Dual Purpose, Dual Personalities Sporting Duality With Motorcycle Therapy & Entertainment


Young Horror

20120815-163054.jpg Cupid’s Falls – this is where we woke up on the most horrifying morning of our lives.

Howdy Mist,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

Something was wrong when we got to the Tennis Courts….the air was too still, the Moon was too full (actually it was sort of handy when keeping an eye out for Harriet Young). As we pulled in to park we noticed that we had forgot to reset the trip odometer from a gas up a few hours before. Ridicu reached down and pushed the reset button – only Kimmie Lou was still rolling into a spot – SPOINGGGGG ! Now the thing about Ridicu is…he is always doing shit like this, only he completely shuts up when it’s time to do some explaining. “What did you Morons do to my instruments?”

“Em, ah…didn’t realize you were still rolling”….. “Great! So you broke my trip odometer – I suppose every dial is cockeyed with most numbers half showing?” “Well, actually it says 17 7/8, now wadda ya suppose….. The most silent approach we can describe is: pretend you are L’orange, then, without any other information your orange plastic coating starts to crawl – just as every clock in the universe strikes midnight. From our left, up coasts this Peach Convertible Beetle encasing 4 lovely young ladies in tennis whites. I’m trying to figure out if they make Beetle Hybrids and if they do, then why didn’t we at least hear tires rolling when “howdy miss, would you happen to know where an old, fat, balding biker can get in a little doubles action?”

We are just noticing that these gals have beautiful long locks of stunning Chestnut, Raven, Honey and Copper when Chestnut replies “you aren’t fat…you boys are just built for comfort.” As Chestnut speaks she is leaning forward in the passenger seat and turning to look up at us – her right eye is closed and her left has that steadiness needed when lining up rifle sights. A “SWISH” floats right through us as her hair brushes over the Bug’s center console and sways to a stop between what can only be described as electric knees.

That slip again, only this time I’m tumbling….right out of Ridicu’s left ear! I look up at Ridicu as I slide down his forearm…he smiles and shrugs in response to my bewilderment – I’m only 2 inches tall and this shrug has me bouncing up and off his left hand sloping up over Kimmie Lou’s left grip. I’m launched – up through a high arc – all this hang time allows me to survey the situation. There is giggling below and Honey says “maybe you can be our ball boy.” These multi-colored crowns, when viewed from above, look like they have haloes….then I realize it’s just that they have all recently shampooed with molten lava, “RUN!” My yell evaporates 17 7/8 inches out of my mouth. Even if it hadn’t , Ridicu is so entranced, a sledge hammer to his forehead would just bounce right off – I’ve seen that elated goofball look before.

Kimmie Lou heard me though, (Cheerleader Telepathy is acceptable at times like these) she starts right up and is growling at an impossibly low RPM (something around 666). Raven jumps out of the car and plants a bunch of kisses all over Kimmie Lou’s instruments, the last thing I see as I fall into the Peach is Kimmie Lou pop up on her SW Motech Center Stand with another goofy grin. My fatal fall into the passenger floor mat is broken by Chestnut’s hair – I’m all tangled up and hanging just above her feet. The heat from her Crimson Toenail Polish feels good, then she says “hacky sack” and her wisps of hair unfurl till I drop.

These girls are all barefoot and Crimson Toed, I never touch the ground as we make our way onto court 17 7/8. There was this movie I remember once, where this guy becomes a tennis ball and got swatted around for awhile – this wasn’t like that. Copper grabbed me as everyone got in place, I wasn’t served, just pelted right over everyone’s heads into the highest row of chain link. The impression of the racket strings across my face hurt, but not as much as the wire digging into my back – I was basically melted into the fence. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE repeated over and over again, (maybe related to scoring ?) vibrates the fence wire until it becomes an extension of my skeleton – thousands and thousands of feet of wire, encircling these courts, now feel as if they are merely my fingertips.

My attention comes back to the net, or rather all the nets – laying in a pile in front of Ridicu. Honey and Raven are talking to him as Chestnut and Copper begin wrapping him in the first net. ” I have been trying to tell him for years…” Giggling, “shhhh, don’t spoil his surprise,” more laughter – Ridicu’s the loudest. Eventually Ridicu can’t stay standing because about a foot of net is globbed onto him, they lay him down and start rolling him into more and more nets. Clouds thick as pea soup shift over the moon and the soup must have just come out of the fridge cause it suddenly feels around freezing.

