To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

Message
Author
User avatar
dr_bar
Site Supporter - Diamond
Site Supporter - Diamond
Posts: 4531
Joined: Mon May 23, 2005 10:37 am
Real Name: Doug
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 44
My Motorcycle: 2007 Yamaha Royal Star Venture
Location: Surrey BC, Canada

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#41 Unread post by dr_bar » Fri Jan 03, 2014 5:14 pm

Rubiadiabla wrote:Saw this on our way home today. Can we say die hard? 28 degrees outside, plus the snow and did anyone happen to notice the set of crutches strapped to the pillion? Lol love it
Love the crutches, maybe he was just being proactive and was being prepared for the winter fall... LOL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Four wheels move the body.
Two wheels move the soul!"

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

If You've Got The Time...

#42 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Wed Jan 08, 2014 2:16 am

I'll keep this short, since the next post will be SO LONG...

I started work on a new novel a couple weeks ago, been working on it off and on. I think I've mentioned before I'm an aspiring writer, so I thought I'd put my money where my mouth was and share the first chapter with you all.

Bonus points if anyone can tell me what the bike is, and/or who the character Audeyn is descended from. The answer's in his patch...

So without further adieu...

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#43 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Wed Jan 08, 2014 2:16 am

Chapter One

It couldn’t be said that The Hangnail, in Miller’s Bend, Montana, was a dive.

Sure, the parking lot was only barely paved, the double doors sagged noticeably in their jambs, every third or fourth window was covered over with plywood, the whitewashed exterior walls were peeling and moldy and most of the neon signage outside boasted at least one burnt out letter. Notable among these accidental typos was ‘IN ER’ and ‘LIK A OCK’.

Despite these flaws, though, The Hangnail could only technically have been called a dive if there were more upscale establishments to choose from in the vicinity. And in Miller’s Bend, The Hangnail was one of the nicer watering holes. After all, not every joint in Miller’s Bend could say they had a level pool table, and The Hangnail had two. And they had free wi-fi, although this was mainly because the owner, a Vietnam era veteran known to the clientele only as Stitch, had a fondness for Swedish internet prawn and E-Bay. There was rarely any bandwidth left over for the patrons, but what there was was fair game.

On this Tuesday evening in the first week of August, there were only three people in The Hangnail besides Stitch, and none of them were using the wi-fi. At the L-shaped bar, a woman in her early 30’s with mousy brown hair and a linen blouse two sizes too small was chatting quietly with Stitch, shaking the ice in her Jack & Coke with evident animosity. This was Rochelle, one of The Hangnail’s regular customers and the only secretary employed by White Rock Construction, Miller’s Bend’s third largest corporation. She’d locked up her desk in the double-wide trailer that served as White Rock’s business office forty-five minutes ago and, as usual, dropped into The Hangnail on her way home for what she called ‘my going-home dose’.

The other two patrons, who were shooting a quiet game of pool while nursing a pitcher of Coors, looked decidedly less friendly. They were both men, heavily muscled, with hard eyes and unkempt hair. The older of the two wore a well-traveled leather vest with an embroidered patch on the back depicting a desiccated skeleton in tattered military fatigues. The grim figure was bent into a sinister crouch atop a crumbling tombstone on which the phrase “Peace” was etched where the deceased name would go. The skeleton held a machine pistol in one hand and a ridiculously fat joint in the other, and rockers above and below the central patch read respectively “Crypt Creepers” and “Minot, ND”. On the breast were two more rectangular patches reading “Treasurer” and “Red Handed”.

The younger of the two men wore a leather vest of the same style and cut, though it’s only adornment was the word “Prospect” across the lower back. Despite the obvious disparities between them, the younger man was running the table with neither difficulty nor modestly, his grin wide and unflinching as he dropped three balls in a row. The older man scoffed at each successful drop with good natured humility, lofting a middle finger roughly the size of a bratwurst and gruffing, “Sure are good at bouncin’ balls around huh?” The younger man only laughed through his nostrils as he lined up the next shot.

