From the Library

[Biggles]

Victoria should be proud of itself. It has created the single most boring road in all of creation and stocked it with police cyborgs. I saw four different patrol cars taxing motorists for exceeding the 110 km/h limit on a road one could do 200 km/h on with absolute confidence. It's a road I have done 200 km/h on. It used to be the road you made up time on during your trip to Melbourne by putting your head down, your bum up, and aiming for the horizon with the throttle nailed to the stop. It was the done thing.
But not anymore. Now it's just a magically eternal cash register for the government.
But I grinned, I bore it, I agreed with Jon Bon Jovi that there should be no silent prayer for the faith-departed, and then I turned off the Hume at Euroa. The Merton Gap warmed the edge of my tyres, Marc Bolan informed me that Telegram Sam was my main man, and I pulled up outside the Country Club Hotel in Yea right on sundown. A light rain had just started greasing up the roads.
Jamie handed me a filthy scotch as I lurched through the pub doors, stiff from the road. We toasted my safe arrival, put on our gear and made for Uncle's house like vampires fleeing the dawn. One hour later, and ten hours and forty minutes after I left Sydney, I was in the warm embrace of good mates. There was a great fire, a functioning hot water system, several fridges full of beer, and a safe place to rest my head. Done right, this motorcycling caper rewards the soul on many levels.
My Mother Warned Me About Blokes Like Me  Boris Mihailovik  p261-2

[Biggles]

When I returned from taking Tom home, I needed to find a place to park the Wing. We didn't have a garage so I parked the bike in our carport, in the space where my pickup normally sat. I did not want to leave it outside. Our house had a double front door and a large living room. Since Marguerite would be in Omaha for some time to come, and my son and I were the only ones home, I decided to park the Wing in the living room, right in front of the fireplace. As I rolled the Wing through the double doors onto the carpet, the words of my friend who told me to get a Goldwing, ran through my head. "They don't leak and they don't break." It took a little manoeuvring, but I finally got the Wing settled into a position and dropped the kickstand. A Goldwing looks a lot bigger sitting in your living room, than it does outside!
I found myself strangely tired, so I went to the kitchen and mixed myself a large drink. I returned to the living room, sat in my easy chair, stared at the Wing, and thought about what I had just done.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p11

[Biggles]

Coming off the Keys, I missed the turn for Highway 997, to go back through Homestead and on up Highway 27. Neither of us noticed; we were just following the crowd. I knew something was wrong when I saw a road sign out of the corner of my eye that mentioned Miami, but I didn't notice the mileage. The next thing I saw was the Miami skyline. The traffic was picking up in volume and speed by the second. All of a sudden, the road had gone from two lanes to four. Now I'm on an eight-lane road, surrounded by cars and trucks running at seventy miles per hour. I had only experienced this type of traffic in a car a couple of times and found it scary. On the Goldwing, it was just plain terrifying. I had no idea what road this was, or where it was going. I just knew we had to get the hell off as soon as I could get the Wing safely in the far right-hand lane. This was not going to be quickly accomplished. The speed kept increasing, and cars were changing lanes with reckless abandon. 
I am not an overly religious person, but I promised God if he would just let us live through this I would never come back to this place again. I knew we had to get off and head due west. If we could do that, eventually we would run into Highway 27.
After twenty or thirty terrifying minutes, I see an exit for a county road that heads west. I don't care how far west it runs. At this point, I just know it will get me off suicide alley and get me heading west. I hit full throttle, make a couple of moves, and make it to the exit lane. At the bottom of the exit is a stop light. 
Stopping the bike for just a few seconds was a welcome relief. Marguerite and I had both worked up a sweat. The light changed and I made my left turn, heading west.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p29

[Biggles]

