Busted

Busted

Great thing about being a biker, you get to hang out with some cool people, ride to places you have never been to before and, of course, drink lots of beer.  But the best part about being a biker is sitting around telling the stories of days gone by and some of the troubles you may have gotten into.  Today I’m telling the story of the first time I ever got busted.  Now I can sense that you are thinking “first time?”  Yeah, I’ve been hauled in more than once.  Even though to this day I can say that I have never been convicted.    I want to tell the story here cause I’m getting a little tired of having to tell it so often.  I would prefer to say it one last time and leave my options open for other tales. 

We were headed south one Sunday afternoon; it was springtime, nice weather with clear blue skies and wide open throttle roads.  I was hanging on the back of the bossman’s bike we had our buddy Rick beside us blasting down the highway on his road king.  Our intent was to hit the beaches in Corpus, do a little cruising around town, then head back.  The only requirement we had for that day was not to take any interstate highways.  It had to be all back-roads.  We chose to take 181 south through all of the small towns and stop lights.  Not knowing what we would find on the road, we cruised into some three legged dog of a town by the name of Yougee.  The only thing Yougee had was a blinking light, a gas station on the left and a place called “the one eyed dog bar and grill” on the right.,

We pulled into the station to take a quick break.  As I got down from the bike I had noticed that the bar was open.  I told the bossman that I would be right back as I headed off across the street.  As usual, he promptly reminded me that we were only stopping for a minute and that we didn’t have time to go in there.  Let’s pause here for a moment so I can explain something to you.  When boss says “we only have a minute “ what he really means is “I will leave your butt behind if your not ready to go when I am.”  And he means it too; sad fact is he has left me behind before.  One time I had to hitchhike all the way home from Bandera.  Now don’t get me wrong, bossman will do anything to help any biker in need or who is stuck on the side of the road.  He just won’t wait on a pig that is late or one who is getting into trouble. (Lousy SOB)

Ok. Back to the story.

So I’m walking towards the bar, I see there were a few cars in the parking lot.  As I head in the front door you could tell there were lots of neon lights inside a dimly lit room.  The smell of stale smoke and beer tickles my nose hairs (yes pigs have nose hair too).  As I walked through the door there were about 7 or 8 people inside and they all turned around and looked.  I didn’t bother to pay them any mind, just said “Howdy” as I sat down at the bar.  While I waited for the bartender to come down to me, I did notice this good looking red head sitting a few stools down from me.  I gave her a quick nod with a smile and she returned her disgust with me by turning her head and looking the other way.  It seemed forever before the bartender finally asked me what I wanted, “cold one please” I said to her. While the bartender tended to my beer I could feel everyone staring at me.  As the bottle of a icy cold beer was slid in front of me, I grabbed it and took a long draw off of the top.  Aaaahhhhhh, that was good as the beer slid down my throat while the bottle was placed on top of the bar.  It was then I noticed out of the corner of my eye some guy standing next to me.  He was giving me a real hard stare, so much to the point that I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  Trouble was coming.

I just smiled at him and said “hi, my name is Pig” as I stuck my hoof out towards him.  In a deep gravelly voice through his green colored teeth he responded “we don’t serve your kind here.” Curious, as to what he meant by that statement I asked him, “Who? Bikers?” 

“No, pigs. We don’t serve pigs here. ‘Less of course their on a plate with corn on the cob and fries on the side.”  As he was saying that he slowly pulled knife from his rear pocket and opened it up.  Not missing a cue he continued talking as he stared me down “I feel like BBQ spare ribs for dinner tonight, don’t you?” I could see the sharpness of that blade in his hand by the reflection of red and blue neon glistening back at me. 

Now when you say the words “spare ribs” around most pigs, they’ll just piss themselves, squeal like a girl and run.  But when you say that to me, I tend to git real offended; well more like down right mad! Saying spare ribs to me is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.  Nobody and I mean nobody gets away with saying spare ribs to me and lives to tell it.  At that moment I knew I wasn’t leaving without a fight and also if I didn’t hurry I would be left behind by the guys.  Grabbing my beer in one quick smooth move, I swung it and smashed old green teeth right smack in the middle of his forehead.  I dropped him like a sack of potatoes as the knife flew from his hand across the floor.  Not missing a step, I headed for the door to make my big getaway.  But I was too late.  One of green teeth buddy’s had quickly locked the door preventing my escape. Trapped inside that bar, I began to sweat like a dog in a Chinese restaurant.  That was when I saw old green teeth start to get up for more. 