“…Gonna have to ain’t they?!” Rochelle’s strident voice cut through the relative quiet, her outburst punctuated by the solid thunk of her tumbler as she slammed the glass onto the bar. The sudden distraction wasn’t enough to completely throw off the prospects shot, though it did cause him to put a bit too much stink on the cue. Instead of gliding to a stop just shy of the pocket, the cue followed the 3-ball right into the hole.

“My Impala’s doin’ pretty good to pull twenty miles a gallon and they’ve got me runnin’ down to Terrance three times a week ‘cause that’s the nearest Starbucks?” The indignity in Rochelle’s tone was sharp and more than half sauced as she warmed to her rant, gesturing wildly in the direction of the parking lot and, presumably, her Impala. “What kinda construction dude knows what a half fat half skim double mocha chai even is anyway? Well, if they can afford eight dollar coffees they can damn well reimburse my gas! And I’ll need new tires before the safety’s due in November, maybe I’ll just staple those receipts to their damn expense reports instead of the coffees!”

The two bikers were listening with half an ear from their pool table, the older man chuckling through his wiry beard and overgrown moustache as he pondered from what angle to take his foul shot. Rochelle seemed not to notice though, and presently she puffed up one time real big, which nearly cost her a button or two from the strained blouse, then deflated back into her stool with a sigh. Stitch reached out and laid a consoling hand over hers, while with the other he expertly filled her glass with scotch. “They’re lucky to have you over there Roachie yaknow, an’ if you ever get feddup with their sh-t, you come on over an’ work for me huh?”

A wry laugh escaped the girl, and she smiled gamely at the old bartender. “Uh huh, that’s gonna happen Dad.”

There was a momentary hush as Rochelle lifted her tumbler again to her lips, then the sharp clack-clackclack of a cue ball clearing a lot of green before connecting with its intended target. Any further sound was lost, though, as a vehicle out on RT-36 cleared the stand of dense pines separating the highway from Miller’s Bend Road. All at once the Hangnail was filled with a deep, thrumming rumble that could only belong to a motorcycle, a sound closer to a ripping roar than exhaust. The two bikers glanced up, confusion writ large, and the younger man muttered, “That can’t be Ducky, not yet right? Besides, his bike don’t sound a thing like that…” The older man shook his head, casually leaning the cue against the pool table and shrugging his shoulders as though to loosen them.

The oppressive roar outside swelled into a violent crescendo and cut out, replaced by the crunch of gravel. There was the mechanically elastic sound of a spring reaching full extension, then a rubbery squeak as suspension components were unloaded of a tremendous weight. And, footsteps.

The man who came through the door of the Hangnail was so immensely proportioned that all four witnesses gasped in unison, though the sound Rochelle made possessed more than a little nuance. He was at least three inches over seven feet, a height that required him to duck to clear the jamb, with shoulders broad enough to conjure images of a bull in an arena and legs like the concrete pilings of a stout bridge. He wore dark denim jeans with a slightly rusty tint, heavy black boots with steel eyelets and a black leather jacket that looked like it might have been new when Kennedy was elected. The jacket was unzipped to show a plain gray tee shirt that managed to look baggy despite the enormous musculature beneath, and also conspicuous in his attire was a rather large sheathed knife at his right hip.

His eyes were difficult to see, socketed deep in his face beneath a heavy brow and further obscured by a full moustache and beard cropped close enough to avoid being scraggly, but full enough to be bushy. His beard and hair were that indeterminate shade of tan between blonde and brown, but shot through with enough red to make the color memorable, and his hair like his beard was long, bushy and unkempt from the wind despite the anachronistic leather thong in which the hair was tethered. As the giant paused in the doorway, blinking against the gloom within, an errant breeze turned up one edge of his coat and revealed for just an instant a pistol holstered under his right armpit.

It was the young prospect who recovered first, taking half a step towards the newcomer and raising his voice in greeting. “Hey, nice day for a ride huh? Where you headed?” He managed to make it sound casual.

The big man turned slightly to consider the question, and then the crags and plains of his face broke to reveal a stunningly white toothy smile. “Here, actually. And yeah, great day for a ride.”

