06/11: Remembering John Condit
In retrospect, after the original shock and grief have faded, I find myself honored and blessed for having known Jon. There is also a little confusion and frustration thrown in for a little additional spice in this brew we call life. The confusion comes from realising that you can think you are knowing someone without understanding the total depth of their personality, ie; I didn't realise Jon's name wasn't Jon, and so many other things that were discussed at his memorial service by folks who'd known him longer.
The frustration, all my own property, comes from thinking of the missed opportunities for hanging out, playing, or just talking and appreciating many mutual favorite old bands that you would think no one else had heard of. There were epiphanies to be experienced just chatting music with Jon- his knowledge was truly encyclopedic as far as music of many varied styles is concerned.
The frustration, all my own property, comes from thinking of the missed opportunities for hanging out, playing, or just talking and appreciating many mutual favorite old bands that you would think no one else had heard of. There were epiphanies to be experienced just chatting music with Jon- his knowledge was truly encyclopedic as far as music of many varied styles is concerned.
06/11: Views From the Hiway
Hello again,folks. Yeah, I know......Been a little while hasn't it? This issue's installment will be a little shorter than usual but an explanation will be made abundantly clear with the next issues "NPC Funnies", trust me. I could say I just dropped the ball or blame it on acquiring a sailboat but that would be at least partially B.S.. Well, with it being October and all let's get a little spooky, shall we knot?
This little anecdote WILL strain credulity but those who know me will either have heard it before or understand that I feel it just ain't worth wasting my time to outright lie.
So, back in 1978 it was a tuff year on some of us who rode together, with somebody bitin' the dust on just about a monthly basis throughout the summer. Granted some was due to our own stupidity and/or inebriation, but the majority was due to cage driver's lack of attention.
A group of four of us rode up to Nick's Cycle Salvage to purchase enough baling wire and duct tape to hold our hunks of crap together for a few more miles. We of course made the obligatory pit stops at every taproom, hole in the wall and dive on the way up to Williamstown. After transacting our business, Woggy was b.s.ing with one of the wrenches who worked there, who's pit bull bitch had just had a litter. Next thing we know, he's walkin' around with a black puppy pokin' out of his cutoff. He and Francis were packin' on a disreputable 68' Bonny chop with a Vicegrip for a shifter and a burnt- out taillight( didn't seem like a priority at the time). Ronnie behind the counter commented an our attrition rate" Seems like you guys are havin a tough summer, aintcha?"
This little anecdote WILL strain credulity but those who know me will either have heard it before or understand that I feel it just ain't worth wasting my time to outright lie.
So, back in 1978 it was a tuff year on some of us who rode together, with somebody bitin' the dust on just about a monthly basis throughout the summer. Granted some was due to our own stupidity and/or inebriation, but the majority was due to cage driver's lack of attention.
A group of four of us rode up to Nick's Cycle Salvage to purchase enough baling wire and duct tape to hold our hunks of crap together for a few more miles. We of course made the obligatory pit stops at every taproom, hole in the wall and dive on the way up to Williamstown. After transacting our business, Woggy was b.s.ing with one of the wrenches who worked there, who's pit bull bitch had just had a litter. Next thing we know, he's walkin' around with a black puppy pokin' out of his cutoff. He and Francis were packin' on a disreputable 68' Bonny chop with a Vicegrip for a shifter and a burnt- out taillight( didn't seem like a priority at the time). Ronnie behind the counter commented an our attrition rate" Seems like you guys are havin a tough summer, aintcha?"
