Frankenbike goes to the Darkside
- Thread starter RadioHowie
- Start date
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Bustanut joker
Well-known member
Dood, just being "you" is a criminal act.. :blink:Some consider putting a CT on an FJR to be a criminal act in and of itself.
Fukpickle.
:jester:
majicmaker
Well-known member
Howie, Walter, Mike,
I just got to the house! I will post the Post Game Report in the morning cause my fingers are numb and my butt hurts!! DAMN!! That sounds so wrong.
I should have said the words to myself before I typed. But, I'm too tired to erase!! Now, I'll go back and read all of Howie's Report!!
I just got to the house! I will post the Post Game Report in the morning cause my fingers are numb and my butt hurts!!
DAMN!! That sounds so wrong.I should have said the words to myself before I typed. But, I'm too tired to erase!! Now, I'll go back and read all of Howie's Report!!
Bustanut joker
Well-known member
Considering two of the guys you just mentioned I'd say it sounds "normal"? Yeah that's itI just got to the house! I will post the Post Game Report in the morning cause my fingers are numb and, my butt hurts!!
:jester:
RadioHowie
I Miss Beemerdons!
Glad yer home safe! :yahoo:Howie, Walter, Mike,
I just got to the house! I will post the Post Game Report in the morning cause my fingers are numb and my butt hurts!!
I should have said the words to myself before I typed. But, I'm too tired to erase!! Now, I'll go back and read all of Howie's Report!!
Bust, go abuse yerself, cheezdik!
Bustanut joker
Well-known member
RadioHowie
I Miss Beemerdons!
Bustanut joker
Well-known member
Hey look dinknose.. This ain't no chatroom :lol:
:jester:
:jester:
That's just SkooterG.Some consider putting a CT on an FJR to be a criminal act in and of itself.
Great write up RH.
Bust - Me'n??? What dictionary is that word from? And isn't is proper to be used "Me'n you'n?" As in "Me'n you'n are fixin to be head'n to the sheep ranch." (overheard at casa-Bustanut)
wfooshee
O, Woe is me!!
OK, OK, OK. Settle down.
Pics and more words.
Arrival at Waffle House, found a nice lookin' bike, weird lookin' dude. Bike is slightly wrong color, and something wrong with its butt end.
RH salutin' Bust:
RH came out to meet me, I knew immediately who he was, recognized that shit-eating grin from his pics of his first ride after reassembly. I asked why I only found one other Feej, and he wasn't sure. We went in, had coffee, tried to call Vic, had coffee, tried to text Vic, had coffee, tried to call Vic's room, ordered breakfast, checked the weather, ate breakfast. Still no Vic. Chatted a while, how we came to own FJRs, talked about the ride up, blah blah blah. Still no Vic. After breakfast I note that my waffle, hashbrowns, and milk are no comparison to his cholesterol paste of 3 eggs and grits, with a double side of bacon and sausage. If it means anything, I can vouch for him with the Los Robustos guys out west. He may be a probie, but he's a dedicated probie. I thought about looking into it, but there's no hope.
It also came up during conversation, between weather checks and "Where's Vic?" that RH has been drinkin' coffee for quite a while. He couldn't quite remember if the 7AM was Central or Eastern, so he was there at 6. All by himself. Taking up a whole booth, and swilling the bean-brew.
Now we're officially wondering if we ought to be thinking about getting worried. It's after 8:00. I mean, is Vic lying dead in the motel room? Did he find a gurl person and went off someplace with her? Dunno.
What I'm worried about is discussing with the coroner how I knew this guy was dead in his room, but I've never met him, and being stuck in Chipley all week trying to 'splain that to the authorities.
Anyway, we head down to the Holiday Inn Express, find Vic's bike, but still don't know which room to bang on.
Finally, three bikes. Just not three riders:
And BTW, Vic's bike is WAY too clean!
So RH goes to the office, asks which room, and we bang on the door. Nuthin'. Bang on the door again. Nuthin'. Bang on the door. It opens.
We'll say right now that I earnestly sincerely hope that the first meeting of any more forum buddies works out - differently. At least if the person being met is male. OK, he wasn't naked, but he has hairy legs. It's his birthday today, and we almost saw the suit! Anyway, he came to the door, apologized profusely for sleeping in, then closed the door (thankfully! I thought he was gonna ask us in!) and we waited for a couple minutes for him to become more presentable.
Then the manager comes down and starts knocking on the door. RH's worries have carried over to the staff, and they wanna make sure they aren't sitting in a room somewhere 'splainin' how this biker dude was found dead by some other biker dudes. Or maybe he was more worried about the expense of cleaning the room. Anyway, we convinced him we'd seen Vic up and about (boy, did we ever!) and he could relax, return to his poker website in the office.
