13 Search Results for "packs"
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France's Biggest Gang
- From: Englissh
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Description:
I could tell you that the Gendermerie hunt in packs,but no they normally ride in two's, one to read and the other to write, this was taken in 2008 when they were on convoy duty for the TOUR de FRANCE bike race
New Yamaha 1300's and Bmw.
Keep the Grey coming long and slow
PS: Read and Write is one of the many jokes about the Gendermeri. (They are like LIZARDS the only come out in the SUN )
- 1 month ago
- Views: 81
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early pic
- From: tmeiklejohn
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Description:
Another weekend trip - parked at one of the last old train water towers left! It was fall and was a lot colder than it looks - had heat packs in the gloves. Was a while ago since it looks like the only upgrade was the pipes at that point. - will have to get some newer pics!
- 2 months ago
- Views: 47
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More Biker Jokes - Adults only
- From: TheTopTron
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Description:
One Sunday an old biker walks into church and sits down in the front row. As the preacher is beginning his sermon, the devil suddenly appears at the altar. The members of the congregation, including the preacher himself, flee the church in terror, all except for this one old biker in the front row.
The devil notices this one biker still in the church and walks down from the altar to confront him. He roars at the man, "Do you know who I am?"
"Why of course I know who you are," the man calmly replies. "You're Satan."
"And you're not afraid of me like the others?" the devil asks somewhat miffed.
To which the biker replies, "No. Why should I be? I've been married to your sister for the last 25 years."*******************
A biker is riding along a country lane, when a sparrow flies up in front of him. The biker can't do anything and hits the sparrow. As he looks in his rear view mirror, he sees the sparrow lying in the road. Being the kind of guy he is, he stops, picks up the sparrow and takes it home and puts it in a cage, still in a coma. When the sparrow wakes up the following morning, he looks through the bars of the cage and says, "Shit, I must have killed the biker".
*******************
Crash, the Biker, walks into a pharmacy & says to the pharmacist, "Listen, I have three biker babes coming over tonight. I've never had three biker babes at once, & I need something to keep me horny, keep me potent."
The pharmacist reaches under the counter, unlocks the bottom drawer & takes out a small cardboard box marked with a label "Viagra Extra Strength" & says, "Here, if you eat this, you'll go NUTS for 12 hours!"
The next day, Crash rides down to the same pharmacy, walks right up to the same pharmacist & pulls down his pants.
The pharmacist looks in horror as he notices that Crash's Johnson is black & blue with the skin hanging off in some places.
Crash says, "Gimme a bottle of Ben Gay."
The pharmacist replies, "BEN GAY?! You're not going to put Ben Gay on
your dick while it's in that condition?"
Crash says, "No, it's for my arms, the girls didn't show up."***********************
An Eskimo's Harley goes on the fritz. He takes it to a mechanic, who, after examining the vehicle, says, "I think you've blown a seal."
To which the Eskimo replies, "No, that's just a little ice on my mustache."********************** And last, but certainly not least:
A little old lady wanted to join a biker club. She knocked on the door of a local biker club and a big, hairy, bearded biker with tattoos all over his arms answers the door. She proclaims "I want to join your biker club." The guy was amused and told her that she needed to meet certain biker requirements before she was allowed to join. So the biker asks her "You have a bike?" The little old lady says "Yea, that's my Harley over there" and points to a Harley parked in the driveway. The biker asks her "Do you smoke?" The little old lady says "Yea, I smoke. I smoke 4 packs of cigarettes a day and a couple of cigars while I'm shooting pool." The biker is impressed and asks "Well, have you ever been picked up by the Fuzz?" The little old lady says "No, I've never been picked up by the fuzz, but I've been swung around by my nipples a few times."
- Blog post
- 3 months ago
- Views: 235
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You meet the Nicest People On
- From: RMFIII
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Description:
For years Honda had a slogan that "You meet the nicest people on a Honda."
Well, owning a Honda I have to agree with that, but I have met some of the nicest people riding all types of bikes. Sure, every now and then one will run across a better than thou kinda person but all in all riders are great people.
I have noticed thru my years of riding that there are 3 distinct groups of riders. The first being the sports bike group. These mainly young dare devils are just plain out crazy. Now the group is not limited to the young for I have seen some wild grandpa's in the saddle of quite a few of these machines. Their need for speed is more than I can handle but the majority are always the most safety gear consious. One hardly ever sees someone on a sport bike without a helmet, jacket, pants, etc. I have noticed that most are not big talkers and hang with their close knit groups.
