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Thread: So which are you- The call the cops or resect the skill type guy :P

  1. #1
    Join Date
    17th August 2005 - 11:00
    Triumph Bonnie, KTM 2 smoker!
    East Auckland

    So which are you- The call the cops or resect the skill type guy :P

    Text copied
    Yeah...I know. I'm yelling at clouds again...
    I have reached the point of no return with those disgraceful old dodderers who tutt-tutt their way around my beloved motorcycling like slew-arsed jackals too scared to hunt their own food.
    Piles of wrinkled, ageing rubbish they are. They have been riding, badly, since Christ wandered the desert, and now, in their dotage, they still are – sadly.
    My point of no return with these onerous twats was reached one sunny Sunday morning at the Colo Heights end of the Putty Road. I’d ridden up there on a Beemer to shoot some photos, and felt a cup of coffee at the servo would assist proceedings.
    At an adjoining table were four old he-molls – sipping coffee out of their own cups and thermoses. Man-Karens to a man. One of them was another level of dickhead altogether, but he fit in well with his crusty compadres. He was on an ex-cop FJR – you could still see where the stickers had been. He had, of course, added chequered reflective tape to assist his wank-bank illusions, and he was sporting a white helmet and fluoro vest. All that was missing was the word “POLITE” in big cop-font on the back of his cheesy idiot-vest.
    They nodded at me as I sat down. I ignored them. The safer option for us all. I try not to engage with weapons-grade arseholes because it never ends well.
    My coffee arrived and so did that glorious sound of a fully-piped Jap in-line four being caned with intent. It was coming from the south, and it was a symphony to stir the soul.
    The He-Karens stopped talking and listened intently. I swear the grey hairs growing out of their ears were quivering in outrage.
    The sound got closer very quickly, and as the rider rounded the sweeper that leads to the 600-metre-long straight in front of the servo, he went back a gear, stood the bike up on its back wheel (it was a blue-and-white Gixxer), and bashed past us at about 170-odd. It was magnificent. A perfectly controlled, high-speed minger, hooking another gear as the front wheel clawed majestically at the sky. It was a wheelie a man dreams of performing in front of girls. It was a wheelie your mates would talk about for decades, and buy you beers and ask you to do it again. It was a wheelie the cops would shoot you in the face for and then put your family in a gulag.
    I felt like applauding.
    But the old mice at the adjoining table were literally trembling with revulsion. They had been scandalised and affronted beyond belief by this act of motorcycle mastery.
    And the clucking began.
    “That’s disgraceful!” “He should be charged!” “Leave it for the track!” “Did you get the plate? Someone should report him!”
    It was that last one that really got to me. What kind of greased rat-pudding do you have to be to want to dob in a fellow rider?
    They all looked at me, presumably for some kind of agreeable accord.
    “You report him and I’ll end the job-lot of you grunting pricks,” I smiled.
    I have lots of tattoos and sometimes a quite unpleasant demeanor – probably a hold-over from my decade in an outlaw club – so people tend to be appalled by that when it emerges.
    “What?” I asked, as they gaped open-mouthed at my statement. “You had lots to say a second ago. You wanted to dob in a bloke who rides better than you sad old vaginas could even dream of. What kind of trash are you? You won’t even buy a coffee here and support a place that lets you sit in the shade and piss in its toilets. And one of you wishes he was a cop so bad I bet he jerks off in his outfit every night.”
    They started pack up their stuff, but I wasn’t done yet.
    “Oh do stay,” I smiled, getting up. “We can have a conversation about how you’ve forgotten what motorcycling is, if you ever even knew what it was. Instead of applauding the daring and skill you just saw, you want to rush off to the cops and dob him in? Why? So the pigs can give your scaly bellies a rub? Maybe give you a gold star for being ‘good citizens’? You’re nothing but dogs.”
    They left in a rush. One of them even forgot to do his helmet up. So I guess our encounter went well – certainly from my perspective. From theirs? Well, I don’t much care what they thought of me. Their views and opinions are as dust.
    And all things being equal, them, and riders like them, will soon be dust as well.
    Of course, more will always come along to replace them.
    But until I am dust myself, I will oppose them with every fibre of my being.
    Because they don’t get it. And they will, like evil, triumph if good men do nothing.
    Speak up. Shut them down. Do not let them ever think they are righteous.
    On a Motorcycle you're penetrating distance, right along with the machine!! In a car you're just a spectator, the windshields like a TV!!

    'Life's Journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out! Shouting, ' Holy sh!t... What a Ride!! '

  2. #2
    Join Date
    14th June 2007 - 22:39
    Obsolete ones.
    Pigs back.
    K'in lol.

