Content © 2012-2017 by American IronHorse Owners Organization.  Use of AIH Logo Licensed by American Ironhorse, LLC
Florida’s Finest A buddy of mine and I were working our way back from Key West.  We had a lot of fun there with the only downside being the stripper who never called me back (I really thought we had a connection there).  It was a hot, sunny day and I had my doo-rag and shades on and my shirt off to get a tan as I rode.   Yes, that was some time ago – when I was young and buff and could flex with the best of all the other young Turks.  That’s right: Studly Max!  At the ripe old age of 50 I am still willing to let it all hang out because being blissfully free of shame and dignity I just don’t care.  I don’t though because I get tired of watching other people start vomiting as I pass them…. My baggage/handlebar configuration did not permit me to lean back and still reach the grips, the preferred long-term cruising position.  My fingertips missed them by just 2 inches…  That’s okay, I just set the throttle lock for warp 70, let go of the grips and leaned back comfortably.  My Honda VTX 1800 had superb balance with a low center of gravity so I could easily steer simply by leaning left and right.  This part of the trip was mostly straight, flat interstate with little traffic at that time of day.  My buddy was riding trail several miles behind me (he is a little weak on his formation riding skills).  As I happily cruised along enjoying the beautiful summer weather and singing Bon Jovi tunes at the top of my lungs – Dead or Alive I think it was…  I became aware of a presence creeping up beside me.  I looked over and sure enough, Johnny Law had come out of nowhere (how do they do that?) and was looking right back at me, giving the ole’ stink eye. Well, I snapped to and gave an apologetic little wave as I grabbed the grips but it was too late; blue lights!  Well, triple shit with chocolate sprinkles!  I knew what had to be done:  It was imperative that I get a shirt on right away.  I’ve watched enough episodes of Cops on TV to know how it goes down if you’re not wearing a shirt - they go all Rodney King on your ass: body slammed, tazed, cuffed and stuffed!  The officer was a nice guy, though.  He let me sit in air-conditioned comfort while he wrote out a warning for reckless driving.  Reckless driving?  Are you serious?  Where are these guys when somebody is indulging their NASCAR fantasies by honing their drafting skills right off my rear tire?  Now THAT is reckless driving!  Better still, why don’t the cops pull them over when they are riding right behind that guy watching him do it???  What?  We have to turn someone into a road pizza before it can be judged dangerous and therefore illegal? Leave the poor sod who is just riding down the road minding his own business alone! Helmets are not required in Florida but he asked where mine was anyway.  His timing was perfect because my buddy passed us just then with my helmet strapped to the back of his bike.  “It just passed us doing 70” I replied.  He looked up and said “Oh, that’s your friend?  Why didn’t he stop?”  I said “He’s probably worried about guilt by association or something and doesn’t want to get involved.”  As we were finishing up my cell phone rang and, sure enough, it was my buddy up at the next exit wanting to know what was going on.  The chance to screw with your buddies doesn’t come along often so when presented with an excellent opportunity to yank his chain, I jumped on it.  I explained what had happened but embellished it a little.  I told him that I had been arrested and was being hauled off to jail for reckless driving.  Bail was going to be set by the judge but should be about $1000 – could he cover it?  The cop was looking over at me with a grin on his face as I continued to weave my sorrowful tale of woe:  “I am in handcuffs and they’re going to impound my bike!” and “The judge is on vacation and won’t be back until Wednesday!”  My buddy was dumbfounded and didn’t believe it.  I knew this because he kept saying “No way, I don’t believe it!”  So, I said “Here, I’ll let you talk to the officer” and gave the cop my cell phone.  The officer played right along and when he gave my phone back my buddy was completely freaked out.  Having had my fun, I finally let him off the hook and then thanked the officer for being such a cool guy and playing along.
