo, a young biker/stranger in this small berg, reached out to pick up a little something himself. Linda Lou, a hot looking local number that regularly melted strangers, had been shaking her tits at him for the past two or three songs,

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Grace The Halls

Friday night, 9 o’clock, downtown Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Corner brick bar, three days before Christmas. Some 60 years of coal dust had robbed the ceramic stone of its color and replaced it with flat black. Two Shovelheads were parked at the curb. A drizzling rain formed a puddle on the solo seat of one of the

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Ridin’ In

Wednesday night, Mick rolled his bobbed ’92 Dyna onto his table lift and pulled up a battered bar stool to begin checking the performance machine over from end to end. Mick was single, alone, and tired from a day deep in mud and sludge in the oil fields. He lived in a small industrial complex

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Suicide is Painful

It was just another boring day on the job, but at least it was Thursday, so he was over the hump. The security guard sat watching the monitors that were hooked into the perimeter surveillance system. There had been a few friends of the family coming and going, plus the pool man and gardeners, but

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Two-Wheeled Love

Stormin’ Norman slammed his mug on the bar. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he yelled, tossing the thick, empty beer glass against the mirror behind the bar. Both shattered instantly. Exploding shards of glass blanketed the bar, bartender, and barmaid. Norman was big and burly. Some called him Bear. He wore a fringed leather jacket with strips of

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Slugfest

Sticky shards of beer bottle splashed against his face as Harrison rolled in the soiled sawdust to escape a worn, pointed cowboy boot. His troubled mind whirled. What was he doing diving towards the cigarette butt-strewn deck of the cowboy bar anyway?Less than a half hour before he pulled his ’78 Shovelhead up to the

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Chop N Grind Surfaces

It’s that time of the year again; race season is about to start! With much success at BUB`S International Motorcycle Speed Trails at Bonneville Salt Flats, the Chop N Grind Crew will be racing again at El Mirage and Bubs Speed Trails. We now hold the AMA National Land Speed Record for the Modified Pushrod

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Easy Money

The Myrtle Beach rally was over now and it was time to continue the northward journey. For the few days since rally’s end I’d been relaxing into this touresty beach town. Before leaving, however, it seemed a good idea to address the problem of my failing cell phone. I walked into the Verizon place. A

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