Two Wheeled Tales

“Okay, beam me up Scotty.” Tinker put down the phone and stepped into the pentagram.Eight hours behind and nearly five thousand miles away in Vancouver, Henry flicked aside long grey hair, wiped his granny glasses, and checked an identical ‘gram on the floor for the umpteenth time. He returned the detailed instructions to the envelope […]

The teardrop tank was full. So was my wallet. My coal black chopper burned rubber and blended into the asphalt stretching below me and the dark sky above. The milestones popped out every other minute and so did stars from behind clouds. Sturgis conquered I was off to see Sofie at the town beyond the

As he headed home in the small hours with the baffles closed on Poke’s open duals and Bonzo snoring snug as a dormouse inside his jacket, Tinker heard the screams. He traced them to a bus stop where a trail of spilt handbag crap led to the darkened mouth of an alley.Coasting up, his headlight

“Some geezer wanting to unload an old Indian,” the snout had said over his free beer. “Got the address right here if you see me right.”That had lured Tinker into one of those concrete concentration camps laughingly called ‘estates’. Nobody with any sense went there, nobody with any choice. Dumps for the chumps and gutters

“Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction.”Yup that’s what Pa used to say; back in the days when horses traveled cross-country and tin-cans served us humans’ supper. But this ain’t a tale about those times. And with the faces of these Chinamen, you couldn’t

As we barreled down Farm Road 1725, I knew I was at the perfect place for the day. Halfway between New Waverly and Humble, Texas, I was flying down the road, racing Mike to my son’s school. Here it was 2:20, and he gets out of school at 3:10. I had never been late to

In a slick downtown Chicago H-D dealership, Joe Jacobs sat at his highly polished antique desk, desperate and disillusioned. The 45-year-old service manager had just been dumped by the love of his life. He couldn't focus on his work, his ever-increasing workload, on his uptown lifestyle, or on the frozen streets of Chicago. He hurt

The white lines reflected under the Road King’s headlight. They passed by in perfect rhythm, almost hypnotic. Jasper felt like he was flying. There was no breeze; the night air smelled sweet and the bike sang a beautiful tune from true duals. It was the perfect ride considering the circumstances.Jasper was on his way to

Editor's Note: Here's a rough piece of fiction from a Bikernet reader. Although his prose are scrambled his story comes across. It's a classic, and if you love stories of found antique motorcycles, you need to pick up this new book from Motorbooks. It's full of true stories of classic vintage motorcycle discoveries. Some I

Bernard “Wolf’ Hodkins scratched his grizzled, gray beard and peered down into the depths of Snake Eye Canyon. A few pieces of rusting chrome resting on the bottom of the chasm glinted from the last rays of a fading sun. He sighed and looked over at his towering companion. “It’s hard to believe that it