I notice RH's bike has a weird lookin' seat, all hollowed out and squished like some manatee tried to ride off with it. RH's story is that the original owner was a diminutive sort, and had the foam carved out to lower the seat. I sat the bike, thinking non-marine-mammal thoughts, and was instantly impressed by how hard the jewelry was pressed into the front of the seat. I'm wondering how Radio Howie has been able to keep his radio voice all this time. Invited him to sit my bike and compare. Between the seat height and the risers he was like Will Smith in Independance Day: "I gotta get me one o' these!"
By now Vic is all decent and everything and comes out.
He declines breakfast of his own after we note that although we were concerned about him, we weren't concerned enough to skip breakfast. I ask him why his bike is so clean, he says he washes it. Eww! And after confirming the weather forecast for tomorrow (central Florida is supposed to get flushed) they head east and I head west. It's 9 AM Central time.
Nothing eventful on I-10 to Pensacola, but I wish I coulda had a camera ready. I came upon a bike being towed, Harley of course, but not the normal way. Bike was loaded into a pickup bed. No big deal so far. Lots folks carry Harleys in pickup trucks. The truck itself, though, was loaded onto a trailer, which was being towed by one o' them thar reck-ree-ayshunal VEEhickles. It struck me as funny, the compound towing of a bike.
Into Pensacola, get across town to the air station, and as I make the turn onto the museum road, Mike (Patriot) and his riding buddy Nick are coming from the other street. 5 and 6 hours after leaving our homes, doing who knows what-all kinds of stuff all morning, and everybody actually arrives seperately together simultaneously at once in the same place at the same time. Like it was planned or something.
Into the museum, a few minutes of wandering, and then the Cubi Bay Cafe for lunch. Simple sandwich fare, no help for Robustos hopefuls. If you haven't caught on, yet, the Cubi Bay Cafe in the museum is basically this pub in the Phillipines, transferred more or less intact after the closure of the station there. All the unit plaques, not reproduced exactly as they were, but moved into this facility, and placed as they were. Pretty cool stuff.
Patriot and Nick. Nick has gone all hooligan biker dude on us. He was riding a Gold wing when last I saw him (when Patriot brough his bike over to me for a cruise control install) and now he's on an Ultra Glide, sporting a weird chin beard thing, and brapping about town with loud pipes. Nick was actually the reason for the trip, he was at the air station for a wreath-laying at his dad's grave there. The meet-and-eat for everybody else came from the fact that they were gonna be there why don't y'all come on up?
After lunch, some more museum touring (no more pics, sorry) then to Gulf Breeze to Baskin Robbins to try for a sugar coma apiece, then over the bridge for the coast road to Navarre. Most of that road is brand new, rebuilt after Ivan washed it out (and almost the whole island, too) in 2004. Also, most of the road is national park, part of Gulf Islands National Seashore, and as such is undeveloped. Again, no pictures, sorry. It had begun to drizzle while we were here, and nobody wanted to stop and play tourist. After crossing back to the mainland at Navarre, I headed east and homeward, they headed west to their rooms for the night in Pensacola.
My ride home was uneventful, drizzly most of the way but none of the serious flooding rain that had been predicted, and temps stayed pretty mild, mid-50s as low as it got.
Pics and more words.
Arrival at Waffle House, found a nice lookin' bike, weird lookin' dude. Bike is slightly wrong color, and something wrong with its butt end.
RH salutin' Bust:
RH came out to meet me, I knew immediately who he was, recognized that shit-eating grin from his pics of his first ride after reassembly. I asked why I only found one other Feej, and he wasn't sure. We went in, had coffee, tried to call Vic, had coffee, tried to text Vic, had coffee, tried to call Vic's room, ordered breakfast, checked the weather, ate breakfast. Still no Vic. Chatted a while, how we came to own FJRs, talked about the ride up, blah blah blah. Still no Vic. After breakfast I note that my waffle, hashbrowns, and milk are no comparison to his cholesterol paste of 3 eggs and grits, with a double side of bacon and sausage. If it means anything, I can vouch for him with the Los Robustos guys out west. He may be a probie, but he's a dedicated probie. I thought about looking into it, but there's no hope.
It also came up during conversation, between weather checks and "Where's Vic?" that RH has been drinkin' coffee for quite a while. He couldn't quite remember if the 7AM was Central or Eastern, so he was there at 6. All by himself. Taking up a whole booth, and swilling the bean-brew.
Now we're officially wondering if we ought to be thinking about getting worried. It's after 8:00. I mean, is Vic lying dead in the motel room? Did he find a gurl person and went off someplace with her? Dunno.