Then, Stitch surprised everyone by clearing his throat and stating matter-of-factly, “You must be Audeyn.” He pronounced it EYE-DOO-UN.

“I am. You’re Stitch then?” Audeyn shifted his weigh and crossed the space between them in three steps, leaning heavily against the bar. As he did, a scowl crossed the face of the old treasurer and he tapped the prospect on the shoulder to point.

“That’s me. I didn’t realize they’d send someone so fast. I’ve never had to, yaknow, call someone before.”

Rochelle interrupted then, finally finding her voice and stepping back to take in Audeyn’s girth. “Daddy, is everything okay?” The regression to ‘daddy’ was not lost on anyone.

Stitch chuckled, his expression softening fast enough to prove his words. “Oh yeah Honey, everything’s fine. This is just, well, it’s sorta about Nam, some people I met over there. That’s all. Everything’s fine, or, it is now that this guy is here.” Then, Stitch glanced up at Audeyn. “Right? I mean, that’s why you’re here?”

“Oh yeah, let’s not talk much about it though okay? Just tell me where, and I’ll get going. No need to get all cryptic, less said the better.” The broad man leaned as far down as his height could allow, his posture suggesting secrecy if not achieving it. Rochelle frowned at this, her brow furrowing in concern as she glanced between the two men.

“Daddy, what are-“, Stitch cut her off with a stern glance then, an expression he hadn’t used with his daughter since she’d moved down to Kalispell with her fiancé at seventeen. Her mouth closed with an audible click, and Stitch watched her a moment longer before letting out a low breath.

“Northeast of here, about five miles. You wanna head back out to highway 93 and go north a couple miles. Just past Murphy Lake you’ll head east, into the foothills around Mount Marston. Forest gets pretty thick through there, between where the fire roads peter out and the mountain. In there. It’s, well, it’s pretty rough country, I didn’t realize you’d be coming on a bike. Do you, shi-t, I dunno, need to borrow my truck or something?” Stitch reached half-heartedly into his pocket, keys jingling within.

Audeyn shook his head, his eyes lighting with mirth. “No, I’ll be fine. How long ago did you see it?”

“Two weeks back I guess, I didn’t talk myself into making the call for awhile. That’s bad isn’t it?” Stitch glanced towards Roachie now, and the woman was taken aback at the sudden look of concern writ in the old soldiers face.

Audeyn mulled that over for a minute, then shook his head again. “Naw, I don’t think so. I think we’re okay, or at least, if we weren’t we’d for sure know it by now. Don’t you think?” This he said pointedly, arching an eyebrow and staring hard at Stitch. Stitch, to his chagrin, cut loose with a full body shiver.

“Yeah, f'n’ yeah we would. I’m glad you’re here.”

This earned another chuckle from the imposing Audeyn, though it seemed a little forced. “Well, I’m here anyway. No sweat. I’ll be going I think. Two miles north on 93, head east on the fire roads after Murphy Lake?”

“Right. Hey, thanks for coming, uhm, good luck?” Stitch reached out and clapped Audeyn’s shoulder, though it was an awkward stretch for him.

“Piece’a’cake.” Audeyn smiled again and then, incongruously, winked at the old vet. “Ma’am,” and he dropped a wink to Rochelle too, then turned and started towards the door. As he did he shook his left hand with the detached manner of long habit, a roughly braided bracelet of coarse orange hair skittering down his forearm to his wrist, and with practiced ease he pulled a loop of the braided ring out, twisted it, and tucked his thumb through the resulting smaller loop.

As he turned fully away, Rochelle suddenly understood why the two bikers at the pool table had been so interested in the newcomer. On the back of Audeyn’s coat was a large, intricate patch. Three medieval broadswords pointing outward away from each other to form a crude “Y”, each blade broken at the base and the separated crossguard, hilt and pommel laying at a right angle to the sword. Each blade was wrapped in a loose ribbon of a different color, the bottom gold while the two upper blades were wrapped in black and green, and in the triangular void in the middle of the emblem a plain, unadorned gray shield sat. It was this patch, apparently, that had given rise to animosity among the two Crypt Creepers.

