Biker Humour Online

A drunk biker is riding through the city and his bike is weaving violently all over the road. An Irish cop pulls him over. The cop says to the biker, "Where have you been?" "I've been to the pub," slurs the biker. "Well," says the cop, "It looks like you've had quite a few." "I did all right," the biker says with a smile. "Did you know," says the cop, standing straight and folding his arms, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell off the bike?" "Oh, thank heavens" sighs the biker. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."
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Badass Biker Bob wakes up at home with a huge hangover. He forces himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins and a glass of water on the side table. He sits up and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed. Bob looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order, spotless, clean. So is the rest of the house. He takes the aspirins and notices a note on the table: "Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to go shopping. Love you." So he goes to the kitchen, and sure enough there is a hot breakfast and the morning newspaper. His son is also at the table, eating. Bob asks, "Son, what happened last night?" His son says, "Well, you came home after 3 A.M., drunk and delirious, broke some furniture, puked in the hallway, and gave yourself a black eye when you stumbled into the door." Confused, Badass Bob asks, "So, why is everything in order and so clean, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me?" His son replies, "Oh, that! Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when she tried to take your pants off, you said, "Lady, leave me alone, I'm married'!"
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A man is stranded on a desert island, all alone for ten years. One day, he sees a speck in the horizon. He thinks to himself, "It's not a ship." The speck gets a little closer and he thinks, "It's not a boat." The speck gets even closer and he thinks, "It's not a raft." Then, out of the surf comes this gorgeous blonde woman, wearing a wet suit and scuba gear. She comes up to the guy and she says, "How long has it been since you've had a cigarette?" "Ten years!" he says. She reaches over, unzips a waterproof pocket on her left sleeve and pulls out a pack of fresh cigarettes. He takes one, lights it, takes a long drag and says, "Man, oh man! Is that good!" Then she asks, "How long has it been since you've had a drink of whiskey?" He replies, "Ten years!" She reaches over, unzips her waterproof pocket on the right, pulls out a flask and gives it to him. He takes a long swig and says, "Wow, that's fantastic!" Then she starts unzipping this long zipper that runs down the front of her wet suit and she says to him, "And how long has it been since you've had some REAL fun?" And the man replies, "My God! Don't tell me you've got a motorcycle in there!"
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Arthur Davidson of the Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Corp, dies and goes to Heaven. At the gates, an angel tells him, "Well, you've been such a good guy and your motorcycles have changed the world. As a reward you can hang out with anyone you want to in Heaven." Davidson thinks about it and says, "I wanna hang out with God himself." The befeathered fellow at the gate takes Arthur to the throne room and introduces him to God... Arthur asks God, "Hey, aren't you the inventor of the woman?" God says, "Yes." "Well," says Davidson, "I ain't the great inventor like you are, Father, but I did note a few flaws in your design: 1.There's too much front protrusion on some models; on others, not enough 2.It chatters at all speeds 3.The rear end wobbles too much, and... 4.The intake is placed way too close to the exhaust." "Hmmmmm..." replies God. "Hold on." God goes to his celestial supercomputer, types in a few lines and waits for the results. The computer prints out a slip of paper and God reads it. "It may be that my invention is flawed," God replies to Arthur. "But according to my computer, more people are riding my invention than yours."
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http://korruptryderz.org/index/forum/archive/index.php/t-296.html

Did my old bycycle up. picked it up from my brother's place nearby. landed up, handed the air pump to my three-foot tall nephew and pulled the thing out of the garrage, dusted it off and pumped the tires up. its a K-Mart bycycle from the 1980s. Apparently those things were so heavy that they lasted and lasted. This one is a 26' wheeled 10-speed model called Santa Fe with dropped handlebars, single big crank and fitted with a Shimano changer (yea, i can spell deraileur!). Brought it home and sat and stared at it for hours, stood up and stripped off the seat, handle and cables. Took the remainder of the Rustoleum Copper Paint spraycan i had and sprayed the frame. After covering the wheels and bits with newspaper sheets for masking. Let it dry and put everything back on. it was actually an idle mind-botch job and i didnt strip the old paint off or anything. just leaned back and sprayed! After all, as David Bowie puts it in the song, Loving the Alien:

"But if you [s]pray all your sins are hooked upon the sky

[S]pray and the heathen lie will disappear"

"You are today where your thoughts have brought you;
you will be tomorrow where your thoughts take you."~ James Allen

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dunnotwhatwrong,
dumbigheadontcare
fallingin;fallingout
falling
giving up and still knowing
smiling and still going
god bless wheels
they make leaving easy
just find a downhill
and
let go.
no hope outside headlights
no scope when the brake bites
alloyed head, piston heart pump
there'll be maintainance in the morning
hangovers, chores and yearning
butfornowicanhearpetrolcalling.