I turned and looked on in horror as he stood up; blood was trickling down his forehead.  With a real pissed look on his face he began to lift the sleeves of his shirt up over his arms exposing a couple of old faded tattoos too cloudy to make out on top of what appeared to be two very strong arms.  I just knew this was the end for Pig.  To make matters worse I could hear the sound of two motorcycles fire up as the boys were preparing to leave.  A thousand thoughts raced through my head at that moment.  How could they leave me here? How am I going to get out of this? Why don’t they come get me? Think fast Pig, what are you going to do?  As old green teeth moved closer towards me I could here him mutter something about slow cooking. 

It was then I made my move, I bit green teeth buddy in the leg and tried to get the door open.  The door opened knocking me over to the floor.  As the tall shadowy figure moved inside the door I saw my so called friends ride off without me.  Looking up at the figure he came into the light and I realized that it was the local sheriff.  They called him “Big John”.  He stood 6’ 3” and wore a cowboy hat that made him look a foot taller. He had the look of one tough crackerass cop who didn’t take crap from no one. With his hand resting on his sidearm he asked “what hell was going on here?”  The way I figure it, the bartender knew something was about to happen and called the him.  “Joe, what are you doing bleeding?” he asked old green teeth.  Turning quickly towards the guy by the door Big John told that guy to go and sit down.  “Joe, I’m not going to ask you again, why are you bleeding?” 

“That damm pig hit me sheriff, right in the head with a bottle.”

“Well, what did you do to him to make him want to hit you like that?”

“Nothing sheriff.”

“Nothing huh.”

Big John turned and looked down at me and snarled at me “Well pig, did you hit him?”

“Yes sir”, I replied

“Why did you hit him?”

“Cause he wanted to eat me sir”.

“Is that so, he wanted to eat you” the sheriff said with a slight grin. “Don’t you know that they only serve pigs in here on a plate with corn on the cob on the side and fries?”

Puzzled, I figured that must be what this place is known for.  Deciding I would try to get out of the situation “Well sir, I’m sorry for all of the trouble I caused, I’ll just git on outta here” as I tried to step around the sheriff.

“Hold on there boy” the sheriff said as he grabbed the back of my vest, “not so fast.  Someone gotta pay for the damages and clean this mess up.”  I just knew this was not going to go well for me.  It was obvious that Big John was going to side with the locals on this one.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to place you under arrest.  But first I want you to get a broom and sweep this mess up,” kicking me in the hindquarter with the point of his boot.  Dammit that hurt!.  I took the broom from the bartender and began to sweep up.  Big John was in total control of the situation as he kept a close eye on me.  Old green teeth just stood and watched, he never made a move.  The was tense in the room as I finished up sweeping, everyone was waiting for what would happen next.

Big John pull the cuffs from his belt and began placing them tightly around my wrists.  “Pig, I am arresting you for assault, damage to private property and being a public nuisance.”

“Assault!? Sheriff, that guy was going to kill me and cook me up as BBQ.  It was self-defense.”

“No. No, it wasn’t self-defense, he just didn’t want to let dinner get away.”  Big John read me my rights as I was being lead out to the squad car.  As I was being placed in the back I looked over at the now empty gas pumps across the street, the boys were long gone.  And when the door slammed shut behind me I knew that this was only the beginning of my troubles.

  

Our Latest Project

Our Latest Project

Hey Ya’ll,

Pig here,  got a project here I wanted to show you. 

Like I said before, we’re not “all work and no play” at RBCD.  In our spare time we like to work on different things and try to have a little fun doing so. What we have here is an old 1968 BSA Starfire 250 that we are refurbishing.  Ray found the bike at the Motorcycle Shop over on

Austin Highway

.  They had purchased it from someone who was cleaning out their garage and decided to get rid of it.  First look at the bike, you can tell it had been sitting in storage for several years.  It was full of dried up grease, dirt and an abandoned mud-dobber nest. The tires on the bike look as though they have been on it since 1968.  The last current registration was in 1975, so who knows how long it has been since it was last run.  I don’t remember Ray saying anything about the bike coming with a warranty.

Ray bought the bike as a fix up project with a mind set of “I can do this, and it will be easy”  When I took one look at the bike I turned and asked him when was the last time he saw a shrink.  He’s nuts if he thinks that hunk of junk will every ride again.  But you know Ray, he believes anything is possible.  OK, now when Ray got the bike home, he started pittilling with it, we found the engine was locked up, wouldn’t even turn over.  He removed the spark plug and filled the cylinder with oil for a week and let it sit.  He also filled the crankcase up too.  Trying again, the engine started to move.  He continued to soak it in more oil and move the engine a little bit more until it finally began to move freely.