The Cruisers: This group of riders are mainly composed up of the weekend warrier type of rider but there are a good mix of hard core peg monkeys mixed into this group. One will find that the majority of the cruisers are friendly and will bend over backwards to help anyone, rider or not. They all are serious about thier rides and I have found that their bikes reflect their personality to a tee. I have found that although the majority of the riders in this group are top shelf people there are a few A.H.'s in here as well but they are of the minority. This group of riders are also the backbone of the social crowd. I have found that they love to ride and gather with other cruisers and one thing for sure there is going to be a lot of fun somewhere. They love to ride but many never have a route pre-planned. They love to go where ever the road leads them.
The Tour Riders are generally made up of the older experienced riders who at one time or another been either a sport bike rider or a hard core cruiser rider. They generally travel in packs and nearly always travel with their spouses. This group of riders will talk your ears off. Ever stop at a rest area where there are tour riders? The majority have been there, done that, and have the shirt and hat to prove it. They are always willing to give friendly advice and seem to be prepared for anything. If you are ever on the road and need a tool to get moving again. You can bet your bottom dollar someone in the tour group will have what you need to get rolling again.
As far as brand loyality I notice some of that but I have found that reguardless of what one rides the majority of riders are friendly, and appreciate the mutual passion and desire to ride. I have not noticed one particuliar brand of motorcycle riders that has more passion than another when it comes to being a rider.
So in closing one can say that "You meet the nicest people on motorcycles." They are willing to assist when needed. Most are friendly, but all share the thrill of being in the saddle of a bike burning up the pavement.
- Blog post
- 4 months ago
- Views: 172
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The Test
- From: greyfalcon2112
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Description:
I wish that I had the writing talent of my friend who wrote this... It's priceless... He rides too and he works with me in a State Prison. Really warped individual live most of us there.
The Test
When I decided to apply for a job as a Corrections Officer I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I suppose I had the vision of swaggering around in a uniform being mean to people and getting paid for it. All of my experience with prison life was limited to television, movies and books.
Applying for the job was easy enough. I just went online and found the DOC website, filled out a form and clicked the mouse. It took a week or so to receive a response with the date of the video test. I made another trip or two in the truck as I waited for the test date, trying to imagine what a video test would consist of.
The day of the test arrived and of course, I got lost trying to find the testing site. This raised my anxiety level to a fever pitch so that when I finally made it to the testing room on the second floor I was out of breath and badly in need of a cigarette. The test was actually quite interesting in that the video showed different scenarios involving CO’s and offenders and asked how you would handle each one. I almost over-thought it though, by trying to guess which answer they were looking for instead of just marking the answer as I would handle it with no training.
Apparently, though, I did well enough to be called back for the physical evaluation. This was the part that I had been dreading. I had no idea what to expect but I knew that I had sat in a truck for 25 plus years and smoked 3 to 4 packs of cigarettes a day. I was in shape alright, the shape of the Pillsbury doughboy. Anyway, at last I knew what I was up against: go up two steps, across a platform, down two steps, bend and retrieve an object under the platform , set it on the platform, run 300 yards, drag a dummy weighing 150 pounds 18 feet. No problem, until I read the part about doing it in two minutes and sixteen seconds! Have they lost their collective minds????? I am a fat old truckdriver, this is gonna kill me!!!!
300 yards works out to 3 football fields or 5.77 times around my tractor/trailer. Ok, now that isn’t so bad. Wait…5.77 times around the truck? I have to take a smoke break after walking around it once to thump the tires. This is not good. I sat down and had a cigarette.
When I finished that pack, I crawled into the car and headed to Wal-mart to buy a pair of tennis shoes since the test would take place in a gymnasium. I circled the parking lot, puffing on a Camel, waiting for one of the handicapped parking spots to open up. I drummed my fingers impatiently on the dash as an old man struggled to get his oxygen bottle on its little dolly into the car with him. I could tell he wasn’t really handicapped because he wasn’t using a wheelchair, so I honked the horn at him to get things moving. He finally backed out of the spot but before I could slide in some woman in a van took it. Those cripples get all the good parking spots. I gave up and took a spot further down the row. I wanted to kick the leg out from under her walker as I passed her near the front door.
It had been over 20 years since I had worn anything but cowboy boots so the choices in tennis shoes was simply astonishing to me. There were shoes for basketball, running, soccer, shoes with little airshocks in them, shoes with headlights and taillights and the ones that really worried me, crosstrainers. Who knew they made special shoes for transvestites. Anyway, I bought the cheapest shoes I could find and headed home.
