2016 Versys Custom - Page 11 - Kawasaki Versys Forum
Other Motorcycle Make and Model Discussion Discuss other motorcycles by Kawasaki or any other motorcycle / automobile manufacturer here.

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post #201 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-03-2016, 08:46 PM Thread Starter
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two Versys motos side by side at the BBQ joint on bike night in RVA...



the alert forum inmate may recognized the 2015 as BigChuck's bike, and his trick shop built tail rack looks even better in person than in the photos.

150 mile RTE, but worth it, i saw quite a few riders i knew but hadn't seen for awhile. must have been 250 bikes, all makes/models and custom.

nobody knew what the heck the Sport Prova was, but lots of guesses.


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post #202 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-04-2016, 07:28 AM Thread Starter
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[QUOTE=Big Chuck;1204217]I even parked an example right next to it .... didn't help at all!

nope, no help.

good to see ya Charles, i guess i should wash my bike before bike night or some guy with a spotless bike will come along and park right next to it.


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post #203 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-04-2016, 07:40 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...36

This gravel road eventually crosses the Frasier River and takes me into Williams Lake and I arrive on the industrial side of town, nothing too impressive.



There must be four or five saw mills there, but they look like they have closed down. I don’t care, I’ve reached my destination and just need something to eat and a place to stay. I take a meandering route through town and find myself back up along 97 and looking straight at a McDs, good enough, I’m not riding another mile.

Park the bike and before I get much farther I realize the place is busy, real busy, people must have walked here, the lot wasn’t that full. The customers are all young and I can understand once again why many Canuckistanians want US TV programming banned at the border. Many of the kids look like they came directly to Williams Lake from one of the finer neighborhoods in say a place like South LA. Wannabes in every respect, dressed the part, tat here, tat there. I get fakey hard ass looks as I walk in, big deal.

Even the employees are tattooed. What’s with this, does everyone get a tattoo gift for each birthday? Christmas? I get my food and I’ve had enough, it’s too hot in there and no place to sit anyway. Outside and a nice balmy evening, I was so hungry that I haven’t given a place to stay much thought.

I’d wolfed my food and was relaxing, sipping one of those jumbo Cokes. A young guy is shuffling my general direction across the parking lot, I’m thinking “slacker“, another droopy drawer half ass wannabe. Now he changes direction and he’s looking right at me, I hear a little beep, it’s my radar ramping up, and the first good return now says “stoner”, as the guy turns towards me. Oops, an alarm goes off, the one labeled “doper“, and by that time the guy was getting way too close.

I can’t be sittin' there on the curb, so I activate the defenses. I hit my cop vibe button, turn the dial up to scream, and I stood up. A second ago I was an old man on the curb, but now I was a freakin' huge old man in my riding jacket, and might just have a badge of some kind. There’s a little hitch in his shuffle when I stand up, but he leans forward like he’s walking into a strong head wind, and on he comes. Sheeeet, that’s the problem with drugs, they make you so stupid you can’t recognize what I think is a damn good cop vibe.

This is one sorry looking dude, as unhealthy a looking human being as any I’d seen lately. His first words were “I need $10, eh“. No use coming back with any clever response, he wouldn’t get it, so I just said “Don’t have it“. “Yeah ya do, gimme $10“. This exchange is going back and forth, and it’s like talking to a seriously delinquent, but slightly dangerous child. Ten bucks is the price of something, and this whacko is determined. He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a phone, reads a text, and jambs it back in. “Friends comin', be here any minute, eh?”. That’s just great, time to get the heck out of here, like right now.

Before I could make a move, a late model SUV drives into the lot and heads right for us. When I turn to get a better look, the driver hits the brakes hard enough to get a chirp, geeez, maybe my cop vibe is working some after all. My new doper friend looks at the SUV, looks back at me, back and forth like a bobble head. A light tap on the horn from the SUV does the trick and he’s gone quickly in his awkward shuffle.

Rather than drive past me, the SUV backs up and goes out the way they came in. What wasn’t so funny a minute ago is funny now…someone is going to flush that guy.
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post #204 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-04-2016, 04:41 PM
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[quote=jdrocks;1204537]
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I even parked an example right next to it .... didn't help at all!

nope, no help.

good to see ya Charles, i guess i should wash my bike before bike night or some guy with a spotless bike will come along and park right next to it.
Spotless? Everyone keeps saying that, but this bike runs about 750 miles a week ... and lives outside.