The compression started to come back and the bearings were rolling pretty good.  Had to flush out the engine oil 3 times since there was a lot of condensation and rusty looking stuff in the oil.  The carburetor was all corroded and plugged up which required an extended dunk in the cleaner vat to get it clean and working.  Ray borrowed the battery out of his other bike and hooked up the Starfire.  The spark plug showed some signs of life when the he kicked over the engine and that little blue spark popped across the electrode.  After Ray was sure he had everything moving freely inside the engine, he decided it was time to give that engine a go.  If he could get the motor to start and run he was hoping there was a chance he may not have to rebuild the engine.  Maybe he would be lucky with a little cleaning up, maybe a little seal swell additive and some STP in the oil.  To this day I just don’t know what he was thinking.  Now some men believe in the impossible and some men know a worthless cause when they see it.  Would you care to guess which one of those men was Ray and which one of those men was me. 

A little gasoline in the tank, a hot shot of fuel in the carb throat, turn on the key and let the kicking begin. Ray kept a fire extinguisher next to the bike (just in case). It took about 10 kicks and there was a “pop” from the engine.  A ha, another sign of life.  Add another hot shot of fuel in the throat and one more kick of the engine.  And it started.  All spitting and sputtering, gasping for more air and fuel, the whole bike was shaking like a leaf.  That old piece of crap was actually running.  I was amazed!  Ray gave the throttle a little crack to give it more gas and the engine began to respond with more RPM’s. Fighting to live once more the engine was beginning to sound a little better as it warmed up.  Not spitting as much, the backfires began to lessen and starting to sound like it could breath on its own, the patient was brought back from the grave. At that moment, I thought I heard the heavens open and angels singing “it’s alive, it’s alive, what a miracle”.  But then it happened.  The stars in the sky aligned, the seas began to rise and thunder began to roll.  And just as sure as God made little apples, a small squeal began to develop from deep inside and grow louder when all of a sudden that rusty bucket of bolts of an engine let out a snap with a loud bang.  As smoke formed in a lung coughing cloud of blue and gray around the bike, it was over. Deaths cold icy grip descended down over the bike, life had ceased in the engine.

I watched in horror as Ray tried to kick that engine over again.  But it was no use; that motor was more froze up than a Christmas turkey in the deep freeze.  I could see the heart break in Ray’s eyes as he rolled that bike into the garage and pulled the door down.  The medical examiner had pulled the sheet over the patients head.  Personally I think he had his hopes up way too high in assuming the engine could have been saved without first rebuilding it. 

Over the next few weeks Ray had opened up that old bucket of bolts. He found that the primary chain had snapped and wrapped itself into a jumbled ball of rusty steel inside the case, which in turn caused the connecting rod to snap in half.  A closer examination of the connecting rod showed that most likely it had cracked the last time the engine was run and that was the reason why the bike was just stored away in that garage as it was for all those years.  Ray faced the facts and that he would need a whole new motor for the bike and that getting a new one would prove next to impossible. Just finding parts alone for the bike was very deflating.  Ray eventually boxed up all of the remaining pieces of the bike and again it was stored away in a garage.  That was May of 2004.

R.I.P. you old hunk of juck. Maybe we will sell you for scrap.

Pig

The Background Story of Pig.

Hey Ya'll,

Pig here just saying hello to everyone out there in web land.  When I started working for R.B.C.D., I told them (ie: Ray) that I wanted my own web page as part of my compensation package.  It took a little bit of persuasion but I finally got one, so here it is.  Funny thing is before I got started, they told me I had to provide some background (they called it a profile or whatever) and I had to fill out some form for them.  Now one thing that everyone needs to learn in life is this "NEVER, NEVER, NEVER provide a pig with a sharp object such a a pen or pencil" you never knows what can happen next.

This is my story and I'm sticking to it !!!

I showed up on the scene about 3 or 4 years ago.  You see I grew up on the farm.  Life there was dirty and boring. I didn't like much there.  I had dreams. I wanted to live and make it big in the city.  When I tried to leave the farm, I was quickly apprehended and placed in a high security pen.  Yeah, like that really worked.  As you guessed, I escaped (we pigs tend do things like that).  Like I said I got out of there and I found a road headed toward the city. I hauled ass and never looked back.  Well as the story goes, Stacey was driving along the road when she spotted me hitch hiking, she pulled over and gave me a ride.  Since I didn't have a place to stay, she said I could stay with her and the family until she could get me fattened up a bit.  ( I don't know why she said that, it didn't make any sense)

 

After we got to the house, I was told to make myself at home and that I did.  I made myself at home in the refrigerator, the pantry, the trash cans, flower beds, the couch, the TV (you know how it is with house guests). It didn't take very long before she got all red eyed, steam rolling from her ears pissed at me. And of course I was chased from the house, out the door and into the yard by an enraged woman beating me about with a broom.  And I was forced to stay outside until Ray came home. In which he would promptly let me back in the house where we would plop down in front of the TV with a cold beer.  Stacey informed both of us the importance of picking up after ourselves and after a little training I had the big guy taking care of my mess too.  It's great being a pig, life is so good.

