Madness On Two Wheels Or The Dangers of Total Liberation And It's Disasterous Consequences

This Was An Old Post From My LiveJournal. After Reading It, It Still Remains One Of My Favorites!

I hear it all the time. It's said in biker bars. Hunter S. Thompson couldn't even stray from it. The allure in velocity, the feeling of being shot out of a gun completely out of control and bearing down with the Sausage Creature staring you in the eye all over again.

But there was a fallacy in the statment that a motorcycle holds total freedom. No No NO! Has everyone failed to see how the System has used that as a scam for thier brainwashed little minds? Yes!

With the Motorcycle there is still oil to be considered. While the CEOs and Big Wigs sneer at Motorcyclists around the world they know they profit from these mad creatures flying at speeds in excess of hundreds of miles per hour...laying down the large machines in the road over a deer and then long hospital stays afterward to replace a living skeleton with a titanium one. The insurance companies then get to drop you because you're spending far too much of the money they've asked you to allocate without condition as they return the favor with conditional coverage.

Yes, you motorcyclists...you've been scammed.

I, on the other hand, remain free...no insurance to speak of and I don't care to have the goddamned stuff. So last night at approximately 8:30pm, I purchased the first thing that I had fallen in love with. My eyes set upon it as it gleamed in the light of WalMart. A gleaming Black and Silver Mongoose XR200. A Mountain Bike if there ever was one. Since childhood, I'd wanted a Mongoose. Mountain Biker had Mongoose and Trek running neck and neck one year...probably about 1998 as the two best bikes on the market with Schwinn beginning to fall behind, losing it's eternal hold on the Mountain Bike Marketplace. The dilemma I faced was that it had no price tag attatched.

This is the dilemma that faces the lives of every man wanting a vehicle that will afford him total freedom even if it is momentary. If you have to ask...you cannot afford it. But due to the persistant inquiries by myself and Phoenix, we finally found that this would be just a tad over what I had intended to spend but it was far less than the shitty Huffy I'd purchased six years ago. I'd found myself wishing such was the case back then...I wouldn't be anywhere near as out of shape as I am now.

I looked upon it with pride. The more time I spent with it, the more of a kinship I developed with it. I imagined me and this fine piece of machinery flying as fast as my legs could carry me down deserted highways and byways at 1am in this little shithole and then another thought struck me....accessories. I'd need a water bottle as this didn't seem to have one for hydration, a small air pump and a chain with a combination lock at least in order to keep this beautiful thing from being stolen if I had to park it in public for any length of time. I began grabbing them when Phoenix informed me of yet another law plaguing my dying breed. Now I'd have to add a headlight. Goddammit. It struck me that if it were law, they should come standard.

I placed the items including a pair of rider's gloves into the cart. Again, I looked upon it. Beautiful black with the end of the black bleeding into a tribal design down into the silver. Dual shock suspension, making it less painful on my ass when I hit those rough patches and less jarring on the joints of my arms as well. Then....something made me turn my head sideways and give it a closer inspection. No longer did these things come with the caliper brakes for the front and back. Now it was just the back...and the front now sported a disc brake. What an odd and curious thing that was. Disc brakes on a bicycle. But when faced with a bike of this caliber...there is no questioning it. I would be mad not to take this torpedo and ride it to its end...bitter or otherwise.

WalMart profited off of me handsomely that day. My taxes having been spent on bills and the bike as a reward and several items from Satanic organizations because I have an affinity for baphomet designs on ANYTHING!

I was sure that my purchase of the dark beauty would certainly give me more benefit than simple money. No, this would put itself toward my good health and looks...if it didn't kill me first.

Upon returning with groceries, the dark beauty and its accessories. I immediately began the task at hand of airing the tires. After the tires were aired and a series of questions pondered as to where the hell we should put the water bottle cage and Air Pump strap on the bike's gnarly frame, I said to hell with it. I mounted the front and rear lights and placed the batteries into them and took off on the initial test run.

There's something to be said about the feeling of flight on a bike named for a savage little creature made into the fairy tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi. Civilization could not touch you even if you were cruising on this thing through the residential districts on a head full of acid. No way...this was true freedom. No feul, no insurance....just me, the savage aluminum pack mule and the wind on my face as I barrel recklessly towards parts unknown. No stationary bikes for me, no motorcycles, no bullshit hassle. Just me and the road, like old friends, picking up our courtship where it left off so long ago.

Initial test: Successful...no complaints.

So I pulled up the playlists for the show that was to start at 1am and I waited. Patiently waiting. I wanted to get the bullshit speaking part over with and just haul ass on my new toy. She called me. She spoke the name. Black Moonlight. It's what I would call her forever, her mixture of the gothic black and silver playing their tribal games in my mind. Through the intros, through the theme music for the show and finally...I spoke.

I rambled on and on for a few minutes about this new machine. This new partner. This new disease that had infected my soul in my search for the aphrodisiac powers of it. Goddammit, I felt alive just thinking about it.

The Death Of The American Dream was over for me. It's Resurrection and Resurgence within me would be likened to some hideous orgasm. A post Nietzche-ism ism. Finally, with the talking done...I let the music roll. I tied my sneakers on, grabbed my fanny pack of miscellaneous small items I'd need, slung the mp3 player chock-full of illegal mp3s around my neck, put my headphones in and ZZZZZZZZZZANG! I flew as fast as my legs could carry me. Onward and forward, I sped to parts unknown but familiar to me. I would ride all the old streets of this shithole without fear as to what lie in front of me and what lie behind me. It's not really fast. It's a slow ride...a cruise. Perfect...flawlessly weaving through time and space. Destination: Your Childhood. T-Minus your life and counting.

I pumped my legs until sulfur burned within the muscle fibers, never remembering the feeling. The pain was like a visit from an old friend but now I had motivation to make them burn. I would cut the fat from my legs and midsection and once again restore myself to being the light of my feet body that I was back in highschool with only the Huffy I had back then. That one had no shocks to it....so I got jarred to hell when i'd ride but what a helluva thing that was. I'd bought two bottles of water on my trip. Everytime I stopped, the sweat rushed in torrents through my pores. I'd concluded during my stops that I would indeed have to find a way to drill holes into the aluminum frame in order to get my bastard Water Bottle on there.

When I was done gulping down the first water. I headed out again, my back red tail lights flashing in strobes fast enough to kill an epileptic. Through the highways there was nothing and no one about. Just me, the road and my music flying along like some dragon freed from this world to fly about in space. This is what the Gods had intended for man when they decreed that all should be free. Some took it to extremes though and they've paid the price, I'm sure.

On the backroads around my neighborhood...I encountered the Sausage Creature that The Good Doctor had mentioned when a car came flying up behind me and I zigged and zagged in a near unsucessful attempt to get away from the red missile of a Mustang doing Mach 9 down the highway. My adrenaline raced and I pedalled faster than ever. Goddamn...what a rush.

I travelled to the place where two baseball fields stood in my youth and to the place where baseball fields now stand. Then, I made my way back home.

Upon my arrival, my shirt and I were soaked through with sweat. I'd only been riding for two hours and my legs could no longer take the punishment, my thighs feeling the equivalent of melted cheese and my ass in agony from the uncomfortable seat that was set upon my bike. The people at Mongoose had built Black Moonlight with me in mind, of this I am sure but not her seat.

On my memorial they'll carve "It Never Got Twisted Enough For Me."