I’m rattling and shivering with the cold, but then I notice the rattling is just all the fencing collapsing off the poles. After a couple of dozen spirals of fencing is added to the net, Ridicu and I are face to face….we can’t see each other except we know we are looking right at the other – that familiar teetering before fainting. The layers of material separating us are just enough to keep us from losing conscientiousness “what sort of shit have you gotten us into this time?” “C’mon….are you really telling me you don’t remember these chicks?” A few seconds pass, I can sense he would like to tell me and I know that he would if I asked him directly, but we both know I am not going to…we wait while more and more chain link is wrapped around us.

“Okay boys – just stay nice and relaxed” says Raven. I immediately tense up, Ridicu starts laughing….“Ryder, buddy – this is happening, just let it happen.” I understand resistance is futile, after a few seconds and a few deep breaths I start loosening up. When I tilt my head left, I can see out the top of the chain link burrito, the Peach Beetle has silently drifted down to the courts – it’s top is up and the girls are pulling a long green ribbon from around it’s stem. They start rolling us over the laid out ribbon – it sprouts tiny antlers that hook into the chain link. Very softly comes the thrum.

Our nylon mesh and plastic coated-galvanized fencing cocoon starts to throb – the rhythm kind of gurgles, Ridicu is laughing ….”here comes the peach!” The VW is shrinking or wait….it is draining! The green ribbon coming off the rag top is dilating – the giant peach is pumping into the green artery and it is coming right at us. The weight and tension of the spool has been making it hard to breathe, as everything becomes peach I expect suffocation/drowning by peach will be a nice way to go, I’m oddly peaceful, happy….another dimension, here we come!

Then everything becomes lighter, but tighter at the same time. There is this muscular yet fluid surge and suddenly we are standing up….about 50 feet in the air. Atop each of the 4 surrounding light towers stand the beauties. We make eye contact with each of them, Ridicu and I have gelled back together and now I understand – these are the 4 Peach Pits of our Apocalypse. Their crimson toes begin to glow and they rocket skyward.

Our instinct springs us taller, but before we follow, we arch over Kimmie Lou – she is bathed in our soft light, “it’s OK….go check it out, just come back, Kimmie Lou doesn’t want to break in new Morons!” Kimmie Lou’s words are still hanging in the air and we have caught up to the Peach Pits, all of us are alongside the Moon. The girls smile at us and let a very slight tension out of their wrists, thumbs angle slowly beside thighs – those electric knees start burning blue and we begin to twist as they start spinning around us. In the next few seconds Planets are zipping through our peripheral vision like guard rail posts on the universe’s drag strip.

According to Kimmie Lou, we were gone around 17 7/8 minutes, in that time a Mountain Lion around the size of a Greyhound Bus pounced up beside her. “Howdy Kimmie Lou, I’m Misty.”


Platypus Piss

20120815-110831.jpg Young Harris Playground and Gazebo right in front of City Hall. Kimmie Lou, “this place is kinda spooky….let’s go checkout Young Harris College around the corner.”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

Our precision strike back into Georgia has landed us here – Young Harris, Towns County….likely lair of Harry the Albino Skunk. We have barely begun looking around when – out from behind the Gazebo goose-steps this Canada Goose “you are here for Stinkless eh?” At first we mistake his thick French Canadian accent for a couple of warbling honks…then it hits us – he must be talking about Harry. “Actually, she smelled like peaches” says Kimmie Lou. “She bathes in peach juice…it embarrasses her to have absolutely no smell of her own,” then he adds, “come back at midnight – the tennis courts.” Before we have a chance to ask him anything else he flies away, knocking over a toddler by the swing set on takeoff.

It’s about 4pm and we contemplate heading back to Chatuge but Kimmie Lou insists we hang around and do some reconnaissance before the midnight rendezvous. We decide to snoop around in City Hall, Kimmie Lou insists the College holds some key piece of the puzzle, it is agreed we will check it out next.

20120815-115002.jpg Young Harris City Hall (notice the solar communication “panels” cleverly disguised as energy collection devices).

Inside City Hall we encounter Wanda, another one of these Stunning Southern Women. She graciously answers our questions about the area then becomes vague when we mention the tennis courts behind city hall. Ridicu recognizes her evasive tactics “excuse me miss but I can’t help noticing a striking resemblance between you and a model in the last Victoria’s Secret lingerie layout….was that you in the Peach Teddy?” “OH HO HO NOooo,” she laughs/coos in that way only southern women can – then leans towards us conspiratorially “but I can tell you that there are an additional 10 subterranean courts that are so top secret that the Secret Service holds a couple of tournaments a year here.” We calmly say “that so?” “Yes,” she says, ” they play in Squirrel or Bunny costumes….even Skunk outfits some time.” “SKUNK” we blurt out…then Ridicu recovers by saying “we heard it was just Tutus and Tinker-bell costume tennis.” “During the summer months yes, but in the cooler months they are all sporting fur….the President showed up this one time done up as Barney and they all took turns walloping the shit outta him.” We all giggle over that one…she giggles and jiggles so seductively that I have to get Ridicu away quickly, “it’s been sure nice talkin to ya, see you later!”

