The industry sucks now. Television and corporate America have taken the soul out of the real motorcycle junkie. There are very few of God's true mutants left in this industry. These mutants are true prototypes who were not made for mass production. The word "chopper" has been molested and exploited to the point of no return. "Chopper this...chopper that..." Well, f*ck you and your chopper is what I say-who on God's green earth thought that a fat tire looked cool on the back of a two-wheeled motorcycle? A fat tire is like a fat broad: totally useless, ugly, and when you ride her you feel like shit after.
It's almost like when you're at the bar and you have to take one for the team. There she is, wide as an 18x360 and as heavy as one...good Lord, just the sight of that, can you just imagine? Please, almighty one, bring back the '70s, a time and era when the spirit and soul were pure and headed in the right direction: downstream and against the wind. When a bath was obsolete and we all had hair like Kurt Taylor. When traditional flames were cool and unlike the ungodly gothic flaming jobs of today. When a rigid was only built two ways-South Bay or Frisco. When Irish Rich was young and bikes were truly cool. "Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin." Bikes are dead.
Who are these murderous heathens that have exploited an underground culture and brought it to mainstream America?
It used to go something like this: "Mom, who's at the door?"
"Go back to bed, Trev, it's the cops with your dad, he got into another bar brawl."
Nowadays it's more like "Can I get that model with a heated seat and a coffee mug holder at no extra cost, please, and can you throw in those his-and-her OCC autographed bathrobes?"
"You just can't buy cool," says Rudy from the Gypsy Jokers.
Who do we embrace now as our idols in this custom culture lifestyle? There are no Sugarbears left. No true legendary icons or unique one-offs. H-D has gone flatline...911! Lifeflight! Jaws of Life! Help! A good name's down.
OK everybody, what's next? What's the new fad in America? Lead sleds and rat rods? Wow, we haven't made a buck off that yet. Oh yeah, I forgot, the almighty dollar: sell, sell, sell, that's the spirit! Undercut, underbid, low, low prices, guaranteed and produced overseas. But wait, it's American, will it fit? Of course it will, it doesn't matter. Is the chrome supposed to peel off? Do you honor the warranty? If this is what it's come to, I want out.
How do we heal ourselves from this awful plague that has diseased so many of us addicts? Do we start new careers and work for IBM? Or do we do like Mondo over at Denver's and just weather the storm that he has encountered so many times? Is there smooth sailing for a new generation? Land ahoy, mates, it can be fixed. We have to go back to the basics when a bike was truly functional and was enjoyed by very few. When the word "billet" didn't exist and a fat tire was something you put on your 4x4. Let's get back into the swing of things, folks. Let's go back to the grassroots of it all. We all need a trip to Home Depot to buy shovels and start digging. Eventually we will find our souls and the true meaning of freedom.
Enough of this reality sitcom drama about a father and sons. Let's get out there and enjoy the open roads and new faces we might meet along the way. The days of trailer queens are over. It's time for the weekend warrior to embark on new fads and trends.
I'm sad to say that my fast-riding, sushi-eating friends in Tokyo get it and the majority of you red-blooded Americans don't. We need more Cole Fosters and Chopper Daves. The Sinners are cool and have been acting that way for years. We need more stories of breaking down while stuck in the middle of nowhere, and sleeping next to your bike with whatever you have on and maybe a pair of leathers. When was the last time you couldn't kickstart your bike or your generator wasn't charging? Or your Magnito wasn't getting a spark? It's too easy nowadays: turn key and push, hotel and room service.
"Cool, let's do the closing paragraph, my blood pressure is way too high, with a story like this I'm due for an aneurysm or an angry sniper from the rooftop..."
Have I offended anyone yet? If so, contact your local priest for counseling. Sometimes the truth hurts, but goddamn it feels good to get it off your chest. I must go now; I must indulge in a nice warm bath with my main artery slit as I write this horrific article.