04/09: When Bosun Donwald Died
When Bosun Donwald Died
lyrics by “Crazy” Jake Groen
When Don the Pirate passed away ‘tis a day I’ll never forget
The whole arts district’s gotten drunk and some not sober yet
As long as the bottle got passed around and everyone feeling gay
Till someone shouted chime on in, some music for to play
Chorus
That’s how they shew their respect for don the pirate
That’s how they shew their honor and their pride
Some said it was a sin & shame and they winked at one another
And every glass in the house was raised when bosun Donwald died
lyrics by “Crazy” Jake Groen
When Don the Pirate passed away ‘tis a day I’ll never forget
The whole arts district’s gotten drunk and some not sober yet
As long as the bottle got passed around and everyone feeling gay
Till someone shouted chime on in, some music for to play
Chorus
That’s how they shew their respect for don the pirate
That’s how they shew their honor and their pride
Some said it was a sin & shame and they winked at one another
And every glass in the house was raised when bosun Donwald died
21/06: Views From the Hiway
Why We Ride What We Ride......Part II
Welcome back, hope you enjoyed last month's episode of Views from the Highway, which began our first multi part tale.Had this been a few years back it would no doubt have contained drink and debauchery, but this is the 21st century and some folks think that stuff is immoral(cheer) and just wrong(boo). Basically, my friends and I are protecting our driver's licenses. I'll include something of prurient interest in a future column, there're plenty to go around. Relax and enjoy the thrilling conclusium.
As we left our harebrained hero stewing in the proverbial juices and contemplating ownership of an OTHER bike some complications have set in,ie. another party wanting to purchase the self same bike our protagonist is lusting after! Having already planned to make the trip with a truck owning friend the next weekend(Thanks, Carl!) he got a call from the seller that someone was stopping THIS Saturday at 3:00pm to scope out said scooter.Yipes! Cripes! Scheiss! After contacting my buddy Carl I discovered the mission couldn't be moved up so it's time to get creative. Grabbing gas money, gloves and a brain bucket, it was off to Lancaster County and hopefully BMW ownership. Tooling along and looking around in my car (an 88 Mustang hatchback) I realized that on a good day t'would be possible to fit the saddlebags in the car but that's about it. Yankme ingenuity called for.
Welcome back, hope you enjoyed last month's episode of Views from the Highway, which began our first multi part tale.Had this been a few years back it would no doubt have contained drink and debauchery, but this is the 21st century and some folks think that stuff is immoral(cheer) and just wrong(boo). Basically, my friends and I are protecting our driver's licenses. I'll include something of prurient interest in a future column, there're plenty to go around. Relax and enjoy the thrilling conclusium.
As we left our harebrained hero stewing in the proverbial juices and contemplating ownership of an OTHER bike some complications have set in,ie. another party wanting to purchase the self same bike our protagonist is lusting after! Having already planned to make the trip with a truck owning friend the next weekend(Thanks, Carl!) he got a call from the seller that someone was stopping THIS Saturday at 3:00pm to scope out said scooter.Yipes! Cripes! Scheiss! After contacting my buddy Carl I discovered the mission couldn't be moved up so it's time to get creative. Grabbing gas money, gloves and a brain bucket, it was off to Lancaster County and hopefully BMW ownership. Tooling along and looking around in my car (an 88 Mustang hatchback) I realized that on a good day t'would be possible to fit the saddlebags in the car but that's about it. Yankme ingenuity called for.
22/04: View from the Hiway
Remember Harleys? No, not the Evo-Motored Softail that your Dentist/Lawyer/Stockbroker rides, but the real deal, honest to gawd genuine article you used to see bikers kicking and cussing at the taproom's closing time in the 70's or 80's. (Or earlier if you've got a Grey beard).
I remember a pilgrimage to Salem County HD with my Father way back when. The door swung open to reveal a dingy showroom with creaky hardwood flooring, stained and scratched by years of use, redolent with the aromas of leather, exhaust, rubber and burnt sixty-weight...ghosts of Flatties, Knucks, and Panheads.
And the bikes! Sitting there on display, new and used, with magical names like Hydra Glide, Duo Glide, and yup...the new ELECTRA Glide! Complete with drip pans and baking sheets with edges, (I bet someones wife was upset), to collect the droppings and drippings from Milwaukee's finest vibrators. Back then you had to know your stuff to maintain a long-term relationship with a real motorcycle.....know how to start it, tune it, and rebuild it, or you were sunk. Many fine old scooters changed hands and built a reputation for cantankerousness, because the owners were too stoned or stupid to understand a shop manual.
I left SCHD that day with a bad case of "wanna be fever", just imagining myself on one of those glorious black and chrome dream machines. Oh well....back home to my trusty 3.5 hp Sears motorbike. (Gotta start somewhere), and an overactive imagination.