We wander around out back of City Hall to the Tennis Courts…they do seem sorta sneaky.

20120815-134510.jpg Kimmie Lou ” so if there are ten courts underground then that makes this center court 17 7/8….look, it has no number !”

Our scouting so far has told us a lot, it’s time to head up to this College of Mountain Lions. We must have that “lost tourist look” on our faces as another Stunning Southern Woman stops and asks if we need directions. She isn’t wearing an earpiece but Ridicu can see she’s Secret Service by the look in her eyes “can you keep a secret? We’re scouting the next shoot for Victoria’s Secret” “Well you will likely want a look at Cupid’s Falls then” and she gives us directions. We thank her and walk back to Kimmie Lou – casually parked at the College gate. “No way are we going to the falls – by now the place is probably crawling with snipers !”

20120815-140144.jpg Kimmie Lou, “now that you mention it, we do seem to be attracting a lot of attention…it’s funny how nice spies can be.”

Finally I gave up trying to convince Kimmie Lou and Ridicu that everyone was just being nice. “Everyone has been really nice along the trip so far, but there is something sinister about this place.” They both urged me to stay in a public place until midnight, they were afraid to go back to Chatuge, “probably a team of SEALS submerged just off the beach – waitin fer us!” Ridicu and Kimmie Lou were beginning to say stuff with southern accents – it was kinda cute, except when they got paranoid.

It was decided that we would hang out at Ingle’s till 10pm then ride around until the meet at midnight. RidicuRyder is on a budget and we see nothing wrong with getting a coffee then soaking up the WiFi for hours and hours. We carry around a stainless water bottle and some concentrated Lemon juice. Now, folks might say we are drinking Lemon Water but we prefer to call it Platypus Piss….it just sounds cooler. We can’t remember how many times we filled the water bottle…maybe it was nerves causing us to chain drink like that, there is this thing called Water Intoxication and it’s the only explanation we have for what happened at Midnight.

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Catatonic at Chatuge (more stickers)

20120813-160649.jpg” Kimmie Lou’s windshield isn’t a lunchbox Morons!”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

We spent around an hour discussing our life back to the future, in the cosmos around the corner with Kimmie Lou. She is convinced our future lives are somehow connected to current events and Ridicu and I were immobilized by this prospect for half of the morning until we decided to do another Blog post. Somehow we are comforted by the pointlessness of Blogging…..it’s utter futility comforts us, c’mon….nobody’s ever gonna read this shit, why not jazz things up a bit!”

“How about we settle down and just focus on a simple post – we could wrap up our series on stickers.” Rarely does Ridicu agree with the moderate approach, but he sees the merit of focusing on basic information to smooth out our psyche before this afternoon’s Georgia Raid. Everyone agrees that should we continue on we will likely continue suffering abstract distractions. Turning back when it is least expected and striking quickly seems the best option (Skunks are almost always napping in the afternoon).


The two parking stickers above the Great Loop Moto sticker must be forgotten…..RidicuRyder’s anonymity must be maintained other wise HW will get pissed off and we probably won’t be able to keep Blogging (there are plenty of Male Nurse Motorcyclists in Miami who wear Tasmanian Devil helmets….if you must speculate on our identity – choose one of those guys).

Great Loop Moto: came with Mr Fandango – we give it a 7.3 on our RR rating scale.

Equal Sign (Equality): around a week before we left Miami, we were kicking around Coconut Grove running errands. Near Cocowalk we encountered a nice young lady with a clipboard and a unibrow. As we were prying off the Tasmanian she said, “hello are you interested in equality.” Ridicu is always complaining that I don’t let him make half of our decisions, “howdy miss, we are extremely interested in equality” This kid was very sweet, she rattled off her spiel about equal rights for EVERYONE, our head must of nodded around 17 7/8 times…..she had us right where she wanted us, the clipboard began extending off her chest towards us “could you sign our petition ?”