Yeah, life was great at that time. I had it all; food, shelter, clothes, good friends, and someone to wait on me hoof and mouth...  Til one day when I really porked the pig on the whole thing.  Unbelievable how one little party brought it all to an end for me. 

Well, what happened was one day while everyone was gone to work, I decided to invite a few friends over to hang out & watch some TV.  Three biker buddies later turned into their girlfriend coming over showing up with a few more tagging along.  I guess you could say that it turned into a party.  Now the party was going just fine, everyone was well behaved, that is until some dude named "Jack" showed up.  To this day I still don't remember what that Jack cat looked like but the party sure was fun after he showed up.  You know those bikers sure can get it on!

Well I guess it really was my fault for the whole thing, I did invite the first three over, I didn’t stop people from coming over and I was the one who lost track of time when I should have ended the party.  What happened next was so unreal, to this day I still shutter when I think about it.  I was up in the bedroom with two lovely ladies when all of the sudden I heard this loud screaming and yelling for people to get out of the house.  I couldn't recognize the voice, it sounded familiar but I wasn't sure. I could hear it getting closer screaming my name, but still I wasn't sure who it was.  Then suddenly the bedroom door burst open. Kind of like when the cops come in, ya know.  Only this was much worse than the cops (I had wished it was the cops ).  No Instead of the cops it was Stacey. When she saw me lying there in her bed with those two girls (I forgot to mention it was her room I was in) I saw that familiar red eyed, steam rolling look she gets with a broom in her hand.  Only this time she turned the broom over and was ready to use the stick on me instead.

As she began to scream some unintelligent words towards me and I am sure that if I could understand what she was saying I couldn't print them here anyway, my lady friends grabbed their clothes and headed for the door past Stacey leaving me to fend for myself.  Alone and trapped like a rat in a trap I began to think fast.  Using my short height to my advantage I scurried  past her in a flight for freedom dodging every swing of the broom handle.  I almost made it to the door when CRACK, she nailed me with that broom handle right in the shoulder. Flying off balance, I hit the door frame on my way out.  This was no time to stop and feel the pain, she was swing for more.  Hauling butt through the house I could see out of the corner of my eye some of the other damages done to the house.  Beer cans littered everywhere, most of the other damages was just a blur as I was running.  I didn't have time to stop.  I had made it to the outside door, I was through the door, I was free and able to make my big get away when there it was again, CRACK. She hit me dead center in the middle of my head, breaking the stick of the broom with my skull.  I fell & skidded to a stop just one foot shy of the edge of the porch, I was knocked out cold.

When I woke up I looked around and found myself tied to a stake in the yard.  My head was pounding, my chest hurt to breath and my legs were too weak to stand on.  As I began to focus on what was around me, I could begin to make out seeing Ray walk towards me holding a gun in his hand.  Then as he stood next to me, he was laughing, saying something about have spare ribs for dinner and did I have any last words I wished to say.  Oh yeah, I had plenty to say.  I started babbling on about fixing the damages to the house and how sorry I was.  I was talking on and on as though my life depended on it (cause it REALLY WAS).  As he raised the gun aiming it at my poor little bruised head I began to scream.

What happened next is still a little fuzzy to me.  I am not quite sure just exactly what was said to make Ray lower that gun, but now I have to work for free cleaning bikes until ALL of the damages to the house, the food, beer, a new TV, furniture and some other stuff are paid for.

In time I recovered and my bruises healed and eventually I was allowed back into the house.  All though, everywhere I went, I could feel so though someone watching me. And now as I clean motorcycles everyday for a living I can remember the fun we had that day and how famous of a party it has become and smile.  Knowing it was worth every minute.

Hey there ya'll be sure to check out my other pages for the events and rallies we attend.  You never know, You might just fine yourself there with me.

Pig

Welcome

Hey Ya'll,

Pig Here, I just wanted to take a moment to introduce myself to all of you and welcome you to my blog.  I am a professional motorcycle detailer and I work for Ray Bike Clean & Detail.  We are located here in San Antonio, Texas.  We not only clean motorcycles we include power sport toys too.  Toys like personal watercraft, boats, sport bikes, RV's ECT. We also specialize in plastic restoration too.  We can fix foggy headlights on your car or bike. I know, all this stuff sounds pretty boring and that you are wanting to read something more interesting.  Check my blog lists and I will try to include some cleaning tips along with some stories of some of my misadventures.  Check me into your favorites and look us up often

Pig