I swear all I did was wash last weeks bugs off...

If'n I do it, I gunna git a wippin .... OK! I do it!!!

2015 Versys 650 ABS, 1984 Yamaha FJ600, 1983 KZ750, 1977 CB750a
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post #205 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-04-2016, 05:52 PM Thread Starter
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[quote=Big Chuck;1204729]
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I swear all I did was wash last weeks bugs off...
sure ya did, i believe you.


do you know inmate jpd ie Jeff? lists location same as your hood, and rides a 2013 V.


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post #206 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-05-2016, 06:39 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...37

I was haulin' across this mostly straight road, uncleared right-of-way, vigilant, two fingers on the brake lever, and ran past a moose, a dozen deer, half that many black bears, and the crown jewel, a wolverine, all before I stopped for fuel and breakfast in McBride, near the Frasier River. The road had been a test of the quicks, that dangerously complex interaction of vision and reflex, fail, and some coroner trainee gets to pick up the pieces with kitchen tongs.



My choice for fuel and food consisted of one each, and were located on opposite sides of the highway. Got the fuel, avoided a group of ragged stoners off to the side who looked like they had partied all night, then across the highway, some important business at hand. Rigs parked on the access road, always a good sign, truckers knew their food stops, by experience or radio, and I was off the bike and in.

I chose a table next to the windows, and the waitress brought over a coffee mug, set it down in from of me, and filled it with coal black coffee, never even asked. She was just playing the odds, only got a request for water or tea once or twice a year, and could identify those folks with a brief glance.

Ordered a big breakfast from my fiftyish waitress, still lookin' pretty good, maybe known by her first name from one end of the Yellowhead to the other, and the place had filled with truckers while I waited for my order.

My breakfast finally showed, didn‘t last, and four cups of coffee later I was ready for another 650 miles, the sun still at my back, all thoughts on flying west.
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post #207 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-06-2016, 07:50 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...38

The name of the establishment was Six Mile River Resort, not sure of the significance of the Six, but maybe the narrows on the Tagish River was only six miles from somewhere. One thing was certain, I didn’t remember passing this place the last time, or I would have noted the location. I wasn’t sure what I’d find, maybe a biker bar way out here, but instead found an old time resort tucked in behind the trees and fronting the river, some newer enhancements too. I met the owner of only three years, Doug Dupont, he showed me around, and yes, he had a nice spot to set the tent. He also gave me a look at the restored Norton Commando that he had just bought for his wife, sorry, no camera, the damn thing was in the tank bag.



I set the tent in some kind of world record time, rain threatening again, stowed the gear in the vestibules, and did a power walk imitation over to their dining room, they had the works, food, beer, and WIFI, the end of the day top 3 for the solo moto rider.

In a departure from the usual, the spotless commercial kitchen was up front in full view, good lookin' uniformed gal chef and waitress, the tables had tablecloths, it wasn’t a biker bar, but a great find instead. So when I stepped up to the counter and said "I’ll be needing some food", the chef and waitress glanced at each other, I knew that look "Who let this freakin' cuckoo bird fly in here?", and the chef said with as straight a face as she could manage "We have food, please let us seat you first". Lordy, good thing I don’t embarrass that easily.

That’s how my dining experience started in this little treasure of a place on the Tagish, but I did get a chance to apologize for my boorish behavior, and got a little extra bonus with the meal I’d ordered, so I assumed all was forgiven. This was the first time on the trip that I was actually sitting down for dinner in a restaurant, I’d sorta been on the run.

A fine meal with four beers, the tension of the day a memory, and I made it back to the tent, light rain falling, I just didn’t care anymore.

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post #208 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-07-2016, 07:36 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...39

A drink from the store, well, I’m here, maybe I can try again for a photo with me in it, and I looked around for another prospective photographer, maybe under the age of 90 this time, I wanted someone with 20/20. The lot was empty in 2009, today it was almost full. I was into the process of selecting a potential victim when a VW pulled up next to the bike and a young French guy from Quebec jumped out, full of energy. I had a English Springer that acted just like that when you let him out, so as long as this French guy doesn’t pee on my tire, we’ll be friends.

