Books. Bikes. Boomsticks.
Mind the sword, mind the people watch, mind the enemy...too many mind. No mind.
Reminder: Cancel appointment with Kanye West
Farewell, Bobby. I'm sure you're riding wherever you are now.
Sad day, indeed.As the country song goes, I've got a couple of Evel Knievel scars on my right arm......and various other places.
My hero as a kid.
I had a hard time forgiving him for existing when, in the early 70's, any place you'd show up on a motorcycle (including the opera) some trog who'd never seen one would yell "Evel Knievel"!Then along came the Fonz, and we learned how good we'd had it.
Takes me back to the 60's and 70's when jumping the Stingray was the thing to do.They hadn't hatched the BMX yet.Even crashing was cool, cuz EK did it too.
Right on, dion!Stingray, with banana seat and sissy bar.
I cannot tell you how many scars my chin supports because of my exploits emulating Evel.I separated the head tube of several bikes from the rest of the frame because gravity really does suck and the higher you are the harder you land, even if it looks smooth.Not to mention the one time I yanked the front end up to wheelie down a driveway hill, upon realizing that the front wheel was bouncing down ahead of me as to how long could I maintain it... The road drainage at the bottom ruined a pair of forks and gave me new appreciation to remembering to tighten things up after disassembly.
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