…on diamonds and rust

the bastard was in the chairman's hood this afternoon,

when he saw that the hodaku he saw chained up on his corner was still there.

perhaps its hibernating for the winter.

it was kind of nice to see mostly because it reminded me of a great evening of food and drink with my cousin.

I have to meet up with him soon.

we live across the river from each other for fucks sake.

and who knows, we may end up down the block from him.

metaphorically that is to say.

—the bastard

the hodaku

oh

if I only had the space.

and

the means to fix it.

and

the means to transport it back to the barn

hell, the nerve to just clip the chain and take it back to the barn and learn to fix it.

you see,

it's been abandoned here for a year and some guy on my vin moto board mad mention and it happens to be around the corner from the chairman's place.

a hodaku is a rare find these days.

it would be a shame to see it go to the junk pile.

—the bastard

...on old gold

"you know bastard, why don't you get a gold wing?", queried robbo

"nah", i replied

"why not, it has air conditioning, and a stereo, and it's like riding a couch"

"why not put doors on it and call it a goddam car"

last night, the boy and i were running around the block and i saw this parked across the street.

the bastard saw it last week up close so i snapped one off.

and i thought, i could do this.

sure, it's a goldwing but, it has no fairing.

no stereo.

no air conditioning.

just a strong horse with a comfy saddle.

i can  definately do this.

—the bastard

bird of prey...flying high

here we go again.

the palace at one a.m.

the bastard had a dream this evening.

he was walking through the park on his way home from the evening's repast.

walking past crowds of people waiting for hamburgers and men made of iron standing still.

I walked down 24th tonight because I had bid my company safe home on that corner.

the bastard walked under a bridge.

and under a street lamp was a chrome plated bird.

a rare beast.

the superhawk.

only this wasn't a dream.

it was the bike I have only seen in books.

under a streetlight.

on a Thursday night.

telling me that it's time for a bastard to dream again

about the wind in his face.

and the promise it will bring him.

I will not disappoint.

sweet dreams.

—the bastard

...burning chrome

a random turn on the walk hole can change everything.

and I just happened to turn past baruch on my way home.

tons of bikes lie there in the evening hours.

my cash money bet is alot of accounting majors double as squids at night.

anyways, rarely does one of baruch's lame crotch rockets raise a bastard's eyebows,

but,

I had to stop for this beastie.

now I've made no bones about my love of the ducati monster.

I think when the teacher bought one last season, I died a little bit inside.

but this bile was pretty as it glinted in the evening sun, around the din of students hanging out before whatever comes next on a Wednesday.

—the bastard

the ghost of jupiter

my appointment was approaching. raj’s father was getting ready to leave for his office in patna.

“come,” he said. “we’ll sit in the car.”

we sat turned towards each other, and he said:

“give me your hand.”

i held it out, and he grasped it as in a handshake, but held it in a grip for several moments. then releasing it, he gave my thumb a quick backward flip, and murmured:

“achcha!”

“you have a very determined soul. this is also reflected in your mind.”

“you are jupiter…”

why not? i thought. i like the sound of that.

—ted simon, jupiter’s travels:

four years around the world on a triumph

the bastard forgets things all the time.

hell, I forget to do this all the time.

but there is on thing I don't forget all the time.

and that's the roar of the machine.

there's this guy who lives a few doors down from me who owns this very triumph tiger (not this Bonnie but the one up top).

and he apparently works near my office.

and he apparently heads home around the same time as me because I saw him tear down 32nd. and park when I was heading home on tuesday.

and it was a reaffirmation of the fact that I want to get the wind back in my face.

poverty has made the bastard feel sedentary

and

I want to rectify that.

but,

what to do? what fo do?

at least I get to see the tiger when it's warm out and think about jupiter,

and hope for a chance to meet the wind again.

one day. one fucking good day I will.

—the bastard

the bastard saw something ridiculous today on the internets

and i haven't the faintest as to whether or not it's alot of trickery but it's inneresting at least

—the bastard

...on habits

the bastard is beginning to think that his robot problem may be getting out of hand.

