Grab the whole rewritten story in this fantastic book. Just click on the image. We faced the grim reality of eight days before we rolled toward the historic Bonneville Salt Flats. Berry Wardlaw flew in from Accurate Engineering to assist with the Nitrous wiring, tuning then flew back out to Dotham, Alabama to take care […]
Bonneville Effort 2007, Chapter 15 Read More »
Nobody knew Buzzard’s real name. There was a reason for this; if you had aname like Horace Hieronymous Toozfetz, you probably wouldn’t go aroundadvertising it either. Some people might say that it’s a bit of anoverreaction to become an outlaw biker just because your parents gave you aname you didn’t like. Of course, the people
Ace sat at a booth near the back of the bar and sipped his beer. The Midnite Club, a private club in the French quarter of New Orleans, was where he liked to go when he had to lay low. Right now, Ace was laying lower than a snake’s belly, at least until the heat
In the back woods of the New Jersey Pine Barrens, there is a small, winding road that does not appear on any map, and which few have ever traveled. It winds around over the tops of the hills, through lush groves scented by pine trees, where white-tailed deer leap gracefully over fallen logs and squirrels
Francis “Ace” Calhoun awoke with the fear, accompanied by guilt, which wasa bit odd. It wasn?t that Ace didn’t have plenty to feel guilty about. In his 32 years, he had been involved in as much debauchery as any 10 pimps or con men. He had slept with his best friend’s wife and his wife’s
Grab the whole rewritten story in this fantastic book. Just click on the image. Another update… Yesterday was a complete bust. Valerie made a pass on the International track, she did 151, however a major storm blew threw and she was not able to make her back up pass. We hustled to get the tents
Assalt Weapan On The Salt Read More »
I had ceased to trust El Cid after the knife incident in New Mexico. I had stress fractures forming in my brittle psyche. I could feel the paranoia drifting in through every pore that wasn’t already blocked with bug guts, salt, or 60-weight bike oil. Every access point-the nostrils, the ears, the parched tear ducts,
I had ceased to trust El Cid after the knife incident in New Mexico. I had stress fractures forming in my brittle psyche. I could feel the paranoia drifting in through every pore that wasn’t already blocked with bug guts, salt, or 60-weight bike oil. Every access point-the nostrils, the ears, the parched tear ducts,
Quest for Sturgis (CONTINUED) Read More »
Razor snapped back to the reality of the moment. He looked up at thecracked orange paint and the flaming letters, which proclaimed CYPHER’SCYCLES.The Panhead was still in the window whispering it’s unholy promises to whoever happened by. Ray took a deep breath and walked in.The shop seemed to slump under its own weight. Damp boxes
About two months ago, one of my riding buddies suggested a ride through Death Valley. Was he serious?! Death Valley; where the rocks seem to come alive as the shadows from the ever-present sun play tricks on your eyes. Death Valley; where men have lost their fortunes, their sanity and their very lives. Death Valley;
“Yea, Though I Ride through the Valley of Death…” Read More »