Well the danger on the rocks is surely past

Still I remain tied to the mast

Could it be that I have found my home at last

— Steely Dan

another headline about a businessman slain by youth on a motorcylce.


another day wondering if others will see the distinction between responsible riders and the ruffians. delhi's been abuzz with such headlines for the last few months regularly. what with a honda cbr 1000 crashing on the expressway, another arrested for attempting a limca book of records stunt biking stint on a public road, the now perrenial purse or chain snatching by youths on black bikes (my bet's on them bikes being mostly pulsars, what say?).





I know i make a statement when i am the only one waiting at a red light while cars, busses, three wheelers and other two wheelers roar past. i know as long as i am the only one doing it, my impact is greater and it works out fine, cause that is the need. dont get what i'm saying? break a leg in a road accident and ye shall know the reason why they call them 'accidents. meanwhile the advent of rains made me step over a self conscious boundary and carry a bike cover to work, in the parking i pulls out my cover and covers my bike. it keeps rust, rain, dust, and prying fingers away from my pressciousssssssss!





Sunday, we went to a local Castrol Bikezone Two-wheeler workshop. My brother's kinda like a manager at this place which makes auto ancillary equipment (didja know Harley Davidson HT leads -for the sparkplugs - are made in Noida!?!) and the owner of the place has plunked down some munny for this particular Castrol Bike Zone.


Anyway, i got there at 10 and told the dude i needed my lights fixed. till 11 i was still hanging around waiting for someone to tell me what they were going to do. i caught one of the chappies and told him point blank that i was getting bored and was going to the local market to get the bike done. as luck and yezdis would have it, the bloody bike wouldn't start. (see pic) so there i had to shuffle up to the dude and ask for a spark plug spanner and remove plug, amble over to the sandblasting equipment box mounted on a nearby pillar and stick it into the rubber hole. except the rubber seal was new and i had to almost hang on pushing the thing in while blasting it with sand and intermittant air. a good eight minutes and two rounds of cleaning with the obligatory walk back to take the spanner again when she still wouldn't start - shux i felt so sheepish) and we were out of the mindsuck of Castrol Bike Zone swearing and grumbling that the place had no respect for old bikes and how with a totally consumed owner, bikes like mine were absolutely comfortable with roadside repair type hang outs.













We got to the sector 9 market in noida, met the fat ustaad who did a suspension job on my bike once, put his bullet light-jannewala mechie to work on my headlight, swhitches and what-have-you while i hung around and got the shock of my life when one of the boys wheeled in another black roadking fresh from a pressure wash. This one had bullet indicators, bars, levers and a new numberplate. we did what we had to and got home. I decided i would borrow a couple of brake pads (craftsman) which fellow y-biker manish had left behind some time ago and put some brakes on the black rider before she blew me off the road with her demon engine. we sat down with various blocks of metal, wood, nuts, bolts and brake shoes (after removing the front wheel) and commenced to cut off the rivets with a screwdriver and hammer. i got back home at around one and i reached halfway point at around three, when three crimped fingers later i had just to reassemble everything. I caught a quick lunch and started back again. put the wheel back and cleaned the bike. cleaned one part and realised i would have to clean the others; cleaned one bike and realised i would have to clean the other. waxed and shiny, i staggered back into the house at about half-past-five. now that's my idea of a full day bike workout, try it hombres.

PS: the white one's called Junior.

Return of Jawa

Just got a call at work from Raja, whom Akshay did a Model B restoration for. Regardless of the outcomes, they did scope out the Pacco factory here in New Delhi back then. Since then and some travel later, apparently the owner of the Pacco factory met Raja and wanted to check out the possibility of Jawa being a name that might still draw sales in India. Not their idea, but apparently Jawa in Czechoslovakia is wondering if the old brand will still bring in customers, basis nostalgia, or what-have-you.

I know, we guys in various online fora have done the subject to death in countless, pointless discussions ever since the Y-factory shut down. Trouble is, the average age of the Y-biker is steadily rising. Youngsters are totally into the gloss-prod bikes they have yet to get over fantasising since Mission Impossible 2 and Dhoom were released. (Oh, how I abhor films and their un-factual approach to two-wheels - frankly eet sux beeg time!!!). In short, I couldn't suggest any good news in terms of volume sales.

