From the Library

[Biggles]

An engine oil change, tire inspection, final drive oil replacement, new air filter and new brake pads were on the list of things to do. I was also installing yet another set of driving lights so I can actually see the local wildlife just before impact. This required a fair amount of disassembly of the motorcycle and to make the work easier I had the bike on the lift and jacked about ten inches into the air.
I had just finished the final drive oil change, and had dribbled a bit of the amazingly sticky and slippery gear oil on my shirt. Gear oil travels- that's what it is designed to do- and a little bit dribbled somewhere will soon spread all over the place. I wear old, torn up tee shirts when working so I just shrugged, removed my shirt, wiped the rest of the oil off of me, and tossed the shirt into the rag pile.
The heat was really starting to kick up now and I was sweating profusely. Born and bred here in Texas, it rarely bothers me and I just kept right on working. I finished installing the new relay for the lights, and was ready to begin the installation of the light-bar itself.
Those who know me know that I am passionate about my music. While singing along to the inspiring tune from my very good mp3 player in the garage, I retrieved the driving-lights and hardware from the workbench. As I stepped around the bike with the light-bar the music took hold of me and I executed a series of dance steps and maybe even a turn or two.
That was when I realized the wife was watching...
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p75-6

[Biggles]

Hmmm. Cool engine, less volatile fuel. I guessed that he was flooded. I also guessed that if the bike did not start with the next try his battery would be gone.
I know bikes and I did not want to try to push start anything in this heat. I still had my hand on his engine, mainly for balance as I was kneeling. "Hold full throttle and try again." At that moment a truck whooshed by and I closed my eyes against the dust just as Kevin pushed the start button. The V-twin instantly grumbled to life. It sputtered a bit on the odd fuel, but it was running.
"Jheeze!" He was looking at me with an odd expression on his face. "Thanks man, I really appreciate this!"
I stood up and headed for my bike. "I'll follow you to the next station."
I chuckled as I put on my helmet and gloves. As he had driven off I overheard him saying to himself, "Never had someone 'heal' my bike before, nobody's gonna believe this." 
As I followed him to the next exit I started thinking about the events of this encounter from his perspective. If he had not seen me go by the first time, or pulling off the road when I did stop I could see how the entire encounter could appear a bit.. .well.. .surreal.
He fuelled up. "Well thanks again! You've got a nice bike." The massive gleaming black and chrome Valkyrie always gets some comment. "Where are you headed anyway?"
I looked out at the blazing sky, back at the road, took a deep breath, and smiled. "West. Just west."
I nodded to Kevin and stuck out my hand. "I'll see you on the road!"
As he carefully shook my hand he said, "I don't doubt that at all."
Some miles down the road I burst out laughing. I had just realized I was wearing one of my favourite shirts. A simple black "T" shirt with white lettering. It has a paraphrase from Shakespeare on it... my favourite... kind of my motto, "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p86-7

[Biggles]

As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it- it was that close.
I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves.
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.
Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street... and in the fight for his life with a squirrel. And losing.
I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right kerb as I recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.
This was an evil attack squirrel of death!
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p110-1

[Biggles]

Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!
The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.
I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in... well... I just screamed.
With the sudden acceleration I was instantly forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle... my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face, I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little effect on the squirrel however.
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p111-2

[Biggles]

Finally I got the upper hand. I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked, sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.
Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, wearing one leather glove, moving at some incredibly unsafe speed, on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. They weren't mine.
I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control as I dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.
I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crab walking- backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.
So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. So be it. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist me. I think he was shooting me the finger.
That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car.
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p112-3

[Biggles]

I stepped outside into the warm winds and my soul cried. If you are a motorcycle rider, as opposed to just a motorcycle owner, there is no way that you can NOT ride on a night like this. I bungied my heavy leather jacket and winter gloves on the back seat, and took off into the night winds in nothing more than t-shirt, jeans, and light leather riding gloves. I grabbed a pair of clear wrap around glasses and left the helmet stabbed onto the backrest.
"Safe" was not a demand of my soul tonight.
Riding the winds north was pure pleasure. The brisk tailwind made the ride calm, quiet, and smooth. The temperature was perfect and as the speeds increased my soul began to sing.
Occasional waves of clouds would briefly obscure the view, but mostly the sky was clear, the stars were intense, and I could see the universe spread out in amazing detail above the highway. This night the atmosphere was so clear I could see galactic clouds with the naked eye. From my perspective the highway led straight into the stars, and I aggressively twisted the throttle and sped into the sky.
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p123