Now we have all sorts of weakness’ when it comes to women – this young lady had two of our top three: small breasts and a lazy eye. The third and most irresistible feature is a lisp – they kill us. Luckily a unibrow doesn’t quite make our top 17 7/8 ….if it did we would have signed without another thought. Instead we both said “how about we make a one time anonymous donation?” Basically we sort of feel like equality has to be balanced with inequality and indifference, we peeled $5 out of our wallet….enough for a veggie wrap (almost lunch time) and just right for keeping our gmail inbox fit and trim.

Big smiles, we were backing away when she added “don’t you want a sticker?” Then to my horror she began holding the sticker up against Kimmie Lou in different places! “Great, uh thanks ….we’ll have to think about a good spot for it then make sure it is nice and clean so it sticks well.” Walking away ” you aren’t serious about actually putting that thing on right? I mean c’mon we are going to be kicking around the south for the summer….it might attract the wrong kind of attention.” After a few steps “think of it this way….if Kimmie Lou has this sticker on – anyone messing with her will be committing a hate crime. Besides, it’s probably time we came out and told the world we are a lesbian trapped in a man’s body….don cha think?” Well, I had to admit it…the unibrow was oddly alluring.

TOUCHÉ: around a decade or more ago there was this big movement to reduce waste by pressuring companies to go green and put their products in smaller packages. For a while there you would buy a watch battery and it would just barely fit in your shopping cart diagonally because everybody manufacturing anything had a brother-in-law doing their packaging. This is the way we feel about the Touratech sticker, Lefty Ortlieb tells us Touratech makes their stickers huge as a Zega-ionist conspiracy to put hard panniers on every motorcycle in the world (basically, the only place for a sticker this huge would be a hard saddlebag). Righty O has barely spoken to any of us since Kimmie Lou offered that Gator a bite of him back in South Florida, but he did corroborate Lefty O’s take on the situation. Ridicu has that tic where we have to poke large folks, corporations, foreign governments and Martians with Death Rays so he decided to cut the Touratech sticker down to size.


Challenge at Chatuge

20120806-163222.jpg Kimmie Lou “Entering North Carolina feels a little premature, but c’mon, this trip has to mean more than Peach Pleasure!”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

Someone mentioned how beautiful Lake Chatuge was, so we decided to check it out. As it happens Chatuge is BiStateLake (which is probably why we felt so at home there). Our intention was to camp another few nights in Georgia, but a roadside produce vendor insisted we camp just South of Haysville NC at the Clay County Recreation area (maybe it was the way Ridicu went on and on about how we hadn’t found the perfect peach yet). After eating 17 7/8 of her peaches,(dropped a chunk in the gravel) it became urgent that we press on. A campground with good cell signal, water, showers and flush toilets sounded ideal.

Now, the thing you have to understand about Ridicu is that he can be a little paranoid (dietary fiber seems to play a role). We had settled in nicely to one of 10 tent sites (on our own penninsula away from the RV crowd) when he started getting sort of twitchy. “Someone’s watching us….can you feel it ?” I could feel something was about to happen, but I was not prepared for how explosive it would be.

20120806-163515.jpg Here in the U.S.A. the need to spy is satisfied by the CIA, NSA etc. In Britain you’ve got MI5 or MI6, Israeli’s opt for the Mossad but in Canada we have Geese.

By the second night I had almost convinced the three of us that nothing was amiss, things were going well – we would make our way North in the morning. At dawn came a revelation that almost made us crap our pants (by now several readers are disgusted with what may seem like a streak of _____ references). There, hanging from her front disc….the lock – L’orange! Ridicu and I went so weak in the knees we wound up down on all fours staring at L’orange, unfortunately, we couldn’t get anything out of L’orange (born blind, deaf and mute with ambiguous genetalia). “Alright Kimmie Lou start talking !” Ridicu’s tone was sharp….accusatory. Kimmie Lou took a beat and then calmly replied, “a skunk came by in the night with it.”

Normally when Ridicu and I glance one another it is just a brief crossing of our eyes, here we held each other’s gaze for a few seconds too long and passed out (something about our psyche not being able to handle direct inspection). The usual temporary paralysis, photosensitivity, weird taste in our mouth and echoes lasted for a couple of minutes as we came around. Smacking and licking our lips we taste something between wet lawn clippings and dog ____.

Kimmie Lou can see we have almost come around “yeah, this sweet little albino skunk ambles up and kicks me right in the kickstand.” “Then when I’m awake she holds up L’orange and says,” ” this your kid ?” “So what did you say?” “What could I say?” “Anything less than full disclosure wasn’t going to cut it – so I said ADOPTED .” “Then what did she say ” (Kimmie Lou likes to make us work for it when she tells a story). “Well, she slapped me….really hard and then slaps L’orange right back on my disc here.” “So far nothing sounds sweet about this Skunk.” Kimmie Lou snorts, “she wasn’t sweet – nice, she was sweet smelling….just like peaches.” ” Did she say anything else?” “Yeah, she said: tell the Morons to stop goofing around.”

