Saturday, February 17, 2007

The Story Teller: Part Two

Here's another story from my old buddy Clyde. (Who's Clyde?) I'm going to tell it like he did, so be forewarned; adult language and content is included!

I used to ride motorcycles back in West Virginia. Never had no money to buy my own, but one of my buddies used to let me borry his. He had a 1951 Indian Chief, and a pretty thing it was. He kept it all polished up and clean. It shined like a diamond in a goat's ass.

Well, my buddy was laid up sick and told me I could have the Indian for the weekend, just be careful with it and clean it up when I was done. Now that was just the ticket! I decided to go pick up the gal I was seein' at the time and go for a ride. She was a fine gal, and loved to go ridin' with me. So I brought along a jug, she hopped on and we went out ridin' and boozin'.

Now ridin' a bike in West Virginia ain't for no sissy. There ain't a level spot of ground in the whole state. You're either goin' up, or goin' down, and the roads in them days would go from pavement to dirt in a wink. We was on a paved part of a road, tippin' the jug and havin' a high old time. After a spell, my gal got to feelin' frisky, and was holdin' on to somethin' other than my waist, if ya know what I mean. So I pulled the bike off the road near some woods, figurin' me and her would have a little more serious fun.

We was both pretty snockered up. Both of us staggered off the bike, and I headed for the woods. "Where you goin' Clyde honey?" she asked.
"Well, 'less ya'll want to do it right here alongside the road, I figured we'd hit the woods, gal!"
She got a big ol' smile on her face. "You reckon we could do it on the bike?"
"I reckon so, but it won't be so comfortable." I started undoin' my drawers.
"Clyde honey, you reckon we could do it on the bike, while we're ridin'?" she said.
Now I ain't no coward, but that idea did seem a little dangerous. "You mean while I'm drivin' the bike?"
She throwed her arms around my neck and said. "Yeah darlin'. I could lay up on the gas tank and the handlebars, and you could get it in me on the fly!" Man, was she drunk! But I was too. She sat up on the handlebars, hiked her skirt up and tempted me. So I figured, what the hell!

So we're goin' down the road, coupled up real good. Goin' up and down the hills of West Virginia, gettin' a mighty fine thrill. She's gettin' into it, and helpin' out much as she can. We come to one of them tall hills, a cardiac hill they call 'em back home. That's 'cause they're so steep, if you had to walk up 'em your heart would give out. My gal's eyes are rolled back, and she starts hollerin', "Faster Clyde! Faster!"I wasn't sure if she meant me or the bike, so I done both.

We get up the top of the hill and she's moanin' and groanin like nobody's business. Now I'm ready to blow my nuts, and we go down the hill faster than greased shit. I'm startin' to get the funny feelin' and us and the bike were goin' damned fast. Then the road turned to dirt, and I lost control of the bike.

Went off the road goin' so fast I jumped a ditch. I was hangin' on for dear life to them handle bars, but my gal didn't have nothin' to hold on to. Her bare ass flew off the bike when I finally hit the ground. Don't know how I done it, but I kept the bike upright. But I was headed for some big ol' hogs that were wallowin' in the mud. Don't remember if there was a fence or not. If there was, I went right through it.

So there I was, with my dick hangin' out and floppin' all over, headin' for two big hogs. Oh Lord, if I die this way, just have them hogs eat me so my Momma don't know the particulars! But soon as I got closer to the hogs, I hit some mud that slowed me down just enough that I could steer around 'em. Home free? Nope. Ran into a big tree stump, stopped the bike cold, and I went over the handle bars, ass over teacup.

Next thing I know, I'm layin' on the ground all coverd with mud, pig shit and blood, with a big ol' State Trooper standin' over me. Don't know how long I laid there, but I looked around and couldn't see nothin' of my gal. Found out later another Trooper took her back into town while I was passed out.

Me and the gal were both drunk enough that we rolled with the punches. Not really hurt too bad, all things considered. But I was sure sore for a long time. My buddy never spoke to me again. The bike was totalled. Lost my gal too. She had some big ol' brothers that probably still want to whup my ass over the deal, and it happened back in '58. But all that don't bother me none. What still bothers me is that the gal blamed it all on me, and the Trooper gave me a ticket.
Now this Trooper had to try real hard to figure out somethin' to give me a ticket for. So you know what he done? When I flew off the handle bars I landed a fair distance from the bike. So far in fact, that the Trooper gave me a ticket for leavin' the scene of an accident!

Sure was a lot of fun, but I never did nothin' like that again. Havin' that much fun can be awful hard on a man.

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