I remember a pilgrimage to Salem County HD with my Father way back when. The door swung open to reveal a dingy showroom with creaky hardwood flooring, stained and scratched by years of use, redolent with the aromas of leather, exhaust, rubber and burnt sixty-weight...ghosts of Flatties, Knucks, and Panheads.
And the bikes! Sitting there on display, new and used, with magical names like Hydra Glide, Duo Glide, and yup...the new ELECTRA Glide! Complete with drip pans and baking sheets with edges, (I bet someones wife was upset), to collect the droppings and drippings from Milwaukee's finest vibrators. Back then you had to know your stuff to maintain a long-term relationship with a real motorcycle.....know how to start it, tune it, and rebuild it, or you were sunk. Many fine old scooters changed hands and built a reputation for cantankerousness, because the owners were too stoned or stupid to understand a shop manual.
I left SCHD that day with a bad case of "wanna be fever", just imagining myself on one of those glorious black and chrome dream machines. Oh well....back home to my trusty 3.5 hp Sears motorbike. (Gotta start somewhere), and an overactive imagination.
19/02: View from the hiway
Before getting into this issues thrilling saga of life on the road, please allow me to clean up at least one king sized foul up. In the "Bullet Proof Tranny" story I stated incorrectly that my old Norton Commando was made in Birmingham, which was inaccurate. Although Nortons were indeed made in Blighty, at the time of Commando production they were built in Wolverhampton. So the sentence should have read "...enjoyed the thrill of a Wolverhampton sleigh ride..."sorry about that folks. Thanks to I. B. Churlish for pointing out my mistake. Hope yer around if I ever become incontinent.
This time I promised a friend a story free from wrecks, mechanical foul ups, or tent trashings. You know- just getting to the joys of motorcycling. How about the curative powers thereof ? And awa-a-a-a-ay we go!
Life's pressures had built up, and I was thrashed mentally and spiritually. When I arrived at work my co-worker took a look at me and said, "Man, you need to get back on that bike and just go." Well, not really but it sounds good. Not being able to concentrate isn't conducive to artistic pursuits, so the machines got locked up and I bid my pal " Auf wiedersehen" and departed for a restorative putt.
This time I promised a friend a story free from wrecks, mechanical foul ups, or tent trashings. You know- just getting to the joys of motorcycling. How about the curative powers thereof ? And awa-a-a-a-ay we go!
Life's pressures had built up, and I was thrashed mentally and spiritually. When I arrived at work my co-worker took a look at me and said, "Man, you need to get back on that bike and just go." Well, not really but it sounds good. Not being able to concentrate isn't conducive to artistic pursuits, so the machines got locked up and I bid my pal " Auf wiedersehen" and departed for a restorative putt.
21/12: View From the Highway
Come on in, pull up a milk crate by the wood stove and grab a brew. Seems another month’s gone by since we talked last and it’s getting colder than a mid-70’s DMV employee’s heart. How about a nice warm mid-summer story to kill the frosties?
Back in the mid-80’s I was working in a shop in Frantic City were I began learning the art of tattoo, with the son of an old time Coney Island inkster. A biker magazine (WOOOOOOO) sent down this chick to do a review of the shop and we became sort of friendly. Both of being single and perverse didn’t hurt things any, that’s true. Seeing as how she was scheduled to check out a beef roast at an old abandoned amusement park in PA Mountains, she invited me along for the ride. Sort of, because I got to supply the ride. Bet you can’t guess what she supplied.
So here we are a week later packing up to go. After checking the oil, which was ever replenishing (pronounce that oozing) chains and tires (yep, they’re round) it was time to start strapping, wrapping, and stuffing the crapping aboard my trusty old ’48 pan-shovel Bertha.
The old girl didn’t even wince under the load, and I do mean load. There was my crap, her crap, and camping crap sticking out everywhere. From the classic pup tent across the package rack to the camp axe poking out of the left saddlebag, we were ready. Sure glad I didn’t have to explain that to Officer friendly, no doubt.