I got home and decided, by the time I bent over far enough to tie the damned shoes, that I should have bought the ones with Velcro instead of laces. I leaned back and lit a smoke as I rested from the stretching. I had 9 days to get ready for this marathon.
The next thing I had to do was measure out 300 yards on the street in front of the house. I finished my smoke and wandered out to the truck to get my tape measure. I grabbed the 50 foot tape measure and my calculator, since the tape was in feet and I needed to convert that to yards, I knew the math would probably trip me up.
I strung out the tape behind me as I walked down the street, using pebbles to mark each 50 foot section. My back was beginning to ache from all that bending over and my hamstrings were tightening from the walking so after I got 100 feet measured out, I sat down on the curb and rested. I realized that I had left my cigarettes on the porch. Well, I needed to cut back a bit.
An hour or so later I awoke from my nap, stiff and sore from all the exercise and sleeping on the concrete curb. Thankfully it grew dark before I finished so the game was called due to darkness. I made a pledge to myself, as I shuffled back to the house, that I would do this. I would get up early the next morning and get this distance measured and I would run that 300 yards or die trying.
True to my word I arose at the crack of 11:30ish the next morning and sat on the porch in my boxers and brand new tennis shoes, smoking and drinking coffee. I was very aware, from some of my reading, that long distance running is a mental game, and that all I had to do was visualize and it would be so. I leaned back, closed my eyes and pictured myself bounding down the street, strong and determined, elbows close to my side, my sleek athletic body in perfect rhythm. I awoke when the Camel between my fingers burnt them.
I began my stretching by bending down and tying my shoes. It took a bit of time but I finally found a way to sort of lean around the belly lying in my lap to reach the laces. At last I was ready. I stood at the start line, filling my lungs with the cool, fresh Missouri air, saturating my blood with oxygen. After the coughing fit I got all that cellulite headed in the same general direction and sort of waddle/jogged my way down the track.
At the 50 foot mark I had built up a head of steam like a locomotive. Oh, it felt so good, this was it, I was on my way. Somewhere around the 55 foot mark, my belly began to outpace my feet. I lost the rhythm. I would push off with the trailing foot, but could get no really altitude because at the point my belly was on the downward stroke. Then, disaster struck. I tried to stop to get back in sync but my caboose overran the locomotive and I went down in a heap. My neighbor gave me a ride home.
I sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette and pondering the situation. I realized that I had tried to do too much too soon. After lunch and a short 2 hour nap, I was back out there, walking down the street. I made it to the halfway point before the calves of my legs began to cramp and I had to use the cellphone to call Barb and have her come get me. She helped me into the house as I wondered aloud if I could go to Wal-mart and find the old man with his oxygen bottle. I lay gasping on the couch until she left for Bingo and then I duct taped her electric mixer to the side of the bathtub and made myself a sort of mini-whirlpool to sooth my aching muscles.
As I lay back in the warm water, smoking, I bumped the mixer and it fell into the bath. The electricity shot through my body, I bounced from the tub and out the front door, screaming like a banshee, stark naked, and ran that 300 yards in 15 seconds flat. Somewhere around the 290 yard mark I had an epiphany. Motivation is the key to success. I knew now that I would pass this test.
The day of the test I arrived early, having reconnoitered the location the previous day to avoid any confusion or undue stress that might in anyway hamper my performance. I watched with the utmost patience as others huffed and puffed their way around the cones placed on the gymnasium floor. The tiny button concealed in my hand assured me that I would not, could not, fail this test.
Finally, I stood at the start line. The tester gave me the instructions, I surveyed the platform, the steps, the object to be retrieved and the dummy lying there in wait. The whistle blew and I glided the first few steps to the platform, ascended it with ease, flowed down the opposite side, bend and retrieved the object and placed it on the platform. I then turned to the cones and began my journey, blasting down the straights and slowing slightly for the turns at each end.
At the halfway mark, I felt my body begin to tire, my legs to feel like rubber, my breath was wheezing, I was dying. With grim determination I pressed the tiny button in my hand, just a quick push and release. The business end of the stockprod that was duct taped between my ass cheeks sparked and I shifted gears as though my tailfeathers were on fire.
