A Message From Your Sponsor

Dear Miss Busa,

It has come to my attention that you have become infamous with my colleagues at work. As I was gearing up for a nice  little ride on my motorcycle; you know that thing that works IF you keep it upright at speed? Anyway, as I was getting ready, Bobby walked over to me to say hello. The following is the conversation as close as I can recall:

Bobby: “Heya, Joe!”

Me: “Hey, Bobby! How’s it going?”

Bobby: “Pretty good. Great weather to ride, huh?”

Me: “Yes it is. Where’s your ride? I see you are cruising around in that big new Ford of yours.”

Bobby: “Yep, but I’m about to start riding my Hog again. The gas prices are killing me.”

Me: “Uh-huh, save some of that green.”

Bobby: “Got that right! Say where’s our girl, Crash?”

Me: “She wrecked her bike. Guess following me to work in the truck isn’t as much fun as riding.”

Bobby: [looking incredulous] “She wrecked it again? How freakin’ fast was she going this time?

Me: “A little over 120 miles an hour.”

Bobby: [now chuckling] “Guess the roads are safe again …  for a little while.”

As you can plainly see, you are reinforcing your reputation with your latest antics at the track.

This is a desperate plea to you. I am begging you! When I said to come back with your shield or on it, I didn’t think you’d take me so literally. I want you to win, but gee whiz, I thought you’d do it in the customary way, you know: first across the finish line. Well, I guess if you’re going to be Number One in crashing, we should lobby WERA to include a Crash Class in the award ceremonies.

“… and Miss Busa wins the Golden Turd for the most impressive and expensive lowside this weekend.”

I have written the acceptance speech for you, too:

“I’d like to thank WERA for putting on a great weekend; the corner workers for schlepping my bike out of the gravel trap yet again, I know you guys are getting tired of it, so thank you; many thanks go out to the medics who have conveniently relocated the ambulance to wait near Turn 1. You guys rock! I would also like to thank my sponsors: BMW Parts Division, FedEx for their awesome overnight service, Bondo, and Blue Cross & Blue Shield of Georgia. Last, but not least, I need to show my gratitude to my mechanic; however, I’ve done this so often, I’ll have to start working on my own shit.”

Anyway, my point is: congratulations, you’ve earned renown points. I love you, Babe, you keep doing what you’re doing, if you aren’t crashing, you aren’t trying.


Mr. Slow,
Your loving sponsor

Ach Du Heilige Scheiße!

Ach Du Heilige Scheiße!

Westbound and Down and Dirty

So, I’m on my rocket propelled Samsonite, looking for an early morning with Miss Busa. Love of my life waiting for me (read as sleeping). So I’m westbound on I-20. There are three lanes of traffic. I’m in the granny lane, the license plate DOES read “Mr.Slow.” I see a white Lexus coming onto the interstate, so I move to the center lane to allow the car ease of entry. In other words, white paint transfer on my Connie won’t look very nice. See, I’m a nice driver: make room for others, mind my manners, all that bull shit that is about to go out the window.

Mr. Lexus, with the now visible aviator sunglass, decides that the granny lane is not good enough for him anymore. He wants my lane now. So without a glance at me, he comes on over. Of course I do notice this, mostly because I’m allergic to road rash. Screw that, I dodge to the hammer lane, and look dead at the guy. He must ‘feel’ me staring at him, because he looks at me and throws both hands into the air in the “WHAAAAT?” gesture.

That pissed me off a little, so I decide to show him what for! Ok, squid warning. I know that this makes no sense, but I’m really ticked off now. So I decide enough is enough, I pull my bike hard toward the Lexus piloted by the aviator sunglasses wearing, cool breeze jerk. I think I surprised him a little. Maybe. He pulls his luxury Toyota into the right lane, surprising me; then really astonishing me, he goes all the way to the shoulder. As I accelerate away, I’m laughing so hard, that I have tears running down my face.

The Lexus driver got back on the road, I made it home with a tale to tell: everyone happy. Just so no one is worried, no Lexus drivers were harmed during the making of this blog entry. If the bastard had pulled over, it may have had been different.

S1000aRRgh: Broken Bike Blues

MissBusa Marks Her Territory: The Pirate's New Vessel

The Mark of Busa: The "Black Box" be ours! Arr! Arr!

Let me start by saying that I miss my pickup truck. Missing my truck is OK though, for I have found MissBusa again in my life. I know that many people come here to read a motorcycle blog. Well… The Pirate has been in Atlanta for more than three weeks now, and I have found that my “better half” is doing things with me other than riding a bike again. Of course, I do admit that most of the ‘doings’ have to do with getting race ready.

MissBusa misses her bike. Of that there is no doubt. More than a few times she has brought up lowering links for my ride. I’m six foot, one inch. I’m considering the links. Just for sanity’s sake. Seems that Maxton, NC is calling my love for some Speed Trials. Perhaps there are those of you who think I wouldn’t want the Pirate of my Heart’s Desire back in my life. I definitely do. It’s simple: you love someone, you want them to have what they love, as well.

Watching her do the research to go fast has been fascinating. One hurdle cleared seems to bring on two or three more. She just keeps on rolling. Blue Moon Cycle may be in deep trouble if they don’t get that bike back here pretty quick. No bike is probably a hurdle that she can’t clear. Although, I do get a laugh out of picturing her running in full leathers down the Maxton Mile.

There is now a “MissBusa” sign on the back of my truck. Does that make it hers? I think it may have been hers from the beginning. Everything to do with the bike. Including my bike (read as luggage rack). Well, it’s only just. She’s found a new love. Not one to replace me, but one to keep me hopping. I haven’t been hopping in a long time, so I guess that’s a good thing. Ride on MissBusa. I’ll see ya in the pits or at home. Now I have to go tell Blue Moon to keep that bike for a week or so longer. Errr, no wait. I meant see if they can expedite it. Yeah that’s it.

I haul bags.

MissBusa and Mr. SlowI suppose I should start out by being completely honest, hence the name of this post. MissBusa has requested (read “you will do this”) me to join her in her blogging endeavors. And I have agreed. Our riding styles are completely different, and she thinks that a different point of view is probably a good idea.

This is my biking background. I rode my first bike, a friend’s enduro in high school. It was fun, but short lived. Once in the Navy, at my permanent duty station, I squired up and bought a Shadow, the year 1984. Had a blast, probably should have been killed too many times to count, I took no safety courses, just hopped on and hoped for the best. I laid that bike down under a straight truck, I was wearing chaps, I had to have rocks and road debris dug out of my backside. End of first bike. Once out of the Navy, I purchased a Nighthawk 650. Great bike, started riding much more responsibly, and paying much more attention to my surroundings and generally becoming a better rider. Eventually traded the bike in for a full-sized conversion van when MissBusa and I moved out of state.

Fast forward a decade or so, MissBusa finds she can’t live without riding, and I get a Vulcan Special Edition (read “can’t keep up with the wife”). Upgrade to present Concours 14 (read “not falling too far behind, and I can carry her bags”).

That’s my history in biking, short version. See ya on the blog.