I caught his eye, held up my camera, he knew right away what I wanted. He didn’t speak English, but cameras are trans-border contraptions, he knew what to do, big smile like he’d been waiting all day just to take a photo of me. Some people are like that, and welcomed wherever they go.



Got the photo, end of story...not quite. He was handing me the camera when his girlfriend got out of the car. I say girlfriend because let’s face it, few wives look like what was standing in front of me, plus she had the girlfriend persona that said "Be nice to me, I can leave any time, and you’ll miss me, I promise"…that kind of persona. They stood there talking quietly in French, he was fidgeting around, couldn’t stay still, didn’t know what to do with his hands, but I could guess what he wanted to do. His tongue wasn’t hanging out, but almost, like he was afflicted with sex addiction and was trying hard to hold it in check.

She had raven hair loosely gathered with a small silk scarf, and wore a full black leotard with black dance slippers, wow. Slim, but with curves in all the right places, the leotard fit her like a second layer of skin, she sure wasn’t hiding anything under there, yeah, that’s exactly what I meant, nothing. Staring at her wasn’t too cool, so what, I think I’ll stare at her for a few more minutes, then I’ll go back to being cool. Her traveling companion was a friendly, handsome guy, but next to her, he was invisible. She looked back at me with a whimsical smile, Merci, I have to run, it’s been fun.

If I stayed much longer, I might be tempted to try out my French, better to quit while we’re still friends.


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post #209 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-07-2016, 10:00 AM
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Great pic of the area, and post of the encounter.

But, regarding this...

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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...39


...when his girlfriend got out of the car.

She had raven hair loosely gathered with a small silk scarf, and wore a full black leotard with black dance slippers, wow. Slim, but with curves in all the right places, the leotard fit her like a second layer of skin, she sure wasn’t hiding anything under there, yeah, that’s exactly what I meant, nothing. Staring at her wasn’t too cool, so what, I think I’ll stare at her for a few more minutes, then I’ll go back to being cool.
.....
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post #210 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-07-2016, 10:48 AM Thread Starter
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But, regarding this...
sorry, all ya get is a photo of a big old dude, moto, and mountain...no girl.


my photographer snapped off half a dozen photos before i got my helmet off, but then the girlfriend stepped out of the car, and he immediately lost interest in taking any more photos. i got my camera back, but was a little too distracted to shoot.

if you have a reasonable imagination, and red blood flowing through your veins, you'll get the picture.
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post #211 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-08-2016, 07:01 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...40

Turned the bike around, loaded the gear, hit the button and the motor caught. I sat there for a minute and let it warm up. The atmosphere was low and tight, fog leaning towards mist, the exhaust note trapped against the ground, malevolent, just the way I like it. Looking towards the motel office, “Adios, mutha ****er“, we’ll leave it at that, and I was up the road for a fuel stop.

I’ve stopped for fuel at this intersection before, nobody here, but this morning I had to wait for a pump, there was a line. Ordinarily the preferred road from here would be the cutoff road that bypasses Ft. St. John, connecting back up with the Alcan well west of the city traffic. I’d been on that road in ‘09, and wasn’t too sure about using it in dense fog.

A pickup came through the intersection from that direction and pulled in for fuel, good, now I can get a road condition report. The report was short "Zero visibility, except where it lets up a bit, then ya ken see all the deer in the road". Ok, looks like I’m riding the front way towards Dawson Creek. Fueled, rolled the bike off to the side, I need coffee and a bite to eat, ya know, sugar and some fried crap, diet pie if they have any.

I was leaning against the counter drinking my coffee, the fog was so thick outside that you could get wet just standing there. A thirtyish couple was standing in front of me having an animated conversation, face it, they looked like they lived life in the breakdown lane, no spare, no jumper cables. She was gesturing at him with one of those plastic forks and said "Listen mister, you try to poke that thing in the wrong place just one more time and I’m going to stick this fork in your eye. Another thing, quit all that talkin' while we’re doin' it, ya sound like a freakin' auctioneer". I took a quick look, the guy hadn’t replied, he was focused on the fork, then shrugged.