November 6, 2012
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ORGANIZATION ORGANIZATION OWNERS OWNERS For All American Ironhorse Motorcycle Owners
Fat Max
© 2012-2017   American IronHorse Owners Organization Use of AIH Logo Licensed by American Ironhorse, LLC 
Florida’s Finest A buddy of mine and I were working our way back from Key West.  We had a lot of fun there with the only downside being the stripper who never called me back (I really thought we had a connection there).  It was a hot, sunny day and I had my doo-rag and shades on and my shirt off to get a tan as I rode.   Yes, that was some time ago – when I was young and buff and could flex with the best of all the other young Turks.  That’s right: Studly Max!  At the ripe old age of 50 I am still willing to let it all hang out because being blissfully free of shame and dignity I just don’t care.  I don’t though because I get tired of watching other people start vomiting as I pass them…. My baggage/handlebar configuration did not permit me to lean back and still reach the grips, the preferred long-term cruising position.  My fingertips missed them by just 2 inches…  That’s okay, I just set the throttle lock for warp 70, let go of the grips and leaned back comfortably.  My Honda VTX 1800 had superb balance with a low center of gravity so I could easily steer simply by leaning left and right.  This part of the trip was mostly straight, flat interstate with little traffic at that time of day.  My buddy was riding trail several miles behind me (he is a little weak on his formation riding skills).  As I happily cruised along enjoying the beautiful summer weather and singing Bon Jovi tunes at the top of my lungs – Dead or Alive I think it was…  I became aware of a presence creeping up beside me.  I looked over and sure enough, Johnny Law had come out of nowhere (how do they do that?) and was looking right back at me, giving the ole’ stink eye. Well, I snapped to and gave an apologetic little wave as I grabbed the grips but it was too late; blue lights!  Well, triple shit with chocolate sprinkles!  I knew what had to be done:  It was imperative that I get a shirt on right away.  I’ve watched enough episodes of Cops on TV to know how it goes down if you’re not wearing a shirt - they go all Rodney King on your ass: body slammed, tazed, cuffed and stuffed!  The officer was a nice guy, though.  He let me sit in air-conditioned comfort while he wrote out a warning for reckless driving.  Reckless driving?  Are you serious?  Where are these guys when somebody is indulging their NASCAR fantasies by honing their drafting skills right off my rear tire?  Now THAT is reckless driving!  Better still, why don’t the cops pull them over when they are riding right behind that guy watching him do it???  What?  We have to turn someone into a road pizza before it can be judged dangerous and therefore illegal? Leave the poor sod who is just riding down the road minding his own business alone! Helmets are not required in Florida but he asked where mine was anyway.  His timing was perfect because my buddy passed us just then with my helmet strapped to the back of his bike.  “It just passed us doing 70” I replied.  He looked up and said “Oh, that’s your friend?  Why didn’t he stop?”  I said “He’s probably worried about guilt by association or something and doesn’t want to get involved.”  As we were finishing up my cell phone rang and, sure enough, it was my buddy up at the next exit wanting to know what was going on.  The chance to screw with your buddies doesn’t come along often so when presented with an excellent opportunity to yank his chain, I jumped on it.  I explained what had happened but embellished it a little.  I told him that I had been arrested and was being hauled off to jail for reckless driving.  Bail was going to be set by the judge but should be about $1000 – could he cover it?  The cop was looking over at me with a grin on his face as I continued to weave my sorrowful tale of woe:  “I am in handcuffs and they’re going to impound my bike!” and “The judge is on vacation and won’t be back until Wednesday!”  My buddy was dumbfounded and didn’t believe it.  I knew this because he kept saying “No way, I don’t believe it!”  So, I said “Here, I’ll let you talk to the officer” and gave the cop my cell phone.  The officer played right along and when he gave my phone back my buddy was completely freaked out.  Having had my fun, I finally let him off the hook and then thanked the officer for being such a cool guy and playing along.
November 6, 2012
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ORGANIZATION ORGANIZATION OWNERS OWNERS
Fat Max