“Hey, you big f'er, stop right there!” This sudden command was barked out with an authoritative tone by the Crypt Creeper’s Red Handed treasurer, and though he said it with the air of a man who was used to being obeyed, Audeyn didn’t even break stride. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the bright sunlight beyond. Stitch and Rochelle both glanced from the bikers to the shutting door, sudden concern straining the lines of their face. Without any further words, both of the rough men abandoned their pool game and rushed outside, hot on Audeyn’s heels.

Outside, the temperature hovered near eighty-five degrees and a warm, nearly constant wind was blowing from the south. At just a quarter past 5:00 the summer sunlight was still full and strong, only the barest hint of an evening magenta staining the horizon in the East.

In the parking lot of The Hangnail, the intense light cast everything in an oddly flat aspect, dimension and scale lost in the assault of illumination pouring forth from the westering sun. It was not a flattering light, the 1980’s Bronco and the turn-of-the-century Chevrolet Impala looking shabby and careworn parked alongside each other in the gravelly perimeter of the parking lot. Displayed in the dirty back window of the Bronco were two universally recognized stickers, the stout riveted block letters of USMC and silhouetted guard tower and face of the POW/MIA insignia. Beneath those, on a bumper sticker mounted to the tailgate was the epithet “I Didn’t Inhale Either, Officer”.

Besides the Bronco and the Impala, there were three motorcycles in the parking lot. Two were Harley Davidson big-bore cruisers, outfitted for the highway with crash bars and large rounded windshields. One was all blacked out in the usual ‘club bike’ motif, nondescript and lacking the sort of chrome and glitz that one might usually expect on such a machine. The other, however, was painted hot pink with royal purple accents and was outfitted with a plastic-weave white basket with big yellow and blue flowers, mounted just behind the passenger pillion over the rear fender. A fiberglass flagpole mounted to the basket flew a square flag, a yellow field with a big bright red kiss-print and the words “Daddy’s Little Candy A$$” in big purple balloon letters. This, undoubtedly, was the prospect’s bike.

The third motorcycle, though, was an entirely different animal. It was long, almost ten feet, though nearly half that length was simply the void between the front tire and the handlebars. The low saddle was mounted on a narrow spur of frame separating the massive motor from the equally large rear tire, while the long, loping tank arched up and away from the saddle to meet with the glittering chrome handlebars. Ahead of the bars were two enormous twin headlamps, which glowed a sullen furnace orange despite the bike being apparently shut off. The rest of the bike was orange as well, the deep brooding shade of rusting battleships in a forgotten naval yard, and all through the bright glossy paintwork raced unimaginably intricate designs somewhere between Celtic and tribal, ranging from deep red to fiery yellow and blackest black. The motor was almost entirely chromed, glittering fantastically in a cavity so large a grown man could have crawled through it. And despite Miller’s Bend being miles and miles from the nearest Starbucks, the monstrous motorcycle glittered and gleamed as though it had just been detailed for an expo.

Audeyn was halfway to the big chopper when the Treasurer and Daddy’s Little Candy A$$ spilled out into the parking lot behind him, all huffs and puffs. The prospect looked mostly confused, but the older man was worked up and in quite a state as he barreled towards the giant. Audeyn turned to confront him, an arched eyebrow suggesting good nature even as his left hand dipped beneath his coat. “Something wrong, Treasurer? Can I help you?”

The older man scowled, squinting up at the giant Audeyn. Despite their difference in size, though, the Treasurer appeared not the least intimidated as he pointed with his bratwurst-sized finger. “I’m gonna need that jacket.”

Audeyn’s smile didn’t falter, though his eyes narrowed. Behind the Treasurer, Candy A$$ started to circle slowly to the left, trying to flank Audeyn. “You’re not gonna get it. But tell me, why do you want it?”

“You’re showing green and gold in that patch, that’s Dakota Dragon’s colors. And the Dakota Dragons were disbanded by force in 1977. That may have been before you were born buddy, but that doesn’t change anything. As long as the Crypt Creepers are around, nobody’s flying green and gold where we can see it.” Without hesitating, the big Treasurer dipped into his vest and drew out a nickel-plated .45 autoloader, which he leveled at Audeyn’s chest. “Now, you can give me the coat, or I can peel it off your dead body.” Candy A$$ followed suit, drawing out a .38 revolver from beneath his own unadorned vest. From somewhere inside The Hangnail, Rochelle screamed – father and daughter were evidently watching from a window.