I don’t think the fork mattered, he looked like he would be happy to have sex with any kind of mammal he could get his hands on, dead or alive. He had the look, watch the news, you might hear more about him.
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post #212 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-09-2016, 07:12 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...41

I could get a good look west across the open fields around the quik mart, dark clouds, more dark clouds, distant thunder, and I was in a fury to get movin‘, screw the damn radar, I could smell trouble ahead, no doubt whatever. The card reader on the pump wouldn’t work. The card reader on the pump over on the next island wouldn’t work either. Fire was shooting out of my eye sockets, smoke billowing out of my ears, I was about to go postal, keep 911 on speed dial.

A young lady approached, she’d seen what was going on, maybe saw the smoke and was angling for the fire extinguisher, don’t know, but she said lightning had knocked out their com link, cash for everything. Ok, got it, and she was damn cute, beautiful smile, too bad about the dipped-in-orange-mud spray tan.

Stomped through the front door, twenty-five people in line, no way I was going to be number twenty-six, walked right up to the register, launched a twenty at the cashier, “Turn on the pump“. Must have had that certain look, nobody said a word, nobody make eye contact, mainly they were all lookin’ a little fidgety, nervous, upcoming events uncertain. Filled the tank, marched back in for my change, it was waiting for me on the top of the register, no delay, no small talk pleasantries, the line was even longer.

Man, I needed to get away from here, daylight and weather against me, I wasn’t properly attired for this place anyway, kinda like showing up for a black tie event in John Daly golf wear. Ain’t got the wife-beater, ain’t got the ripped board shorts, ain’t got the flipflops, ain’t accessorized with a color coordinated 12pack in each hand. I was hopelessly outta touch with the mainstream rural quik mart masses, oh well.

Back on the bike, gear vents locked down, and I charged a stop light a mile away, the exhaust note soaring up and down in deafening whoops, my brain molecules were now lined up in neat rows, my head was back in the game, and I was gone to Winchester. Got the green light, on the gas, a monster lightning bolt hits a tall Loblolly pine at the other end of the bridge, I’m freakin’ blinded by the arc flash, sounds like a huge bomb went off, and at that exact second, the rain starts comin’ down, cats and dogs.

I was off the gas, the bridge deck vibrating under the bike from the blast, the pressure wave had smacked me right in the chest, unbelievable, without ear plugs in, I’d have been deaf. Quick glance at the mirrors, the car behind had run up on me in the lightning strike and rain, I could have nearly reached back and touched it before the driver hit the brakes, stopping dead on the bridge, stunned most likely.

Lucky I was playing horseshoes today, and with the euphoria that a near miss produces every single time, I was pounding on the shifter, rolling northwest, the horizon a little lighter.



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post #213 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-10-2016, 06:18 AM Thread Starter
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The route from the gravel road to Rawlins was easy, just jump on I80, run it up to 85mph, and I’d be there in minutes. It was late now, at Rawlins I’d get out a map and decide on the next move.



At the Rawlins exit, I ran through an unexpected pile of pea gravel laying on top of the pavement, bingo, no wiggles or wobbles, more like a woooosh, and the bike was sliding down the pavement, making an unpleasant grinding sound in the process. That makes five times down and I was shaken again, felt no pains, and pushed myself up to my knees, looking at the bike upended in the road. Damn, I’m beatin' the heck out of that thing.

Some vehicles stopped and two big construction worker dudes grabbed the bike and flipped it right side up like nuthin', wish I had them earlier today. Took some time to convince them that I didn’t need to go to the hospital, I must have looked old and feeble to the young and robust. The bike had more scapes and scratches, didn’t care, it’s not too beat to ride. After thanking my helpers, I was into Rawlins, looking for some medicinal comfort food, a greasy double cheeseburger should do it. Ah, Burger King, I’m saved.

Brought a map into the BK place, got my food, and was parked in a booth trying to relax and cool off, the skies had cleared and now it was hot. Intent on my map, the young couple in the next booth over were well into the prelims of off the charts monkey sex, I though BK was supposed to be family safe, now this, call the cops. The manager was watching the show from behind the counter, probably wondering how to break this up short of a bucket of ice water.

