Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
I'm somewhat of a "hot shot" (so I've been told)! I am very opinionated and outspoken. I'm not afraid to say what I'm thinking or what's on my mind (this sometimes gets me into trouble)! I like riding, racing and just about anything that has to do with motorcycles. You can usually find me cruising beach side on my Harley Davidson. When I'm not riding them or racing them, I'm usually in someones garage working on them....... I believe in air cooled V-Twins for life.
Bikes are poetry in motion and the freak in me demands that all my bikes be born again virgins when I take possession of them. Every mile put on it at rebirth must be put on it by me, because of the emotional connection that forms between rider and motorcycle.
To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse. The kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea.... "cruising" it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen and to the wanderers of the world who cannot or will not fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.
"I've always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can't afford it." What these men can't afford, is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of "security." And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine and before we know it our lives are gone.
What does a man need, really need? Some food each day, heat, shelter, six feet to lie down in and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment.... That's all in the material sense and we know it. But most are brainwashed by our economic system. Most end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert their attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade.
The years thunder by, the dreams of youth grow dim, where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.
Where, then, lies the answer? In choice.... Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?
Life is not something we should tiptoe through, ending up with a well preserved corpse. I would rather come skidding in sideways, totally used up, battered and bruised, grinning from ear to ear, saying, "WHEW! What a ride!"
You Can't Be Hardcore Some Of The Time. You've Got To Be Hardcore All Of The Time.