I was hoping to get to Clewisfon and find a motel for the night. In the Corps, we used to joke about night flying. "Only fools and owls fly at night. Do your feet fit a limb?" or "Night operations are characterized by darkness and periods of reduced visibility". I was a little nervous about the whole thing. I didn't want to worry Marguerite, but this could turn in to a real bag of crap. We had a long way to go before we reached any level of civilization, there was very little traffic, and any mechanical failure or accident would be serious. I was getting tired, but had to reach civilization for any hope of a room.
I kept telling myself to just keep the scan going and stay alert. After a while, everything was okay. The air was cool. Marguerite and I were getting comfortable with sights and sounds of night riding on the Wing. We kept hearing these little popping sounds. There were things hitting our helmets and leather jackets. I could see swarms of bugs in the headlight, and watched them bounce off the windshield. They weren't soft and squishy. The bugs were hard. When they hit the back of my gloved hands, it hurt. The swarms would come and go. Eventually, Marguerite noticed the dead bugs accumulating on the seat in between us. The bugs were also piling up in between my legs. I was able to take my hand and sweep some of them away. We actually thought if things got any worse, we could just stop and use the Wing cover for shelter and spend the night on the road. When we considered how many mosquitoes would descend on us, we decided to let that idea go.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p30

[Biggles]

A couple more Harleys had just pulled up. We didn't see the people come in because just about that time, the waitress showed up with a whole armload of food. I really don't know how she could have stacked that many plates on her arms, but was doing a great job. She placed Marguerite's food down and was just putting my cheese omelette in front of me, when someone pulled the chair out beside me and sat down. I was still concentrating on what the waitress was giving me, but I glanced to my right. The first thing I saw out of the corner of my eye was a titty nipple and some breast sticking out of a black leather circle. The nipple had a gold earring pierced through it. This sight broke my concentration on the cheese omelette, and everything else. I looked straight at Marguerite's face. If she saw anything unusual, it didn't show on her face. I risked a sidelong glance. The pierced nipple was still there. There was a short, greasy looking guy sitting down next to Marguerite. He was middle-thirties, about five-foot-seven, plump, dark long hair with the standard Harley rider bandana on his head. He was wearing a black tee shirt with the words, "Connoisseur of Cheap Wine and Sleazy Women". The guy looked like he needed a good bath, his hands were greasy, and it had been some time since he cleaned the grease out from under his fingernails. I looked at him, and then at Marguerite for some reaction. She had on her best poker face.
I heard the titty nipple say to me, "Gee hon that looks like a really great omelette!'
There's no concentrating on an omelette when a titty nipple with an earring in it sits down shoulder to shoulder next to you. I turned my head to complete the look and answer this person. She was middle-thirties as well and had a real weathered look. She wasn't unattractive, just hardened. Her hair was long and she had the Harley rider bandana scarf fashioned over a ponytail. Her ears were adorned with extremely heavy looking, long earrings that were made from horseshoe nails. The earrings hung down almost to her shoulders and tugged heavily on her earlobes. Her weathered face had a nice smile. She was wearing a black leather outfit with a bib front and a strap going up and around her neck. The bib had two holes in the leather, allowing the nipple area of her breasts to stick out. The nipples of both breasts held gold earrings. A gold chain connected the two earrings. The whole arrangement made my nipples hurt.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p33

[Biggles]

On one corner, we noticed a guy wearing what looked like a caveman get up. He also wore a horned, Viking style hat and was holding a rubber chicken. His ride was an old Harley trike, the kind Police used years ago. His bike looked in perfect condition. He was waving at everyone that passed by and seemed to be having a hell of a good time. At the next light, a guy pulled up next to me on a really old Harley. He was a little, bitty, skinny fellow wearing a chrome German army helmet, sunglasses of course, black leather jacket with colours on the back, jeans, and really big, black boots. His lady riding on the back was enormous. I didn't know how he could hold the bike up. She too had a chromed helmet, jeans with knee length boots that were very high-heeled, and a reddish colour fake fur coat that was shaggy. 
She looked like a grizzly bear in high heels sitting on the back of the bike. The bike had two large flags mounted on the back, one American and I couldn't tell what the other was. It was quite a sight. The crowning touch was on a small platform mounted over the front fender. The platform covered with a green artificial turf rug. 
On the platform stood a little, bitty Chihuahua dog, wearing a little, bitty chromed German army helmet and sunglasses. I almost forgot to put my feet down as we came to a halt at the light. This guy and his bike stole the show for that trip up Main Street.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p36-7