I was worried that the artificially inflated parts of that young girl might get squashed and explode. About then the couple decided to take the act to some other venue, I imagine there will be wild shouts of "yippee-ki-yay", accompanied by screams and loud moaning in the next chapter.

Man, these BK places are fun, takes your mind off a bike wreck pretty quick.
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post #214 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-11-2016, 06:56 AM Thread Starter
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Fueled, power washed, then found a Fort Nelson Subway off the highway, I could eat a VW bus, kinda hungry. Got my sub, and by the time I found a place to sit I was already debating whether I'd made a big mistake, maybe I should have ordered two. I found out why this seat was vacant when I took the first deep breath, damn, the guy sitting closest to me smelled like he'd been living in a dumpster.

Older guy, might be a prospector who spent the season in the bush, long untrimmed beard, and hair that looked like rotted Sargasso seaweed. Torn clothes clumsily patched, he was trying to gnaw apart half a sub without teeth, tough job, he should have tried the soup. Looks can be deceiving, with the price of gold he could be a gazillionaire, who knows. I do know that I need to move across the room to eat my sub, that dumpster smell was so strong it might be sticky.

I know I’ll hit the foothills soon, a big change of scenery ahead, but with the full on realization that I’ll be riding a long ways after dark, never ever a good plan up here.


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post #215 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-12-2016, 06:00 AM Thread Starter
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The next stop is for fuel at Relais Routier, commonly known as Relais 381 for it's location at the 38lkm marker. This is the only reliable 24/7 fuel stop between Matagami and Radisson, a distance of 630km. I pull up to the pumps and my gasboy is quickly over to assist, except this ain't no boy…I can assure you of that.



All smiles, no English, she tries what a number of the French attempt with me… immersion. She's into the process about ten minutes before it dawns on her that she's dealing with a freakin' foreign language dummy and gives up, although I’ve met others that didn't give up anywhere near that soon. Into the gas shack to run my card, she reaches under the counter and pulls out two English language instruction books.

Aha!, now the roles are reversed and she wants me to hang around for a little tutoring. Sorry darlin', I need way more miles, and I was gone north up the Baie James to Radisson.
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post #216 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-14-2016, 10:57 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...45

Through Meeteetse, no more stops, then up to Cody, a planned stop for fuel and a sports drink, maybe a Snickers if I was good.



There was a Buffalo Bill Museum here, but I was in the area for the wild, not the drone of a docent, maybe next time. The quick mart was flanked by a, you guessed it, liquor store, and I got a replay of that video from down in Lander, except one dude looked like he was about to dive into an afternoon of rum and coke, had the fixin’s.

Then there was that buffed girl in the yoga pants accessorized with her alligator cowgirl boots…call your broker, have him sell any equity that has a dime in denim, jeans are officially over, dead and done. She stuck out her tongue when she thought I was staring, she’d have been disappointed if I wasn’t.

C’mon now, I was staring at them boots…mostly.
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post #217 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-15-2016, 07:28 AM Thread Starter
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Into the quick mart, could have saved $.25 a gallon by driving off course ten miles, but that would have construed mission interruptus, ain’t having none of that. I’m not entirely sure of the exact time frame in which the slogan “Spay and Neuter” started a fleeting popup in my line of vision every single time I stopped at one of these damn places, but there it was again, displayed like one of them digital signboards, guaranteed puzzler, or not, depending.

Depending on whether the woman standing in front of me was clothed in all black leather, black kitten eye makeup that could have been tattooed, had her own personal lavaliere sans diamond on a heavy chain, and at the end of which was a large carved bone-like thing which bore more than a passing resemblance to a, well, let’s say it was something you wouldn’t want to wear through the front door of the local Baptist church on this bright Sunday morning…someone might have to call one of them amboolances.

Her body seemed to be pulsing to some weird subliminal backbeat, but when I caught a whiff of what she was wearing, I knew I better get my sorry butt outta there and down to Texas. Yeah folks, the scent that was coming off her in shimmering overheated waves was Passage d’Enfer, and for the uninitiated colonial pilgrims out there, the French is loosely translated as “The Road to Hell“.

Good gracious…feets, get movin‘.
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post #218 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-16-2016, 06:42 AM Thread Starter
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Out of time, out of daylight once past Muncho Lake, and I rolled up to the pumps at Toad River in the very last of the twilight, the sun was down.