Ridicu and I still have this taste in our mouth so it takes a few seconds to fully register, then both of us together “Peaches! Did she say where she was from?” Kimmie Lou shakes her handlebars, ” but she told me her name – Harriet Young.” We know that name sounds familiar ” Harriet Young?” “Yeah, but she said I could call her Harry.” We’re back in the tent a few seconds later unzipping Mr Fandango’s map pocket, we unfold the map and there – just across the line in Georgia is Young Harris! We discuss the situation for a while and decide on a run into Georgia. Kimmie Lou says, “look there is plenty of daylight….how about we discuss things for awhile, you know – strategize.”

Our trip, so far, has been fairly straightforward….but things just got pretty weird. “Maybe you both should tell me a little bit about your lives way back to the future, in that cosmos around the corner.” “OK, where would you like us to start?” “How did you earn a living in the future?” We did a few things, I can remember some act. “We we’re comedians before dropping out” That’s right I remember now “Actually we were pretty successful.” “We were HUGE….when we would do a stadium gig, – SHE – would open for us.” Then, with sudden awareness I add, ” yeah, but only when – SHE – was in town.”

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War Woman (Gear Review: Stickers)

20120806-160501.jpg “Hey Morons, pack up da gear. I just heard a few locals on a morning walk say there’s been an outbreak of snow blindness around the lake. Now do you believe me when I say your creamy white ass magnifies moonlight ?”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

Kimmie Lou seems back to her usual sporty self this morning, she’s giving us the gears about Tent Docking and searing a few neighbor’s eyeballs by doing a little skinny dipping late last night. Motorcycle Adventure Touring might be getting a bad name around these parts….any riders in North Georgia may want to give Burton Lake a pass for a stretch. “Geez, do these folks really think staring at us is gonna make our packing up go any quicker?”

We are on the edge of the Blue Ridge – finally! A little elevation makes all the difference when it comes to cooler nights and tenting during the summer in the South. We are also loving the back roads riding. The interstate was the quickest way to escape Florida’s blast furnace heat…the only “Adventure” in our riding, not previously described in our posts, has been Sodapalooza at Racetrack.


20120809-064508.jpg Burton Lake at sunrise

The roads North from here really spark things up – we’re on Vacation! Everyone is happy, maybe even jaunty, except “we have got to get rid of some of this crap we are lugging around.” “Yeah says Kimmie Lou, I told you guys to pack less gear, get rid of some of this stuff or go on a diet!” at the next stop we pull out the notebook and enter – flat rate box to Miami. Now I don’t know if it’s elation from the feeling of the trip getting started or a little left over gravy from Gainesville, but Ridicu gets carried away again. We have stopped at a Tavern outside Clayton that is advertising Ribs! We belly up to the Bar and over comes this Bartender who is around 6’5″ and easily weighs in at 275lbs. Now the thing about Ridicu is, he has to challenge big dudes (the criteria seems to be over 6’4″ and 250lbs.)…..it’s like a tic. “C’mon, think of it as a character building exercise!”

The Bartender says “hey there, what can I get cha.” “How about a Pint glass with half grapefruit juice and half tonic…and uh, would you have a wife or maybe a little sister that could pose for a few shots with our bike….in purple hot pants if she’s got em.” The guy smiles, shoves the pint glass into the ice well and grabs one of those mini cans of grapefruit juice out of the fridge. Before he pops the top he bellows “DARLA!” Over walks the bouncer who is every inch a woman and there are yards of em, she looks (down) at the Bartender and he just nods at us. “This fella’s a photographer and he wants you to do some modeling for him.”

“Those were the best ribs we’ve ever had!” Zipping Mr Fandango back onto the tank ” Darla and Hank were sure nice huh ?” “Yeah, but weird that she only does nudes…how stuck are you on this whole PG13 rating for the blog ?” “NO PORNOGRAPHY MORONS ! …Kimmie Lou is respectable girl.” I smile “looks like we are pretty stuck with PG13.” A ways down the road “OK, PG13, but let’s at least suspend reason a bit more – c’mon we’re on vacation !”