All at once, any joviality disappeared from Audeyn’s features. He bared his brilliantly white teeth in a wide threatening smile, eyes narrowing to slits, and the big man drew himself to his full height. “Friend, you’ve got two seconds to point that pistol somewhere else or I’ll feed you to my bike. You hear?”

There was a pause, during which the Treasurer angled his pistol from side to side, then he chuckled. “Feed me to your bike? What kinda macho sh't is-“

And then Candy A$$ screamed. He was closer to the glittering orange chopper, and so had a front row seat to witness the spectacle. The entire bike seemed to shiver and shimmer at the same time, the intricate detailed scrollwork in the paint seeming to flow and melt while the entire form collapsed inward. The various mingling shapes swirled, pooled, drew apart and solidified, and in an instant the motorcycle was gone. In its place was a huge, feral looking beast, roughly the size of a draft horse and seemingly made of equal parts panther, wolf and bear. The nightmarish monster was covered with shaggy, coarse fur the same blazing orange the motorcycle had been, and it’s cartoonishly large swirling eyes glowed like orange searchlights on Hell’s own lighthouse.

The beast opened its fiendish maw and roared menacingly, and though the sound was less mechanical than the motorcycles growling exhaust had been, it was nonetheless the same sound. The monsters tongue was black and forked, quivering at its full extension like a snake as the bellow issued forth, and Candy A$$ needed no further persuasion. Scrambling backwards with a hoarse scream, he slipped on some gravel and dropped his .38, coming down solidly on his back with a muffled grunt. His eyes spun wildly like a spooked horse, and he crab-crawled backwards until he fetched up against, of all things, the Treasurer’s bike. It fell over with a crash, missing its pink and purple companion by mere inches, and the prospect slumped to the ground.

The Treasurer, to his credit, didn’t lose his cool like Candy A$$, but he did blanch noticeably and his gun sagged in his suddenly shaking hand. Audeyn dipped into his own jacket and drew his piece, a huge .44 revolver with intricate etched scrollwork all down the blued steel barrel and wooden grip. He lined up the long, gaping barrel with the Treasurer’s pale face, then pulled back the action with an ominous kli-klak.

“On the ground. Gun first, then you.” The giant growled this out with some intensity, not casual at all, and the Treasurer complied immediately. Behind Audeyn, the monstrous orange furred beast growled low in its throat and flared it’s nostrils, then started to pad over to the supine prospect, who was bleeding from a shallow gash on his head where he’d connected with the engine case.

The Treasurer lifted his head slightly, hard to do with his arms splayed out to the sides, and watch with rapt fascination as the bike-turned-beast hunkered down to the prospect. “Oh god, don’t,” he started, but then relaxed as the beast only sniffed the downed man. Then it snorted, padded over to the Treas, and started to sniff him too.

Audeyn arched an eyebrow as the prone man started to sob in fear, his whole body shaking and his hands clenching up so tight he actually broke his own pinkie on his left hand. When the monster finally snorted and strode away, the Treasurer let out a long wavering sigh. Audeyn patted the creature on its formidable haunches, then smiled slowly at the frightened biker. “You go ahead and sit up now. You know what that was, right?”

Struggling upright, the Treasurer took a long, dry swallow and tried to spit unsuccessfully. His throat was full of sand, and it took three choking coughs before he could speak. “It, its, goddamned, it’s getting our scent…”

“You’re not as dumb as you look. So, I’ll take it on faith you know what that means.” Audeyn holstered his ancient looking .44, and with another liquid coalescence the monster shifted back into the chopper. The Treasurer watched the transformation in horror, staring into the huge swirling orange eyes of the beast as they grew chrome bands around them and drew tightly together. He shuttered, and his bladder let go just a little, and before he could find his voice the giant of a man swung a leg over the plush leather saddle of the cruiser and popped the kickstand up. The bike started with that same deafening roar, seemingly without benefit of key or start button, and the pair tore out of the parking lot.