    Yesterday I was overjoyed to hear a tail of epic hoonery on the local industrial estate.

    A group of yoofs went from unit to unit asking permission to practice for an upcoming bike and car show. This was duly given by all, I believe.

    Later in the day they turned up with some hot cars and an assortment of bikes, including a Harley, and spent a few hours drifting, wheelying and generally consuming tyres with great skill and enjoyment.

    Beer O'clock came early apparently, most workers downed tools and spectated. No to be seen.

    to nimbys and conservative bores.

  3. #3
    Join Date
    25th January 2008 - 17:56
    Nonda A Frecking Twin DCT
    Yer a bloody Hoonigan of the last water ewe r Reckiless!
    Good on you mate.
    As for them yoof's bloody good on them too, for taking the time to ask before just appearing.
    Every day above ground is a good day!:

  4. #4
    Join Date
    19th March 2005 - 18:55
    Wots I gots.
    Quote Originally Posted by Reckless View Post
    But until I am dust myself, I will oppose them with every fibre of my being.
    Because they don’t get it. And they will, like evil, triumph if good men do nothing.
    Speak up. Shut them down. Do not let them ever think they are righteous.
    You're certainly an online hero.

  5. #5
    Join Date
    25th June 2012 - 11:56
    DR650XT Dakar
    Target moving no signal
    Cool story bro...

    Never. I don’t think anyone here would ever call cops on a biker.
    Side track I been push biking countryside trails lately for exercise. I flat out refuse to say hello or wave to any fucker wearing a hi vis vest on a 99% off highway circuit unless there obviously on their way to work at an industrial site like I do.

    My neighbour has a scanner and some of the Whiney lame ass 555 complaints you hear from duckers that prob can’t drive themselves....

    I must confess to 555 a few cagers in my trucking days, but only the dumbest of dangerous fucktards.
    But then I had to end that when policing changed so that even when you are calling as an innocent party they use it as an intel gathering exercise on YOU.
    Asking about my journey start stop times how long it would take etc....

    The great Hunter S Thompson used to have a note scrawled on his fridge, “ Never call 911, NEVER. That means you Hunter”

    What I really don’t understand is people who call police when local gang members are fighting or shooting among themselves. Just let Darwin take it’s course. BTW don’t make any sudden moves if you get pulled over in HB...
    Nothing to see here...

  6. #6
    Join Date
    1st February 2004 - 11:00
    MG V11 Nero Corsa LeMans
    out west a chch
    WHAT THE FUCK.. is a "he karen"

    the author comes across as a right cock... chill out man, ease up on the coffee... or P... go for a ride, just hope one of them old buggers dont ride round the out side of ya, that be bloody embarrassing man.

    myself... Id thumbs up the gixer twat... weehoooo, but as I have the right to an opinion so does every other prat.
    cheers DD
    (Definately Dodgy)

  7. #7
    Join Date
    25th March 2004 - 17:22
    RZ496/Street Triple R/GasGas/ etc etc
    Wellington. . ok the hutt
    I believe it is a term old ladies talking on Farcebook use to describe thier boyfriends.

    I think the man is a big baddie. Grr. Grr.
    He's a rebel and (insert old time song here)

    Some people try so hard to project an image of themselves. Fuk off noddy.
    I've been told. Dreaming`s free.
    Think I'll go, back to sleep.
    Everybody listen, voices in my head
    Everybody listen, do yours say, what mine says?

  8. #8
    Join Date
    16th December 2006 - 11:22
    Street Triple R + Yamaha R3
    In the hedge
    That story is a perfect example of why I don't use Facebook.

    Sent from my SM-G965F using Tapatalk

  9. #9
    Join Date
    7th January 2014 - 14:45
    Not a Hayabusa anymore
    Not Gulf Harbour Either
    My Answer is pretty much the same for any Motorist:

    Do I think they pose an imminent danger to the Wider public?

    I've only called the cops on the following:

    1: Drunk or otherwise incapable drivers (which includes one lady who wasn't actually drunk, but was furiously texting her very recently ex-boyfriend)
    2: People who cannot stay in their lane - especially on the Open road, such as crossing the centreline on blind corners
    3: People who have Crashed

    In regards to the story - an Open road, with no traffic, good visibility and a spirited rider demonstrating Skill?

    I'd not bother.

    However, pull that shit near a school (especially My kids school) at around 3 pm - and you'd best hope that I decide to call the cops on you.
    Physics; Thou art a cruel, heartless Bitch-of-a-Mistress

  10. #10
    Join Date
    25th October 2002 - 12:00
    Old Blue, Little blue
    Boris the Serbian?
    “- He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.”

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