Outside Clayton, we set up camp by WarWoman Creek (it may be named something else, but you take WarWoman Road then a right on Earls Ford just past the firehouse to get here). Free Camping ! Boon Docking ! (maybe a little less exciting after Tent Docking). No pit toilets, no water – completely off grid….we take our camel back to a neighbor’s house for water. She’s really nice – tells us how she was bit by a Copperhead snake twice this past spring. “Really, what did it feel like…we’re you close to death ?” The thing about Ridicu is he thinks death is cool “all right – another dimension – woo hoo !” I listen carefully to all her advice about snake avoidance while suppressing Ridicu’s idiot questions (for some reason, I can do this around really nice people, HW and at work).

20120809-163339.jpg Pretty spot – too bad folks not packing it out as much as they could. Also watch out for horse poop along the road !

Gear Review : Stickers

20120809-164104.jpg When buying a used KLR consider the 2008, especially if it has not had the Doohickey ! Eagle Mike – Coolest Sticker Ever !

20120809-164445.jpg We met these riders at Ingles from Pursuit Horizon, they were really cool. Zach and Amanda….get this – she’s on a Honda CBR 600 RR (stands for RidicuRyder we told her) and they are gonna do some of the Trans America Trail on their way back out West – with custom tires (Dunlop is a sponsor). Crotch Rocket on the TAT – Pretty Rider ! Good thing they were so nice (and I could muzzle Ridicu). Zach asked about Kimmie Lou’s “Umbrella Corp” stickers – “dunno, there when we bought her” we’ve never heard of Resident Evil (Old Farts). These guys start scaring the crap out of us “Yeah there’s this whole Apocalyptic Scenario” says Zach. The Apocalypse ! What, what now ?” I quickly change the subject….the last thing we need right now is Ridicu getting all amped up – I didn’t see a Glutton Corral in town.

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20120806-155050.jpg Outside Stone Summit – the world’s largest indoor climbing facility, Unique Outfitters adjacent. Kimmie Lou says ” why would anyone want to climb mountains or rocks without a Dual Sport Motorcycle?…I just don’t understand it.”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

Continuing North out of Locust Grove, Ridicu starts back up, ” Pelican Felons, Mind Bending Ice Cream, Spanish Moss Remembrance Charms and now Telepathic Cheerleaders !” Kimmie Lou scoffs, “c’mon Ridicu, everyone knows that Cheerleading requires basic telepathy as a minimum…..don’t you boys get together with a few buddies and throw me 17 7/8 feet in the air without everyone dialing in their Vulcan Mind Meld first!” Whew! Kimmie Lou really can off road reason! Ridicu takes a beat “now that you mention it, I have always wondered how they juggle each other like that.”“It does make sense doesn’t it….I mean, no telepathy – that’s just crazy!”

Nobody says anything for around another 20 miles or so, the outskirts of Atlanta seem like any other North American city…..except for this weird buzzing that is getting louder as we approach. Dropping low behind the windshield we tilt to listen, “it’s not me” says Kimmie Lou. Straightening back up and putting our feet up on the highway pegs “what is that?” We begin scanning the sky for aircraft, the roads bordering the freeway for equipment, I even run a hand over our visor to make sure something like a candy wrapper isn’t wedged in….flapping steadily in the 70 mile an hour breeze we are generating.

As our left hand settles back onto the handle bar “oh, that’s what it is.” Looking in our mirrors – we see two semis barreling down on us, we are in a middle lane and the trucks are coming up fast on each side of us. The right Freightliner is black and it’s twin on the left is white, as we roll around a curve we can see the black tractor has a white trailer and the white’s trailer is black. “Awe Crap!” Kimmie Lou can’t look out her own mirrors and says “what is it?” “It’s doom….nothing to worry about, this will all be over in a couple a secs.”

We have straightened back out as the big rigs thunder by – the buzzing is so loud now it is all we can do not to vomit in our Tasmanian Devil’s helmet. Kimmie Lou shudders like a Jewish Vegan at a Pig Roast…we are buffeting so wildly that the rear wheel comes off the ground and it’s for a few seconds because we actually have to roll the throttle back to keep from redlining. When the diesel fumed turbulence is worst our rectal pressure spikes up to about 17 7/8 PSI and this is what saves us…..that involuntary knees together – pelvic thrust that happens when one is about to shit one’s self.

The bags, all strapped down, but bouncing like tufts of cotton candy in a hurricane are suddenly stabilized when our shoulders arch back in to them. Our knees clamp onto Mr Fandango which is our only attachment to the front of Kimmie Lou because our feet flew off the pegs and the bars wrenched out of our hands at the height of the death wobble. When Kimmie Lou’s rear tire touches the pavement everything shifts….our hands settle effortlessly onto the bars as our sandals come squarely and comfortably onto the pegs. That everything in slow motion for the final few seconds of your life has resumed its freeway pace and the sound has been turned back on.