[Biggles]

Another hailstone thumped into the water covered ground nearby, and by the sound of it, was substantially larger than our usual dime and quarter sized stuff. I heard it whistle through the air before impact. The winds rapidly began to climb, a gust nearly blowing me over. This was about to get dangerous.
I eyeballed the tank and gauges on my beloved Dragon, and quickly pulled the bags off the back seat and arranged them to cover the hail-vulnerable parts. Just as I finished I was smashed in the left wrist by at least a three-inch stone. My hand instantly went numb, and I cursed and crouched on the left of the bike as the shooting impacts began raining down around me. This was going to be a bad one. I should have given up protecting the cruiser with the bags and pulled them over me instead, but it was too late for that now.
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p141

[Biggles]

Beaten bloody and senseless, it took quite some time before I was aware of the break in the storm. The first obvious sign was the cessation of noise. I had not realized just how loud the hail on my helmet and the roaring winds were until they stopped. Blessed relief!
Cautiously I dropped the arm from my face and looked around. The sky was amazing. Purple and black clouds were visibly roiling overhead, and I could see white of hail falling like rain some miles away across the water. Everywhere that was not purple was a bright, deep, and somehow familiar green. A green that was not a good sign.
The landscape was even more bizarre. Hail rivers and drifts were everywhere! They made complicated patterns where they had flowed with the heavy runoff, and many could be measured in depths of feet! I could still hear some thunder in the distance, but everything was eerily silent except for the crunching of the settling and flowing hail. Carefully I pushed piles of ice back from my side of the bike and stood up. It took tremendous effort, as my exposed leg was not too keen on supporting my weight, and I had to be careful not to let The Dragon fall as I rose. She was none too steady on her stand.
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p141-2

[Biggles]

I surveyed my situation and would have whistled long and low had I actually been able to whistle. It came out more as spitting blood and an agonized moan as flexing my lip caused my nose to throb in pain. I settled for a grunting, "Wow!" instead. I had stopped merely feet short of a line of large rocks and broken concrete separating the road from the water. I had travelled a number of feet down the shallow embankment from the road and I was within spitting distance of the water. There were drifts of hail against the bike and the rocks that had me pretty well bunched in.
Life Is A Road  Daniel Meyer p142

[Biggles]

Carl Stearns Clancy and Walter Rendell Storey arrived in Dublin on 18 October 1912, all set to conquer the world on their Hendersons. Except for one small but significant detail- Storey had never ridden a motorbike in his life. A fact which even the normally imperturbable Clancy admitted people might find a little queer.
Undeterred by such a hurdle, they did what any men in their right minds would do: saw the sights and went shopping.
They visited the Bank of Ireland in College Green which, until the passing of the Act of Union in 1801, had once housed the Irish Parliament; admired the Book of Kells in Trinity; bought woollen underclothes and waterproof shoes and gloves; and at City Hall registered their machines and secured UK licences for 10 shillings each. Clancy's verdict on Dublin at the end of the day: 'nearly everything at least 50 years behind the times'.
In Clancy's Boots  Geoff Hill  p2-3

[Biggles]

Then, filling their petrol tanks to the brim for a shilling and seven pence, they set off for Phoenix Park so that Clancy could teach Storey to ride. It was, according to Clancy, a relatively successful lesson, 'By dark, he had mastered his steed completely, but we were compelled to leave our machines in a nearby house till morning, having no carbide in our lamps.'
The next morning, they affixed to the Hendersons two around-the-world pennants made by a pair of charming Irish girls who had befriended them on the transatlantic crossing, mended their clothes and adopted them as brothers, and set off at last on their grand adventure. Only to be stopped before they got to the end of the street by a policeman - 'a beautiful specimen of a gigantic, almost wax "Bobby"' - who insisted they get number plates for their front mudguards.
In Clancy's Boots  Geoff Hill  p3