What I'm worried about is discussing with the coroner how I knew this guy was dead in his room, but I've never met him, and being stuck in Chipley all week trying to 'splain that to the authorities.
Anyway, we head down to the Holiday Inn Express, find Vic's bike, but still don't know which room to bang on.
Finally, three bikes. Just not three riders:
And BTW, Vic's bike is WAY too clean!
So RH goes to the office, asks which room, and we bang on the door. Nuthin'. Bang on the door again. Nuthin'. Bang on the door. It opens.
We'll say right now that I earnestly sincerely hope that the first meeting of any more forum buddies works out - differently. At least if the person being met is male. OK, he wasn't naked, but he has hairy legs. It's his birthday today, and we almost saw the suit! Anyway, he came to the door, apologized profusely for sleeping in, then closed the door (thankfully! I thought he was gonna ask us in!) and we waited for a couple minutes for him to become more presentable.
Then the manager comes down and starts knocking on the door. RH's worries have carried over to the staff, and they wanna make sure they aren't sitting in a room somewhere 'splainin' how this biker dude was found dead by some other biker dudes. Or maybe he was more worried about the expense of cleaning the room. Anyway, we convinced him we'd seen Vic up and about (boy, did we ever!) and he could relax, return to his poker website in the office.
I notice RH's bike has a weird lookin' seat, all hollowed out and squished like some manatee tried to ride off with it. RH's story is that the original owner was a diminutive sort, and had the foam carved out to lower the seat. I sat the bike, thinking non-marine-mammal thoughts, and was instantly impressed by how hard the jewelry was pressed into the front of the seat. I'm wondering how Radio Howie has been able to keep his radio voice all this time. Invited him to sit my bike and compare. Between the seat height and the risers he was like Will Smith in Independance Day: "I gotta get me one o' these!"
By now Vic is all decent and everything and comes out.
He declines breakfast of his own after we note that although we were concerned about him, we weren't concerned enough to skip breakfast. I ask him why his bike is so clean, he says he washes it. Eww! And after confirming the weather forecast for tomorrow (central Florida is supposed to get flushed) they head east and I head west. It's 9 AM Central time.
Nothing eventful on I-10 to Pensacola, but I wish I coulda had a camera ready. I came upon a bike being towed, Harley of course, but not the normal way. Bike was loaded into a pickup bed. No big deal so far. Lots folks carry Harleys in pickup trucks. The truck itself, though, was loaded onto a trailer, which was being towed by one o' them thar reck-ree-ayshunal VEEhickles. It struck me as funny, the compound towing of a bike.
Into Pensacola, get across town to the air station, and as I make the turn onto the museum road, Mike (Patriot) and his riding buddy Nick are coming from the other street. 5 and 6 hours after leaving our homes, doing who knows what-all kinds of stuff all morning, and everybody actually arrives seperately together simultaneously at once in the same place at the same time. Like it was planned or something.
Into the museum, a few minutes of wandering, and then the Cubi Bay Cafe for lunch. Simple sandwich fare, no help for Robustos hopefuls. If you haven't caught on, yet, the Cubi Bay Cafe in the museum is basically this pub in the Phillipines, transferred more or less intact after the closure of the station there. All the unit plaques, not reproduced exactly as they were, but moved into this facility, and placed as they were. Pretty cool stuff.
Patriot and Nick. Nick has gone all hooligan biker dude on us. He was riding a Gold wing when last I saw him (when Patriot brough his bike over to me for a cruise control install) and now he's on an Ultra Glide, sporting a weird chin beard thing, and brapping about town with loud pipes. Nick was actually the reason for the trip, he was at the air station for a wreath-laying at his dad's grave there. The meet-and-eat for everybody else came from the fact that they were gonna be there why don't y'all come on up?
After lunch, some more museum touring (no more pics, sorry) then to Gulf Breeze to Baskin Robbins to try for a sugar coma apiece, then over the bridge for the coast road to Navarre. Most of that road is brand new, rebuilt after Ivan washed it out (and almost the whole island, too) in 2004. Also, most of the road is national park, part of Gulf Islands National Seashore, and as such is undeveloped. Again, no pictures, sorry. It had begun to drizzle while we were here, and nobody wanted to stop and play tourist. After crossing back to the mainland at Navarre, I headed east and homeward, they headed west to their rooms for the night in Pensacola.
My ride home was uneventful, drizzly most of the way but none of the serious flooding rain that had been predicted, and temps stayed pretty mild, mid-50s as low as it got.