Except,…something’s not quite the same.

The sky has lost its haze, a different smell is in the air – right in between Caramel and Hay baled high to the rafters in an old barn that leans, ever so slightly forward. As this smell triggers the memory our hearing begins registering….the thrum…. just like Mirror Lake! Then it hits us ——

SPLATLANTA…..WE’RE BACK IN SPLATLANTA ! Way back to the future in the cosmos around the corner where we once hung out, every so often we would hang in Splatlanta ! Kimmie Lou says “so this is Splatlanta?” Hang On! “Did those Cheerleaders pass along some ESP to you….we didn’t actually say anything about Splatlanta.” “Hey Kimmie Lou, you know Ryder and I don’t invade each others thoughts, that’s just not cool.” Maybe it’s the near death experience or us ganging up on her, but Kimmie Lou chokes back a sob before saying “I know you two were thinking of cheating on me with that Sea Doo last summer! Don’t even get me started on the Sailboat – that witch – and now I find out YOU ARE FROM ANOTHER COSMOS !….it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

We let a few exits go by and then “look Kimmie Lou, the Sea Doo was just going to be a buzz around the bay, riding those chicks gets pretty boring after a while. As far as the other cosmos, well it really isn’t possible to be “from” another cosmos, you can exist in two or more, but once a being gains awareness of multiple planes of existence, then you are pretty much “from” everywhere.” Another couple of off ramps go by (we can tell by the tone in her exhaust that Kimmie Lou is digesting this). “And as far as the Sailboat goes” ” YEAH I KNOW – YOU LIVE ON HER !

Eventually we exit for Unique Outfitters – a shop that still carries the 2002 Gear of the Year award winning Optimus Nova multi-fuel stoves (since discontinued as they were just too good…don’t you hate that). As we park, Kimmie Lou says “what’s this Stone Summit place?” The sign at the parking lot entrance said this was the largest indoor climbing gym in existence and that they would be soon holding the World Championships for indoor rock climbing – we all saw it plain as day. “It’s an indoor climbing gym.” “Sounds retarded…and this new camp stove – I suppose it will be using gasoline out of my tank?” We have been talking about getting our hands on one of these for weeks – she knows this, “only if it’s alright with you Kimmie Lou.” A pause while her Muffler ticks twice as it cools down, “I guess it will be fine, but you Morons will have to stop relying on my trip odometer to tell you when I am thirsty….if I’m going to nurse Wittle Baby Opti you just can’t be running me down to reserve !” “Absolutely Kimmie Lou….we’ll make much more regular fuel stops.” Another tick “I want to hear it from him!” ” Okay, okay we won’t go much beyond 100 miles before refueling – you’ll get topped off when you’re still basically half full, we will only go onto reserve when we’re in town.”

“What shall we call him?” We both say “Baby Opti sounds great!” (like we were going to suggest anything else).




“Just another day at the office” moans Kimmie Lou. Locust Grove High School Cheerleaders – second place in three regional competitions last year. Squad coach Madame P says “we are in sleeper-mode…..our sights are set on gold at the 2014 World Cheer Championships in Tuktoyaktuk.”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

We wake up the next morning, mostly back to our usual, unusual selves. Gluttony challenges our waistline, but does wonders in stabilizing the old slippery psyche. Our day’s Moto-Photo-Journalistic agenda seems daunting…..Kimmie Lou is still quite bloated from all the sodium and the local convenience store clerk suggests a Lake shoot complete with directions right out of a Stephen King novel.

“It sounds like the lake might be a ways out of town.” Kimmie Lou complains “I want picture in groovy Locust Grove.” We are approaching a treed corner that might work, “let’s ask these youngsters if the lake is in town.” “No sir, the lake is over by Jackson” says a polite Cheerleader, “does your bike need a wash?” A brilliant plan is taking shape, “no, but perhaps we could contribute to your fundraising and a few of you could pose with our bike for a picture.” Ridicu packed full of chow sounds almost normal. “Sure, if it’s okay with Madame P” the young lady turns her head and nods towards a canopy where two dazzling beauties sit untouched by the sun.