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#44 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Sun Jan 12, 2014 3:30 am

Just had to post this...

I mentioned a few posts ago that I had tried riding with a balaclava and really enjoyed it, well, my industrious and wonderful wife put her knitting needles to work and created me a custom "dwarven beard" balaclava and it's AWESOME! More to come too, gonna make a whole collection to ride with. But here's the pic of this one...

The lighting is horrible, but you get the idea. (-:
IMAG0082.jpg

blues2cruise
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 10005
Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 10:28 pm
Sex: Female
Years Riding: 11
My Motorcycle: Rocky Mountain Bicycle
Location: Vancouver, British Columbia
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#45 Unread post by blues2cruise » Sun Jan 12, 2014 3:34 pm

Gotta say...it's quite funny. :mrgreen: but it should be green to match your name. :mrgreen:
Image

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#46 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Tue Feb 04, 2014 7:58 pm

We get so much bad press here in Utah, when I saw this story I had to share it.

http://www.nationswell.com/one-state-tr ... ness-2015/

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#47 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Mon Feb 10, 2014 2:20 pm

Beginning a new exercise program today, we'll see how it goes. I gained back all that weight I lost last Spring, so it's time to get back into the mindset.

Current Weight: 218
Goal Weight: 180
Goal Deadline: May 1, 2014

blues2cruise
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 10005
Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 10:28 pm
Sex: Female
Years Riding: 11
My Motorcycle: Rocky Mountain Bicycle
Location: Vancouver, British Columbia
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#48 Unread post by blues2cruise » Mon Feb 10, 2014 4:04 pm

I feel your pain. Christmas and winter have a tendency to do that to us. :?
Image

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#49 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Tue Mar 25, 2014 4:25 pm

Cockatiel chick!!

The white and gray bird is Nigel, the father. Obviously the yellow pearl is the mother, Stella. No name for the chick yet.
Attachments
20140325_123018.jpeg
20140325_123018.jpeg (68.16 KiB) Viewed 2805 times
20140325_030242.jpg
20140325_030242.jpg (31.22 KiB) Viewed 2805 times

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#50 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Tue Mar 25, 2014 4:34 pm

And another chick hatched JUST NOW!! Pictures later.

blues2cruise
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 10005
Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 10:28 pm
Sex: Female
Years Riding: 11
My Motorcycle: Rocky Mountain Bicycle
Location: Vancouver, British Columbia
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#51 Unread post by blues2cruise » Wed Mar 26, 2014 9:17 pm

Wow! When you got the birds, did you know they were a couple?
Image

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#52 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Thu Mar 27, 2014 2:30 pm

Actually, these two birds we acquired in separate transactions. The female was one of three we bought from a local family, and the male we adopted a couple months later from a bird rescue center.

It's kinda a fun story actually, Nigel used to be a show bird and belonged to a guy that is a close friend of the lady that runs the bird rescue center. Seven years ago he had a night terror (birds are prone to violent nightmares, who knew?) and severely damaged his wing joints against the bars of his cage. The only option was to amputate his wings at the joint, and poor Nigel became a special-needs bird. He'd been at the rescue center the last seven years without anyone showing any interest in adopting him, and he had a reputation there as a cantankerous and abusive bird who wouldn't and couldn't be caged with any other birds. We adopted him and brought him home prepared to keep him segregated from our other 'tiels...

But he saw Stella and fell in love. LoL, he used to sit on his ladder in his cage staring across the four feet of floor at the other 'tiel cage and just serenade her, whistling so loud you thought the windows would shatter. So on a whim and under close supervision we started moving Stella into his cage for short periods of time to see what would happen. And the rest, as they say, is history.