Fueled, then in for dinner, but first I check on room availability “Sorry, we’re full“. Great, but I can’t let it spoil my dinner, I needed hot food and plenty of it. Black coffee too, how ‘bout a gallon?

When my cutie waitress came back and inquired if I wanted apple pie for dessert, I just nodded. When she asked if I wanted it a la mode, I didn’t answer right away and she said “Yeah, stupid question, of course ya want ice cream, comin’ right up“. I know that riders are always taking food photos, not me, never found a shutter speed fast enough to catch home made apple pie a la mode on my plate.

My sweetheart waitress was huddled near the kitchen door and talking with a guy that had to be around 6’5“, 300 pounds, big head, hard as a farrier’s anvil, and freakin’ nuts, at least he had a distinctly unbalanced look.

Go ahead, try your best pickup line on her, it will go down in history…right along with you.
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post #219 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-17-2016, 07:16 AM Thread Starter
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I'd been on the gas hard, still into the wind, and get a fuel light near the Chisasibi intersection. I slow a little, but I'm sure I can make it to the pumps at Radisson.



Past the airport, left at the police station, and I find fuel as I enter town. The smiling Frenchman owner is the gasboy, and I find out that the public campground is up the hill across the road. Fueled, I run up the hill to check out the campground, find one large motorhome, otherwise deserted. Looks good to me and I'm back down at the combination bar and café, looking for something to eat. Almost 600 miles, and I was tired and hungry.

The café was busy, a mix of French and Cree. Service was very slow and while waiting I watched a Cree fella spend $150 on dinner for his family, plenty of money floating around via Hydro Quebec payments to various First Nation bands. I waited a week for my so-so meal to arrive, ate it, and couldn't get out of that hot greasy air fast enough. The bike was parked right next to the deck steps, and even the outside seating was full. The locals must have known better than to sit inside and have their lungs slowly fill up with lard.

Jacket on, helmet on, and I'm back on the bike. Let's get up the hill and set up camp. I'm about to hit the starter when a drunk Cree stumbles down the stairs and is now straddling my front wheel. Christ, what next? I'm tired, just had crap for dinner, and I'm about to lose my sense of humor. I'm trying to figure out my escape when he reaches over the bars to shake my hand, “I'm your brother!”. You want to be my brother, I suppose that's ok, so I shake his hand. Now the ice is broken, and he figures that's the green light to repeat this ceremony again, except louder. Then once more, he's shouting, out of control, and now we have a growing audience.

I started the bike, but he still has the wheel trapped between his knees. I try to motion him out of the way, but he stays planted, really getting agitated. I'm pissed, and thinking’ “If you don't move out of my brotherly freakin’ way, I'm going to run over your brotherly freakin’ drunken ass with this brotherly freakin’ bike!”, and followed that thought with two quick blips to almost 10 grand.

I don't think anyone had heard a sound like that before in Radisson, at least not lately, and definitely not up close…everyone jumped. I saw a gal on the deck get about a foot and a half of air, not bad, except she had a beer bottle in her mouth at the time, mighta chipped a tooth, the landing wasn't very pretty. My Cree buddy tried for air, never made it, tripped on the stairs, and went down in a heap with the three people behind him. Now I had plenty of room, increasing by the second.

Let's go camping, and I was out of the parking lot, roosting some gravel around with the TKC, ya know, just for good measure.


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post #220 of 444 (permalink) Old 08-18-2016, 06:52 AM Thread Starter
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THE KWIK MART KRONICLES...49

Let’s get the day poppin', but I needed fuel first. Fuel nozzle in the tank, and what should appear opposite me but a new Ducati Diavel, man, there’s a machine, the thing makes more horsepower at idle than my bike makes, period. I Like that 7-8" wide rear tire, wonder if there’s a knobby that will fit.

I go over to look at the bike, rider is a nice guy, but I lose him when I suggest that there are similarities in our unfaired bikes, the guy gives me that "You are so freakin' nuts" look, and leaves at about 8,000 rpm, snarling exhaust getting everyone’s attention.

Yup, that guy has the Alpha bike, all I have is the Alphabet Soup bike, could be that damn spare tire hanging off the back too.


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