In fact I could not even answer a direct question to the effect of, 'will 10,000-15,000 bikes sell per annum?' The best I could suggest is that he set up an ancillary or any such production facility and run a 'boutique' shop from where limited and exclusive numbers of bikes can be sold to discerning customers.

Face it, since the motocross glory hey-days in the 1950s and 1960s, Jawa czech has suffered from the technological strangulation behind the iron curtain. The ensuing years have done little to bring the bike into visibility and in a nutshell, one could say that Jawa is currently 'world famous in Czechslovakia.'

Most kids I know are equally happy making full-metal/fibreglass-jacket replicas (or fakes, actually - i would love to see the stunned face of a wannabe if the actual manufacturer like Suzuki slaps a lawsuit on them for copyright violations. Frankly, I am more against such 'bike piracy' than I am about music piracy. In any case, they want what they can see and chances of 'seeing' a Jawa in the public domain is currently a distant event that just might never happen. Back in the 50s, Jawa had a hard line of innovation that originated in secret during World War II. Currently, I think the firm is owned by defense and aerospace manufacturer.

Other things discussed included my misgivings that the 650cc type versions might not work so well, but bring on the 250cc and 350cc bikes. The other feeling I had was the fact that the Jaw always enjoyed a reputation for being simple and sturdy and giving the rider more than they ask for. So here's to hoping and coping on motorcycle seats that are sloping backwards — what do I care!?! If new Jawa's come into the market, I shall simply corner the market on old Jawas!

Y-nudr (sh)Long Ride back Home

Off the sand and up the dusty berm onto the road, for a brief moment I thought I could catch up with mickey ahead. Up the flyover and down the long road filled with trucking interlopers and pesky mass produced plumbing jobs otherwise known as modern third world automobiles. Long flyovers and average speeds of 80, she flies with front legs in the air as i shmoodle down further onto the back seat to take the weight off the front end. Two weeks or leaking suspension/shock absorber oil had left the front suspension going 'clunk-clunk' on bumps. Piston heart pump on the right wrist and we were sliding up to car corners and looking for the edge to flip the whole bike through. New speedometer showing 130 km on the odometer, since I just connected up the thing in the morning. Needless to say, the actual mileage that I was getting was a little lower than the one in my mind. However, she still flew. Throaty rumbles that expand into more urgent growl/roar that the Y-bike makes when you ask the two-stroke engine to take on traffic. It's not really like the blatant beat of a Bullet which seems more like an onomatopoeic 'blat' at speed.
Long rides are good for knocking out rust and driving away (from) people but can be hell on the back by the end of the week, I seemed to have the same ten-pager cover article to write up for the magazine where I work, in the morning. Weekends have been swinging but I'm not too sure if that it was the wind or the way it was, I definitely knew the way I was on the way back from...stopped at an all-night petrol bunk for some 'pre-mixed' 2% oil fuel that I usually never touch. My pockets were empty so was the 100ml cough syrup bottle I carry my Castrol GTX in. See I don't trust the 2-T oil available. 20w-50 for me always.
Missed the DK roundabout and took a clover-sloper turn back on track, heading straight down the ring road. It would be an hour before I crossed the river home. The nice thing about long rides is the fact that in the middle of one, you scarcely get much space to think beyond the thrill vibrating with and through you. Till I crossed the south extension flyover, a rather longish one with the usual trucks overtaking each other who only pause to notice you if you come close and make a noise. On top of the flyover, somewhere around 80, the engine went into a scurrying squeal and sounded like a tin sheet wrapping itself around a gear sprocket. The back wheel spun free of the engine without any power transmitting to the rear wheel. Well, what does one do in such situations. I'd already done my connecting before the ride, so I wasn't too panicky about it. The engine squealed and I had to shut throttle hoping that nothing had broken inside the engine. At the same time I was hoping to carry on rolling till the flyover started to slope down. We only coasted a few meters, still far from the point where we would start rolling down. A 30-second pause, followed by a heartfelt attempt at the kick starter; she started. Engine sounding scragged from the pre-mix fuel, we kept it to a lowly 60kmph till the bridge and the rest of the way home. A minor seizure, I suspect and plan to open her up and take a look inside this weekend. Till then, trust me when I insist that sometimes bikes get you there and back while those who carry on don't