—the bastard

bittersweet symphony

cold comfort

is

an empty bus

on a shitty night

in queens.

heading back

to a shitty night

in manhattan.

it'll all start feeling like the damn holidays when the neverending ship ends.

and maybe for a minute it'll feel like christmas.

funny thing is

every time I kicked the bike over

it felt like christmas.

—the bastard

from the bastard's mouth to god's ears

a couple of weeks ago, the bastard was talking about the green vehicles movement.

about the fine folks at brammo and their electric motorcycle.

and i had expressed my disdain over the price of this item

well, they lowered the price of the bike.

so, the bastard is man enough to take it all back. it certainly wasn't $10995 nice to buy but, it sure is $7995 nice enough to buy.

so buy it.

and then the bastard will buy it used from you in a year or two.

you see, i'm always thinking.

—the bastard

...on setbacks

well the bastard had a plan.

and it was good.

it's just not going to happen right now

and the bastard was bummed.

so i spoke with someone important about it and he said the idea still had legs but it's not right now in the money department.


so we're gonna do it anyway.

just with less money involved.

because any dumb thing your gonna do, your gonna do because you want to do it.

not because you want to make money at it.

although making money is good.

but doing it for the love makes it more worth it.

—the bastard

...on audacity

the bastard uses links to other websites mostly for humorous purposes.

like case and point, if i wanted to talk about the president, i'd link it to an image that may or may not be presidential.

however, i've been following this website for little over a week, since i signed up for the brammo electric motorcycle company's mailing list like umpety ump years ago. or maybe it was 6 months ago, i forget.

anyway, premise is this, two guys from brammo want to show the country their bike and they feel the best way to do this is to give one to president barry.

personally, i think the best way to make people buy an underpowered albeit beautifully designed bike more practical for the american people is to,

i dunno

make it less than 12 grand to ride.

now to be fair, it's actually more in the neighborhood of 11 grand but for a few hundred bucks more, you can have a comfy seat for it.

which brings the bastard to his point. there is a problem in this country with changing the hearts and minds of the people on the alternative fuels front.

it's expensive.

sure, the bastard wanted to buy a toyota prius, it gets huge mileage but it costs in the neighborhood of 23,000 at it's cheapest. so i bought a cheap asses hatchback that gets half the mileage for almost 10 grand less.

take the notion of eating healthy. you can clip coupons, shop for canned goods, buy meat that's 75% fat because it's on sale, buy cereal that's on sale, and you can die in 20 years from the enormous salt lick that is lodged in your carotid artery after the fact. yes, youc can cut meat out of your diet but, you have to get the protein somewhere. seitan costs money. but, i'm getting off message here.

if you wanna eat healthy, it costs more. if you want to drive an alternative fuel vehicle, it's gonna cost you.

this item is while on the surface, a fantastic idea (who the hell doesn't want to plug your bike into an outlet instead of going to a gas station?) but, it's a luxury item until there are enough people who can afford to buy a 12 thousand dollar electric motorcycle.

i certainly hope that these two guys from brammo actually succeed in getting their bike to barry just because a higher profile might prompt more to buy and then the bastard can look into buying, say, a 5 thousand dollar elctric motorcycle one day.



but today's the day they may be able to pass it off to him. maybe it'll work out. mebbe not

—the bastard

...on the calling

now the bastard knows what yer thinking.

there's that frikking bike again and we the readers are gonna read some more maudlin shit about how much you miss the scrambler.

but we're kind of past that true believers.

it's a known quantity.

but it's like this.

I've been watching the long way down again.

and they are in Ethiopia.

i couldn't find a decent shot of Ethiopia by motorcycle.

so, the old bike is more of a placeholder.

the point is this.

Ethiopia looked fucking beautiful.

it makes me want to hit the road.

but, I have some important stuff happening in the next few weeks so

I want to hit the road later, not now.

the bastard wants to cross the country on an iron horse. I'd like it make that happen.

