Two Wheeled Tales

    “When I die I want to meet God and say, what the Hell were you thinking; like what were you thinking?” —Indian Larry     “Hold on to yourself Bartlett, you’re twenty feet short.” —Steve McQueen …from the movie THE GREAT ESCAPE     “If I had to describe him, I’d say he […]

Travis rounded the corner and gunned the throttle. The burst of sound from the drag pipes scattered the neighborhood kids playing street hockey running past their goals before they could lift them out of the way. His bungalow was the third one in from the top of the block. He backed the bike to the

                  I left Panama during the rainy season. From Panama City I had 3,000 miles to go before reaching Mexico’s northern border. My twin cam engine was overheating every day now and if I ran into trouble I knew of only two Harley dealers in Central America. Mexico had several dealerships

  Dawn was upon us, stars were winking out and the moon had given up trying to outshine the morning sun. Charon moved to the side, letting Larry and I pass; as we rode by he gave us a small salute, “Remember to stay on the Ridge Route, no alternate routes, Ma’s orders.” Beyond the

We’re riding on a narrow, twisting mountain road. Themorning sun is warm on our faces, and your body ispressed tightly against my back. I can feel your fullbreasts against me, your nipples hard from the coolmorning air. Your hair flows out from under yourhelmet in our slipstream like molten honey. The road narrows, forcing me

The ponds are shrouded in inky blackness as I make myway slowly down the levies between them. I know youhear me coming, the staccato rumble of the Harley’sengine echoes out across the calm surface of thewater, and my headlight carves an erratic path throughthe darkness as I search for you. I know you workedlate; your

“Dago” Red sat on the bottom bunk and watched a roachscurry across the toes of his county issued slippers.He had sat, elbows on knees, his chin resting in hispalms for the last two hours waiting for his attorneyto show up. The arrogant bastard. Red reached outsuddenly, squashing the roach with the sole of hisright foot,

The roar of the explosion rocked the Rat Hole Bar and Grill, shaking thewalls and a fine mist of accumulated dust loose from the ceiling,along with a pair of Lizard Lips Louise’s panties that had stuck to the roofseveral months ago. Tanker cursed, wiping off the remains of his pickled pig’s foot that had slipped

There's Ken Saxon Editor's Note: Mike didn't supply images so we ask Curt Lout if we could use some riding shots from his 2005 coverage. He kindly said yeah, so enjoy. The road has characteristics and glitches that sometimes confuse you, sometimes work in your favor, and sometimes slap ya in the back of the

With the unfortunate passing of David Mann, there has been a lot of attention on his effect on the motorcycle world for generations. My view on David’s death is a little different. You see, David Mann and my father, John, had been friends for more than 35 years. They met through mutual friends in the