We park across the side street and walk slowly towards the canopy and these two radiant educators, “were teachers this attractive when we went to high school?” A few steps closer “no, just try to stay cool.” [The reader is spared our awkward, high-hormonal-pitched ramblings and pimply-faced contortions as we fail miserably at being anywhere near cool with these Stunning Southern Women]. Another car gets washed, then it’s our turn, the girls come over and gather around Kimmie Lou, Ridicu quietly repeating “get the teachers in the shot, get the teachers in the shot…..ask them to come over, ask them to come over!”

“Hey Morons, take the picture”….”ya Morons, take picture” says Kimmie Lou. Then it registers – one of these smiling teenagers has telepathic communications capabilities! Then, together as a ultra-low frequency cheer – “WE ALL DO, MORONS !” Kimmie Lou laughing, “bring home da gold girls!”



20120803-211516.jpg UF Gainesville: “Grab some of this Spanish Moss, stuff it in a sock and sit on it……quit whining about tenda fanny Morons – Kimmie Lou wants Georgia Peaches for supper!”

Howdy Myst,                 (Edited Version Available 2020)

We are still a little hazed after the Transcendental Ice Cream, rode all the way to Gainesville without switching to highway or rear pegs. Our cognition needs to be stirred, “it’s happening man, I can feel it!” Something is definitely going on, “look right now I just want some circulation below our waist.” These college kids are giving “the old dude who seems to be clenching a tire iron between his ass cheeks” a wide berth, Ridicu won’t shut up about all of it….I hope our lips aren’t moving – that would really freak the coeds out.

“Remember Theresa, from Vancouver?” After a second or two “yeah, nice kid….wha” – “She’s here man! She followed that Prof from UBC, she was his research assistant….they transferred right here to Gainesville” Wow he is really worked up, “that was what, 23 years ago?” “She’s here – I can feel it !” Oh nooo he is wigging, the thing about Ridicu…..he considers psychosis a vacation destination, he’s been getting us in to all sorts of shit across the years. “Even if she is here, do you remember her last name?” Laughing (that weird laugh that make people who were keeping their distance, quickly step further away) “how many Canadian Theresa’s can there be here?” I stop walking, the feeling is coming back in our ass, before I can say anything else, “let’s Fandango!… What about being unrestrained by reason?”

Every kid within 100 feet is looking at us, lips moving – definitely…….talking out loud – probably. “Okay, let’s go find her,” campus security will be here in a few minutes – I gotta get us out of here.

Opening a campus map in the Tigert Administration building Ridicu asks a dude “do you know a Canadian lady named Theresa who works here?” Smiling that southern gentleman smile he says “what department?” Jesus, this campus is huge…..eyes drifting over all the building names, finally something looks promising “Genetics” pops out of me. “Wasn’t it physics?” I keep a steady eye on the guy hoping we didn’t say physics out loud….I didn’t see any physics buildings on the map. “Well there are several genetics labs, but I would try this building here first” – he circles one with his pen. “Hey thanks a lot man, we really appreciate it!”

We are a few feet away from Kimmie Lou, we can still feel this guy’s eyes on us and she says “how’s da stalking going Morons!” Riding back south along 441 “I have to do all the talking in Genetics” Ridicu knows things might get too loosened off soon “okay, hey did ya see that guy looking at us?” “Oh yeah…..we’re not parking at Genetics either.” After a few seconds “we better change our shirt too, in case a BOLO is issued.” It’s a little scary how good we are getting at this.

In Macon, Georgia I pull in to our clutch feed station : The Glutton Corral. “I thought those ladies in Genetics were very nice, I’m sure that Canadian Doctor will be giving us a call in the next few days” then the realization where we are “oh.” “Yup, he’ll get back to us if he’s the right guy, in the meantime I think we should throttle back for awhile.” Kimmie Lou speaks softly but firmly “you could have ruined our whole trip Ridicu, now go on and pack your guts, then we’ll ride a little further and you can both have a nice big nap” We unzip Mr Fandango “okay, but there is something going on.” “I agree buddy, let’s just not get all spun out about it…we’ll figure it out in good time.” We are almost at the door “just no Barbeque Pork or Collard Greens.” “Let’s focus on the Bourbon Chicken, Pot Roast, Mashed Potatoes…” “and Mac n’ Cheese!” “That’s what I was thinking.”

Maybe a reader will know our Canadian Theresa, don’t get her to look us up – she’s terrific, really, probably the nicest female friend we ever had. We all learned to Meditate together, our instructor stipulated, “now just 20 minutes twice a day – too much of this stuff can make you crazy.” We were on a long weekend a while later….one of those lost weekends, when I finally figured out what was going on Ridicu had us oozing through day 3 of meditating, we had only stopped for toileting, snacks and the odd nap…..it’s when all the trouble began.