[Biggles]

Just as I put the nozzle in the holder, I heard a scraping noise behind me. I turned around and saw the Wing slowly moving forward down the hill. The side stand was scraping on the asphalt. As the Wing moved forward, the side stand was slowly collapsing to the rear, which allowed the Wing to fall to the left. I stepped down off the fuel pump island just in time to halt the forward motion, but not the fall to the left. It was a slow motion fall, only I'm between the Wing and the pump island. 
The Wing was coming down and pinning me on the island. I fought as hard as I could to keep the Wing from coming down hard enough to hurt anything. At the last second, I managed to move my legs to keep them from getting hurt between the pump island and the Wing. I am in a semi-sitting position, with my butt on the pump island, and the Wing resting on my chest and legs. I can feel the moisture soaking through my jeans and cooling my ass. I can feel the sweat forming on my face as I strain the Wing up. There is no one around to help. I am embarrassed to be in this position and feel stupid that I didn't see this coming. 
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p68

[Biggles]

It was taking all strength I had to keep the Wing from collapsing any further. I remembered a technique from motorcycle school, to help get a bike up if you were not strong enough or were unable to lift it on the two wheels. The technique called for starting the bike, putting it in gear, making sure the rear wheel was on the ground, letting out the clutch, and adding a little throttle, while simultaneously pushing the bike up. By doing this, the bike should pull its own self up. Of course this was on level ground, not pinned against the pump island on wet asphalt, on top of a damned mountain. In sheer desperation, I decided to try. I had put the Wing in neutral before I got off, which my first mistake on a hill. I got the key on, hit the starter, and the engine fired right up. I managed to slide my left foot to a position that I could just get a toe on the gear shifter, and clunked it into first gear. I took a deep breath and added throttle, letting the clutch out. 
The Wing jumped. I rocked off my butt at the same time and sure enough, the Wing came right up. The Wing and I came up so fast I almost went over the seat. I hadn't let off the throttle quick enough, so I just grabbed the clutch. The engine raced, the Wing started rolling down the hill, and I did a couple of ungraceful hops running alongside. I jumped to throw my leg over the Wing, like they used to do in the old-time cowboy movies. By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, I had the Wing and myself under control.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p69

[Biggles]

We left Swift Current just after sunrise. The traffic was nonexistent; our only road companions were a couple of long-range truckers. We listened to their conversation on the CB.
Unlike a lot of trucker conversations we have heard in the lower forty-eight, which normally always centre on low pay and lack of female companionship, these guys had an in-depth discussion on Canadian economics that was only once punctuated with profanity.
We were paying close attention to what the truckers were saying and the next thing we knew, we were airborne. The road surface had separated and we had just flown off a good eighteen-inch shelf in the road. The trucks were about 600 feet behind us and both started screaming about the big bump. We hit hard enough to bottom out the suspension. We were doing sixty-five miles per hour at the time. For a split second, we thought we would lose control. We just sat real still and I tried not to make any steering inputs for that split second. The Wing settled out nicely. From listening to the truckers, the weather may have caused that section of the road to sink. Had this happened to us going the other direction, we would have been killed and so would the truckers. Absolutely amazing. The truckers stayed with us all the way to Moose Jaw.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p95

[Biggles]

I noticed as the day wore on, the Wing had been handling funny. I didn't figure it out until I was doing my post-ride checks. The temperature extremes we had experienced in Omaha had greatly affected our tire pressures. The tires had been okay when we stopped in Omaha, but the Wing sat there for the entire weekend, with temperatures in the upper twenties [F]. I didn't check the pressures before we left. Now, when I checked, both tires were low. The low pressure in the front tire had been affecting the handling, at both high and low speeds. I made a mental note to be more attuned to temperature change. I had done so in the mountains because I knew both altitude and temperature would have a big effect. I just didn't realize it would have such a big effect at lower altitudes.
Winging It  Marguerite & William Spicer  p189-90