The January issue of Motorcyclist magazine.
These sorry asses have put together one of the most heart wrenching winter issues in memory. I hate 'em. I hate 'em. I hate 'em.
In one issue there is an article about a lighter faster ZX6R, the wicked F800GS in Moab, motorcycle touring in Costa Rica (GS's of course), a hollywood motorcycle stuntman who traded his 'busa in on an 1150GS and never looked back, and a way cool scooter rider's club.
There is some of the best riding centric prose I have ever read on fallen brethren and also, by a middle aged fella (Jack Lewis) on his BMW R1200S, about the choices those of us with worn carcasses must make to pursue our two wheeled passions;
"Nice guys don't finish last. They take extra laps while the cool guys blow up and crash out of the game. Lead thee not into temptation. Into the valley of death rode nobody sane. Take a step back from the edge, ride home and kiss your family.You have been warned.
Sometimes I don't. The devil stands behind me wearing toe-cleavage pumps an designer decolletage. She strokes my hair while I bet, laughing at pot limits while I flop sweat, addled and hoopy and tracking like a scud.
Those are the times I have to push in the whole stack. On the day that I lose - and everybody loses, a chip at a time or the whole pile at a single throw - she'll laugh again and raise an eyebrow at the Dealer"