I was bounding around the track now, strides lengthened, a high pitched scream on my lip as I pressed the button each time a foot hit the floor. The cones were a blur as I flew past. I made the final turn, slid to a stop before the dummy, grabbed the rope, leaned into it and hit the button in a long sustained burst. As the stockprod shot fire between my butt cheeks I farted. Like a well shot rocket, I slammed into the wall fifty feet from where the dummy had laid.
As I lay in a heap, sobbing, the tester walked over and said, “You passed and , ummm, your tennis shoes are smoldering”.
Curt Patterson
May, 2009
- Blog post
- 4 months ago
- Views: 180
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Old Lady Joins Biker Club
- From: RMFIII
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Description:
A little old lady wanted to join a biker club. She knocked on the door of a local biker club and a big, hairy, bearded biker with tattoos all over his arms answers the door.
She proclaims "I want to join your biker club."
The guy was amused and told her that she needed to meet certain biker requirements before she was allowed to join.
So the biker asks her "You have a bike?"
The little old lady says "Yea, that's my Harley over there" and points to a Harley parked in the driveway.
The biker asks her "Do you smoke?"
The little old lady says "Yea, I smoke. I smoke 4 packs of camels a day and a couple of cigars while I'm shooting pool."
The biker is impressed and asks "Well, have you ever been picked up by the Fuzz?"
The little old lady says "No, never been picked up by the fuzz, but I've been swung around by my nipples a few times."
- Blog post
- 5 months ago
- Views: 124
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How Not to Use a Hydration Bac
- From: RMFIII
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Description:
This is a great way to get your tail kicked, but still funny.
- 5 months ago
- Views: 224
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It's very very gravelly....
- From: mato
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Description:
My friend, Mr. Sportbike, decided after an 8 hour ride to take us up to this beautiful vista overlooking Solvang. However to get here involved a very steep 1/4 " mile gravel road on a fully loaded C50....you know 30 lbs of tools, first aid kit, water, snacks oh yah and a few clothes. A lot of cursing and some luck got me to the top of this vista.
Mr. Sportbike who only packs the barest minimum of clothes, and no tools of course; flew up said hill, while I sat at the bottom and contemplated my fate, while cursing loudly in the helmet. I believe I now understand the expression, "Where Angels tread lightly."
Mato
- 6 months ago
- Views: 76
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Whats in your bags?
- From: shadowfox
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Description:
Almost afraid to ask this but what do you stow in your bags on your bike? It came to my attention last night when the temp dropped about 30 degrees that others must have the same stuff or maybe not. After work I went out to my bike and it was cold. I had removed my jacket liner but I had my chaps with me my gloves, neck warmer etc. I have saddle bags and a pouch on the front but never seems to be enough. The bag in the front I have my sun glasses 2 pair. One clear one tinted. My cycle foot for soft ground. Soft cloth for cleaning the lenses on the glasses and helmet. Paper towels. Chap stick. 3 packs of hot hands. The bags on the sides I have my chaps, two pair of gloves, cargo net that I sometimes use to hold my helmet when I don't have it on. Neck warmer thing. More paper towels. A lock that I use for my helmet. Some times my sweat shirt, extra head wrap. My lunch if I am going to work. A bottle of water. The things I need to add may be like a rain suit, tools, etc. My scoot is turning into a full size goldwing with all the stuff I keep adding. What do you bring with you? Just curious.
- Blog post
- 7 months ago
- Views: 196
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Aggressive Bicyclists...WOW!
- From: MsChevious
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Description:
I think maybe some of the bicyclists out here got frost bite in their brains this winter. Some of them last summer were grouping together and attacking motorists. Now they shoot out accross traffic, and nearly cause accidents. If you come close to an accident they rage at you that you are going to turn them into one of our ghost bike memorials. I've been riding past and tried to give a friendly wave like I do to other riders, and have had a sign of thier avian interest shot back at me. Wow! I even heard of one motorcyclist and his buddy being cut off by a bicyclist, avoided the collision, only to see the pack gaining on him and his buddy downhill. The bicyclist was holding thier bike pump like thy intended to hit him. As the pack got closer they noticed he was riding open-carry and backed off. Had his gun been packed in the trunk of his bike, or concealed, I think that could have been another attack by these bicyclists.
I wonder if anyone else has such issues with bicyclists?
People look at me different when they learn I ride and seem to believe motorcyclists are all big bad bikers with attitude, but I've only met warm friendly people with motorcyclists. I'm beginning to wonder though if bicyclists in packs are very nice though.
- Blog post
- 10 months ago
- Views: 248