Two Wheeled Tales

It was a small house, even had a chimney, cost me $35. I wanted to kick it's resident's ass. Bruno, the name sure sounds tough, but any wimp could have him running for cover. That's my German shepherd pet, and he was in his single room home hiding his face in his fairly strong paws. […]

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

A Small Inspirational Bikernet award for James.I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'You're definitely going to shit yourself' chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of

She was a dark and stormy bitch. The allusions to mythical vamps and witches could not do justice to her vile demeanor and wicked ways. It was obvious that I would have to concede. I may be a healthy youthful sprite but she was a powerful cursed creature of doom. Together we could have ruled

I rumbled across the weedpatch serving as a yard and came to a stop beneath a drooping cottonwood tree. Mongo never bothered to look up even as my dust settled over him. As always, he was fine-tuning one or another of his 110-inch stroker's high—performance whazzits. After a bit of tinkering, he wiped an already

Absolutely incredible I say to myself, no one for 75 miles. The winding Montana mountain road is so desolate I wonder if the Indians or Lewis and Clark were the last to see it. Not to mention it’s slightly, umm, shall we say hillier than Indiana? I round the curve and there’s the guy I’ve

“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

BORDERLAND BIKER Chapter 4 CHAPTER 4 of BORDERLAND BIKER It scuttled off into a nearby field of wrecked carsPretty sure the bikes are yours from the picture ID I found in the dry clothing I’m borrowing from the bag on the Wide Glide. Of more importance is the question; am I awake, still asleep, or

Illustration by Chris KallasPart 1 Evan sat at his bedroom window and stared at the night sky. It had been a strange day for him indeed. He thought about what happened and smiled. Today was a turning point. A day when he summoned all of his courage and made a decision on his own, against

It was a South Texas spring, and the roadside along Highway 59 was a sunlit sea of bluebonnets, brightly-accented with dandelions and glaring red wildphox. The colors ran together in a psychedelic mosaic as they whizzed past Ringo on his Shovelhead. The old Harley was loaded down like a pack mule, with bedroll and bags

Lefty felt the vibration of his old Pan's engine tingling in the small of his back. “Man I'm getting old,” he thought to himself heading out on a lonely desert highway. “The bike's running good,” again thinking to himself. He had experienced some electrical problems recently. The electrical system was almost fifty years old. He

Illustration By George FlemingTinker was up at sparrows fart; the persistent dawn chorus of “we want worms” could normally be ignored, but this weekend was the Hawg Wallow. That wasn’t really the name, but the first year was a washout that left Harleys mired to their hubs, and it stuck. He wasn’t a pretty sight

They call it a “mid-life crisis”. I’m not a big fan of that term, but I guess it describes the situation as well as anything. It’s the conflict a man encounters when he reaches that point in his life where he arrives at a crossroads; continuing to provide for his family in a manner to

A blue finch sang merrily from atop a gargoyle leering from the roof of the long, squat, black warehouse. The silver Special Agent Zebra Express, a tricked-up Thunder Mountain Custom Cycles 240 Blackhawk, rumbled outside Bandit’s sprawling lair in Wilmington. I sat patiently waiting for the tall iron gates to part, occasionally executing zesty throttle

Ill-humoured, Danny awoke. Not to a cold dawn dodging the misty drizzle and ghost-lighting the tent's shabby interior, nor yet an obdurate lump of Grampian rock digging into his shoulder through a leaky air mattress.No, Danny awoke from a dream. He'd had a Highland wildcat by the tail; its body squeezed under one arm and

As he stood in line waiting for his order to be taken, Jack couldn’t help feeling frustrated about the day. Just an hour ago, his boss was getting on his ass about some mundane chore he had not completed. His wife had called him halfway through the day bitchin about money. His ride to work

The Dutch sure know how to live, Tinker decided, tipping his chair back against the half-panelled wall. A litre of fresh draught Heineken in one hand and a glowing cone-spliff in the other was proof positive. His latest ride, shining through the coffee house window on a street barred to cars, confirmed it. One of

My plan was to take off from the Boston area on Wed morning and head down to PA to the Delaware Water Gap National Park for some sightseeing. From there, I was going to shoot down through Delaware and Maryland and then into VA to check out the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel. After that, no definite

After finishing my second beer, in the smoke filled bar, it was time to move on, unless something good was happening. I held myself to a strict code, two beers and time to roll. I had the circuit down pat. It would eventually take me to the ocean were I would end up at the Sand Bar, a quiet local hangout

Paradise Springs was a dying town. I'd never been anywhere near the place, but I'd seen enough little shit-holes just like it to know the drill. It was Mayberry by way of the Twilight Zone, the kind of place where good people worked hard and died young and the bad ones grew fat and lived