—the bastard

...down one click

...pin the throttle. let out the clutch.

as I settled down for bed,

the bastard thought about the show he was watching.

Charlie and ewan were gonna go the long way around Africa.

and ewan broke his ankle 9 weeks before the trip.

healed up.

and right on time, they left for parts unknown.

and the bastard thought, "hey, you fat old sack of crap, you need to get back on the horse."

I though about a photo I found of my son I found on the way through the photo library on top of pichaco peak mugging triumphantly at his climb or just showing off for his dad.

and i thought about the little girl who is growing in my ladyfriend's belly right next to me right now and I thought, "you gotta be just as fulla life for her as you were for the boy."

and I thought about a joke that scoop and i tell each other all the time.

my hate makes me great.

it don't.

what makes me great is my desire to do it again.

my desire to get out there and hit the pavement.

tonight, the bastard wants to dream of open roads and the roar of the machine.

and the fucking wind.

I want it back. badly.

—the bastard

...on the roar of the machine...the hat trick

this afternoon the bastard died a little inside.

red beard is getting his motorcycle license this summer and he has a little more

how you say,

liquidity.

so we went down the triumph dealership downtown and did some pricing and discussion.

and then i saw it.


right there.

you know, a day doesn't go by where i don't miss the scrambler. i wish i had the scratch to buy another one.

but you know, the day'll come.

funny thing is, the dealer and i spent most of the time talking about the merits of triumphs and bike accidents and the bastard finds that he doesn't worry about the hit, he worries about the next time the rubber meets the road.

soon motherfucker.

soon.

—the bastard

...on the roar of the machine...again

met some friends at this bike bar i always meant to hit when the bastard had a bike.

but now I don't.

and that's ok. allthough, the matador made comment about my trench and asked if i had a shotgun under it.

I just said well i can't just dress in my riding gear and pretend I ride even though I trashed my bike.

"you trashed your bike!?!?"

"I trashed my bike."

"I didn't know", said rayne o'brian.

well the bastard don't advertise. well maybe I spoke about it a little.

anyway, it was the Qatar gp and it was good to go.

only two crashes worth noting and one of them had the riders recovering.

on a side note, I still haven't been able to get "the cowboy song" by thin lizzy out of my head.

third days straight. roll me over and set me free, the cowboy's life is the life for me.

—the bastard

the bastard is having a hard time with the economy

the bastard has his woes.

and in the grand scheme, they small potatoes.

he has his health (barely).

but, it's like this. i miss the bike.

but i just got the tax bill and it leaves me poor.

and i have no scratch for a new one.

and a friend is selling his.

and it's outta my reach.

guess the bastard finds he has to wait.

just so you know.

it's the hardest part. fuck tom petty.

—the bastard

where the rubber meets the road

don't read if this sort of thing gets you worried, please. no. really.


"i should have taken the midtown tunnel", the bastard said to the fireman as he asked me what exactly happened.

"well, you'll know better the next time"

"well i was heading back to manhattan, "

"ok? do you know what day it is?"

"it's sunday, superbowl sunday, and this guy started fishtailing all over the road,"

"ok? do you know who was playing in the game sir?"

"yes (eyes roll), the steelers and the cardiinals, the steelers pulled it off with 2 minutes 35 left on the clock, it was a great play. ANYWAY, so the guy is swerving everywhere and i start downshifting and,"

"ok? sir, do you know who the president is?"

"yes, barry obama" i stop and look hard at joe fucking ensemble cast member of the fx original, rescue me and continue my story. "and just as i'm trying to judge where he's going he slams on his brakes and comes to a stop"

finally, the fireman is satisfied that i know what year it is, the bastard finishes his tale of woe.

really...stop reading now.

"ok? go on."