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beemerdons
Certifiable Old Fart
wfooshee: Thanks for pictures and narrative. RadioHowie: Thanks for the Ride Report. Looks like everybody had a great day.
Man: I just love how Frankenbike looks with the CT on it's back, wicked! Darksiding is in Chuy's FJR future! Screw SkooterG!!!
Man: I just love how Frankenbike looks with the CT on it's back, wicked! Darksiding is in Chuy's FJR future! Screw SkooterG!!!
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johnny80s
Turtle Gears
Great report! You all get an A.
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Fun read. I loved the comment about being concerned, but not so concerned as to miss breakfast...
RadioHowie
I Miss Beemerdons!
The funny thing was while enjoying my cholesterol paste, Walter and I were gravely speculating on MagidMaker's demise. Shot to death by a jealous Chipleyite husband/boyfriend?Fun read. I loved the comment about being concerned, but not so concerned as to miss breakfast...
Maybe a late night embolism brought on by overwashing his bike?
But when I suggested to Walter, after knowing Vic only a day, that he had been taken to heaven's gate by a fast-acting STD, The Dreaded Panhandle Pecker-Wrecker Virus, that at that point, breakfast held more of a significance than worrying about a fellow biker.
What the hell, at that point my breakfast is still hot. Vic's body (we speculated) ain't. Why waste good, crispy bacon? Do the math!
johnny80s
Turtle Gears
Dude, I totally understand. Crispy bacon is terrible thing to waste.The funny thing was while enjoying my cholesterol paste, Walter and I were gravely speculating on MagidMaker's demise. Shot to death by a jealous Chipleyite husband/boyfriend?Fun read. I loved the comment about being concerned, but not so concerned as to miss breakfast...
Maybe a late night embolism brought on by overwashing his bike?
But when I suggested to Walter, after knowing Vic only a day, that he had been taken to heaven's gate by a fast-acting STD, The Dreaded Panhandle Pecker-Wrecker Virus, that at that point, breakfast held more of a significance than worrying about a fellow biker.
What the hell, at that point my breakfast is still hot. Vic's body (we speculated) ain't. Why waste good, crispy bacon? Do the math!
wfooshee
O, Woe is me!!
Adjective string has me confused. Is that a dreaded virus found in the panhandle, or a virus found in the dreaded panhandle?
The funny thing was while enjoying my cholesterol paste, Walter and I were gravely speculating on MagidMaker's demise. Shot to death by a jealous Chipleyite husband/boyfriend?Fun read. I loved the comment about being concerned, but not so concerned as to miss breakfast...
Maybe a late night embolism brought on by overwashing his bike?
But when I suggested to Walter, after knowing Vic only a day, that he had been taken to heaven's gate by a fast-acting STD, The Dreaded Panhandle Pecker-Wrecker Virus, that at that point, breakfast held more of a significance than worrying about a fellow biker.
What the hell, at that point my breakfast is still hot. Vic's body (we speculated) ain't. Why waste good, crispy bacon? Do the math!
That's cold. Understandable. But cold.
Was it the thick sliced bacon? Or the thin sliced?
RadioHowie
I Miss Beemerdons!
Thin. I prefer the thick sliced kind, like CrackerBarrel serves, but takes longer to cook right. I give Awful House the benefit of the doubt.The funny thing was while enjoying my cholesterol paste, Walter and I were gravely speculating on MagidMaker's demise. Shot to death by a jealous Chipleyite husband/boyfriend?Fun read. I loved the comment about being concerned, but not so concerned as to miss breakfast...
Maybe a late night embolism brought on by overwashing his bike?
But when I suggested to Walter, after knowing Vic only a day, that he had been taken to heaven's gate by a fast-acting STD, The Dreaded Panhandle Pecker-Wrecker Virus, that at that point, breakfast held more of a significance than worrying about a fellow biker.
What the hell, at that point my breakfast is still hot. Vic's body (we speculated) ain't. Why waste good, crispy bacon? Do the math!
That's cold. Understandable. But cold.
Was it the thick sliced bacon? Or the thin sliced?
But it DOES have the perfect balance of salty, smokey crispness with a hint of maple used in the curing.
Damn...I WANT BACON!
Since this has degenerated into a Friday afternoon bacon dishing session...
Why does it have to taste so damn good and be so damn bad for you? Huh? :dribble: Especially when topped off with a half dozen sizzling Heuvos... :yahoo:
Why does it have to taste so damn good and be so damn bad for you? Huh? :dribble: Especially when topped off with a half dozen sizzling Heuvos... :yahoo:
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Think about it Fred, who told you it was bad? Is there profit for them, if it's bad? Sound a little self serving?
<mmm, self serve bacon.....>