Back in the mid-80’s I was working in a shop in Frantic City were I began learning the art of tattoo, with the son of an old time Coney Island inkster. A biker magazine (WOOOOOOO) sent down this chick to do a review of the shop and we became sort of friendly. Both of being single and perverse didn’t hurt things any, that’s true. Seeing as how she was scheduled to check out a beef roast at an old abandoned amusement park in PA Mountains, she invited me along for the ride. Sort of, because I got to supply the ride. Bet you can’t guess what she supplied.
So here we are a week later packing up to go. After checking the oil, which was ever replenishing (pronounce that oozing) chains and tires (yep, they’re round) it was time to start strapping, wrapping, and stuffing the crapping aboard my trusty old ’48 pan-shovel Bertha.
The old girl didn’t even wince under the load, and I do mean load. There was my crap, her crap, and camping crap sticking out everywhere. From the classic pup tent across the package rack to the camp axe poking out of the left saddlebag, we were ready. Sure glad I didn’t have to explain that to Officer friendly, no doubt.
Once again, the brethren of the roast commandeered the unsuspecting crew and passengers aboard the A.J. Meerwald on the afternoon of October 27. After boarding the ship surreptitiously, they sequestered themselves below-decks, and lurked about until the ship was underway.In true pyratical fashion, Captain Joe, Lady Catherine, Gunner Ron, Boson Don and Quartermaster Jake climbed a-deck, cutlasses waving, and won the day. ‘Twas another voyage filled with tales of gentlemen and ladies of fortune, pirates and patriots. An accord was reached and the crew of the Meerwald wound up feasting with the brethren ashore after their adventures at sea. Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!
Signed QJBR
There was a hue and cry, with terror among the passengers as members of a local pyrate crew, the Brethren of the Roast, boarded the A. J. Meerwald on a lovely summer day.
Captained by Joe Pantilione of Vineland, a-pirating in Port Royal at the time, crew members Ron the Gunner, Jake Quartermaster and Don the boatswain scurried aboard and proceeded to pillage, plunder and indulge in general rascality. While committing mischievous acts, they informed the lubbers aboard abut the nature of piracy in New Jersey and the importance of privateers to the developing colonies during the war of independence.
Bos’n Don was particularly helpful in lightening the liquor lockers of several groups of passengers, while assisting in distributing treasure. All aboard seemed to eventually relax and enjoy listening to some yarns. But quarters were “too close” for much swordplay.
The Brethren will be attending the Mummer’s Parade after taking the 5th prize in their first appearance in Landi’s Comic Division last year. Be ye ‘ware.
Captained by Joe Pantilione of Vineland, a-pirating in Port Royal at the time, crew members Ron the Gunner, Jake Quartermaster and Don the boatswain scurried aboard and proceeded to pillage, plunder and indulge in general rascality. While committing mischievous acts, they informed the lubbers aboard abut the nature of piracy in New Jersey and the importance of privateers to the developing colonies during the war of independence.
Bos’n Don was particularly helpful in lightening the liquor lockers of several groups of passengers, while assisting in distributing treasure. All aboard seemed to eventually relax and enjoy listening to some yarns. But quarters were “too close” for much swordplay.
The Brethren will be attending the Mummer’s Parade after taking the 5th prize in their first appearance in Landi’s Comic Division last year. Be ye ‘ware.
14/11: The Haunted Panhead
Jolly jolly – another fun filled month passes, thusly giving me another opportunity to share some prose about things riding related. It was a tough choice this time between the Haunted Panhead and the Bullet-proof Tranny stories.
I must admit some pressure was applied in favor of the supernatural. (Thanks fans) Real quick like, in the second paragraph, last installment, it should read Bat Boy, not That Boy. Proofread? Me? Maybe this time. Also – this story really happened. There are living witnesses. If you’ve ever sat on a hoodoo bike, you know what I mean. If not, who cares?
“A dead man never lets go of the throttle.”
I must admit some pressure was applied in favor of the supernatural. (Thanks fans) Real quick like, in the second paragraph, last installment, it should read Bat Boy, not That Boy. Proofread? Me? Maybe this time. Also – this story really happened. There are living witnesses. If you’ve ever sat on a hoodoo bike, you know what I mean. If not, who cares?
“A dead man never lets go of the throttle.”