"so he comes to a dead stop and my bike goes under his car and i go over the trunk"

my thigh stopped me from going any further (props to my knee armor for that).

then i hit the windshield with my head with a resounding pop (the bastard has alot to say about this helmet. thank you so much kevlar helmet) and glass was everywhere.

then i rolled off, onto my feet and all i saw was headlights.

then i saw the bike. she was done and i didn't have time to be sad. what i had was time to get off of the road.

first thing i did was call 911 and then i called my ladyfriend to let her know i was alright.

not too much after that did the ambulance arrive. the firemen told me they were requied to put me on a board but i thought it was a training exercise for their new guys.

let me stop here: the bastard complains alot about procedures but, that's only because i knew that i was okay. i walked away from it and i was lucky and these guys are out there putting their shit on the line so, if they wanted to strap me to a board to make sure i was ok, then i'm ok with it. so that said, i really appreciate that the fire department was the first on the scene and they did their jobs with great efficiency despite my "knowing" i was ok. i'm sure everyone thinks that they are ok when they get up and walk away from it.

the paramedics put me in the ambulance and the younger of the 2 emt's ask me if there is any pain elsewhere and i tell him about the pain in my thigh and he asks me if these are my favorite pants. i just start taking them off and the older emt starts screaming on me about how i have this collar and board here so that i am stabilized and i scream back at him asking him what the hell does he think i'm going home in? my underwear? they acquiesce and i get to keep my pants.

and my pocket knife.

i might have lost the change in my pocket but who cares. i walked away.

i had a similar argument with the trauma ward staff about my sweater. did you see what i look like without a shirt? come on? i'm going home in my jacket and no shirt?

i swear to god. these people are by far the most top notch people in their field.

top notch.

bar none.

but they sure are crazy about their scissors in this field.

apparently dr ricky, found the bastard to be the most entertaining thing to hit the trauma ward all night, so he asked if he could be assigned to me and he was. and i put on a show.

it's a coping mechanism. you see, when you smash into something, you don't have time to get scared. you've almost left your body.

you're watching this on television.

hell, you don't even get to see your life flash before your eyes. it's all bullshit.

so you have nothing left when you're in a trama ward with no pants on and a cut on your chin but, to make jokes. it's all you got.

at 1:30 my ladyfriend calls up to ask me what the status is, and i tell her that i love her and that everything is going to be alright. i feel awful about getting home so late. i'm not even worried about the accident. i'm just worried about getting home.

all throught the ct scan. i don't care about what they find, i just want to go home.

the x-rays on my leg? fuck this, i want to go home to show her that i'm alright.

i call the chairman so he knows. because, it's who i would call, he lived down the block from me for two years and he's family and i owe him alot. he should know i'm ok.


at some point.

after all of my calls. to my lady, my cousin and the boy's mom, the nice lady, i realize that i lost my cross.

the bastard isn't religious.

never have been.

but i had this cross since i was 16. it meant alot to me and tonight, i gave it to the road in exchange for my safety. it's when it all hit me. and i just sat there with my busted helmet on my lap and what was now an empty neck chain. and it hit me hard.

it hit me what i lost.

and what i got to keep tonight.

and as i stepped out into the early morning air at 4:15 am with all my stuff in bags, and the new york city corrections van in front of me, i realized that i was lucky.

lucky things played out the way they did.

lucky that the gear i purchased did their job.

lucky. just fucking lucky. stupid and lucky and glad to have the wind still blowing in my face.

i usually thank god for small shit. not getting fired. getting me home before the rain starts. for good friends. for good timing. hell, for good times. but i was just thankful i could walk away and ride another day.

—the bastard

...on winterizing

it's been so busy lately, between the move, and the gun show that the bastard hasn't had a chance to start up the bike in almost 2 weeks.

and now it's cold.

and i don't know when i'm going to be able to winterize the fucking thing.

i hope it kicks over when i get back from florida.

yeah, florida. i don't like it either.

—the bastard

slippage

had a near miss last night.

hit an oily patch while turning.

no great shakes though.

small patch.

small skid.

the bastard needs to keep those knee pads on from here on out.

-the bastard