I guess he just needed the right bird, huh?

blues2cruise
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 10005
Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 10:28 pm
Sex: Female
Years Riding: 11
My Motorcycle: Rocky Mountain Bicycle
Location: Vancouver, British Columbia
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#53 Unread post by blues2cruise » Fri Mar 28, 2014 12:52 pm

I love that story. I guess he was just a frustrated guy, :mrgreen:
Image

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#54 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Wed May 21, 2014 10:45 am

We made reservations for our site at the KOA in Grand Junction, for our Colorado ride coming up in about a month. Quite excited for this one, down into a corner of Utah I've rarely been in.

We're also going to take a little detour and make the run around Arches National Park, a nice windy bit of two lane blacktop that chases the Colorado River through it's (breathtaking) canyon.
coloradocanyon.jpg
We'd originally planned to splurge a little bit and get a cabin at the KOA instead of a tent site, but alas, we didn't move fast enough and all the cabins are reserved. Not a big deal, the tent packs up real small. It's the bedrolls that take up the most stowage and we were going to need those either way.

Should be a great ride, I'll bring the GOPRO along and get as much video of the twisty bits as I can manage.

(6885)

ddavitt
Regular
Regular
Posts: 34
Joined: Sun Oct 20, 2013 8:18 pm
Real Name: Dan
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 6
My Motorcycle: 2002 V Star Classic

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#55 Unread post by ddavitt » Fri May 30, 2014 7:42 pm

That sounds like an amazing ride Jack !

Take pictures and share , wont you ? :D

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#56 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Sat May 31, 2014 3:28 am

I appreciate your enthusiasm. (-: Unfortunately, we had to scrap this one. Some emergency dental work came along and soaked up the spare cash.

We'll get something else planned though, Colorado is definitely still on our list. Stay tuned.

User avatar
Hanson
Legendary 300
Legendary 300
Posts: 478
Joined: Thu Oct 25, 2012 9:28 am
Real Name: Richard Hanson
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 3
My Motorcycle: 2014 Suzuki V-Strom 650
Location: Garland, Texas

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#57 Unread post by Hanson » Sun Jun 01, 2014 1:24 pm

Jack,

I am sorry to hear that your trip to Colorado is postponed. I love going to Colorado and was looking forward to your posts.

Safe Travels,
Richard
ImageImage

User avatar
JackoftheGreen
Moderator
Moderator
Posts: 1122
Joined: Sun Apr 22, 2012 2:10 am
Real Name: Eric
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 10
My Motorcycle: Kawasaki Concours 1400 "Ursula"
Location: Northern Utah
Contact:

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#58 Unread post by JackoftheGreen » Sun Aug 10, 2014 1:25 am

We moved into our new house today. (-:

Let me rephrase that...

WE MOVED INTO OUR NEW HOUSE TODAY

We closed on Thursday, and technically we started moving in that day because we've slept here every night since. (-: But today was official 'move in day' with the friends and the pizzas and the trailer and the sore feet and all the cuts and bruises and ibuprophen. Vitamin I as Blues calls it, and we agree.

Our bikes live in a GARAGE now!! They're parked in there right now, and it's freakin' awesome.

We'll post pictures as soon as we get the yard but back together. She's sat vacant since November, so the yard isn't in fantastic shape. Not ready for her close-up yet. (-:

ddavitt
Regular
Regular
Posts: 34
Joined: Sun Oct 20, 2013 8:18 pm
Real Name: Dan
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 6
My Motorcycle: 2002 V Star Classic

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#59 Unread post by ddavitt » Sun Aug 10, 2014 12:25 pm

That's a BIG congratulations to the BOTH of you !!

Summertime trips are nice on bikes , but you trumped it with this one .
Bikes have shelter , you have a comfortable place for maintenance and upkeep ! :)

User avatar
Hanson
Legendary 300
Legendary 300
Posts: 478
Joined: Thu Oct 25, 2012 9:28 am
Real Name: Richard Hanson
Sex: Male
Years Riding: 3
My Motorcycle: 2014 Suzuki V-Strom 650
Location: Garland, Texas

Re: To Ride an Iron Horse - Jack of the Green's Blog

#60 Unread post by Hanson » Sun Aug 10, 2014 5:05 pm

Wow... congrats on your new house. I hope that you both get settled in and find domestic bliss in your new domicile.

Safe Travels,
Richard
ImageImage

Post Reply