I don't know if any of you know of Dean Meyer's book, but it is full of good short stories and all of them hilarous!!!
It is called "Hat Tips" probably because that is the name of his newspaper columns.
My favorite is "Black Hills Bike Rally". I will attempt to retype it here.
Now bear in mind, Dean Meyer is a rancher, a stock contractor, a rodeo announcer and a horse trader. And not necessarily in that order.
Hello.
It's over. It's all over. And I missed it. the Black Hills Bike Rally.
My motorcycle mama and I had looked foreward to attending again this year. You remember when we went last year and Shirley was the big hit down there? We were the only couple that wore welding helments and batwing chaps.
Actually I think 'mama' wore Carhartts last year.
This year was going to be our last year anyway. Our Honda Super 90 is getting pretty old. And as I have mentioned on more than one occasion, Motorcycle Mama and I are a pretty healthy couple.
Last Thursday we srapped our bedrolls on the back of the 90 and took
off for Sturgis. Shirley had on her pink sweats and I was wearing my welding goggles. I had new Handy Andy gloves. Put one of those fake tatoos on my arm. Motorcycle guys like tatoos.
Well, as I started to tell you, the Super 90 is getting old. We had to push it up the hill out of the yard. Then I got it rolling a little and told Shirley to jump on. She trotted alongside and made a mighty leap.She is quite an athlete, you know. Champion ping pong player at Killdeer High School 30 years ago. Well, anyway, she made it on.
We could only get the hog (that's what us biker guys call our motorcycles) up to about 28 mph. But we were bucking about a 6 mph
wind. When we got to the top of the breaks, I told Mama to hang on. I was going to put that hog in Georgia overdrive (that's what us truckers call neutral).
When we started off that hill, that hog began picking up speed. I touched on the brake pedal, but it had kind of froze up with rust and I couldn't wiggle it. That 90 was picking up more speed and starting to shimmy just a little. The grasshoppers were starting to sting a little when they hit my face.
Shirley screamed in my ear to slow down. Like that was an original idea. Well, we must have been getting up to 50 or 60 by now. That Super 90 wasn't designed for these high speeds.
The mirror started vibrating and shook off. Well, it wasn't actually a mirror. A cow had scratched her butt on it and the mirror was gone. It was just a mirror holder. I had one of those little horns with that kind of rubber deal on the end, and it gave one last, futile bleat, as it juggled loose and the hind tire went over it.
I knew we were about to become airborne and I turned to tell Shirley to hang on tight. She thought I said to lean to the right. When she leaned to the right, I had to lean hard to the left to keep the hog on the highway. We must have been up to 65.
I thought I could gently apply the front brake. That's the one on the handlebar. I squeezed gently. Didn't matter. The cable was broke. We were going to have to ride her out.
Well, we only had one more curve to manuever through and we would have a straight shot for the bridge. I handled that hog like a champion and we shot around the curve.
The land kind of flattens out after that last curve and I could see we had the 90 under control.Well, Shirley's pink sweats got to flapping in the breeze a little and kind of got caught in the chain. Actually, it did help to slow the bike a lot, but it kind of tore her pink sweats off. No, not all of them, just one leg. Then it kind of wrapped around stuff and stopped the bike pretty good.
You know, it's funny how things can upset a woman. And I've treated her like a queen all these years. She didn't hardly say a word. Just pushed my Super 90 over the bridge and into the river. SPLASH! No bike rally! No Black Hills! No keg party at the Trout Haven.
But wait. I just read about the Horse Fest in Taylor. I think we can break a team and build a wagon. I mean, Shirley really likes horses. Anybody got a harness I can borrow?