The Way it Were
By Art Bennett
Illustration by Keith Hunwick
Hard to believe, but I haven't always been a total loser. Once upon a time the babes came into my life with regularity and I was considered something of a hot commodity-no lie. See, I came of age in those halcyon seventies and early eighties when the opposite sex wasn't something to fear, apologize to, or litigate with. Corny pop hits poured forth from the radio, and I believed in their idealistic message of love and hope, romance and fulfillment. The popularity of motorcycling was at a zenith and the future was pregnant with fantastic possibilities. Both motorcycles and sex came cheap and easy. The world was an electrifying place for a young man, shiny with polyester and chrome. Yeah, I had it going on....
Tall and tantalizing, Paris was my first real squeeze. This young beauty thought I was a pretty cool dude the way I would wheelie my Bultaco 250 down the street. We started flirting, courting, and before long, love blossomed. I recall her burly father thumping me in my scrawny chest with a huge finger, admonishing me to, "take good care of my little girl -or else." I'd ride Paris (carefully) up into the nearby hills on the back of the Bultaco for extended make-out sessions. She showed me where and how to touch her, how to ring her bell. I had no money to waste on two-stroke oil in those days, and instead pre-mixed the Bultaco's fuel with used motor oil. This caused the Spanish steed to smoke like a two-stroke pre-mixed with used motor oil. Even today, when I smell a tired, oil-burning engine, I think of lovely Paris, wet kisses in the grass, and goofy Bultacos. Weird, huh?
Elle was a prize catch. One slow Saturday night I was practicing my cornering technique in a local parking lot aboard an ancient Suzuki F-50. There I saw a willowy blond goddess sashay across the asphalt. Wow. I putted on up to her, and she tells me in an exquisite Dutch accent that she has a Motobecane moped back home in Rotterdam. For real. I invited her on a ride the following day, for a trip to the aquarium. I picked her up on my sano '74 Suzuki GT550 and spent a most perfect day with the stunning exchange student from Holland. Yeah, I was rather irresistible back then, and we had quite the summer together; she teaching me about the healthy attitude toward sex the Dutch possess and I teaching her how horny Americans are. Unfortunately, her host parents pegged me as the Spawn of Satan, so all too soon I got the bum's rush. Eventually Elle had to return to the Land of Silly Shoes, leaving me all hot 'n' bothered. Still pissed over that one, I am.
Lulu was a miracle sent from above. At the time, I was working as a partsman for a cruel and sadistic owner at a Suzuki shop. My only daily pleasure was the trip to the deli next door for beer, grub and Lulu, The Hot Tamale. She was employed there by a cruel and sadistic owner who, not surprisingly, got along great with my boss. Lulu was pure sunshine in my clouded life. We grew close, then closer yet. She had a Yamaha RD125 she had wrecked, and I was the knight in shining armor who helped her restore it. Love bloomed. We would take leisurely rides on my GS1000E, or putt along back roads with her on her 125 and me on my dad's Suzuki GT185. I bought her the red Yamaha Seca 550 she longed for, then asked her for her hand in marriage. Of course, she accepted- how could she not? I could be a real jerk back then, so it only lasted a few short years, but I'll always love my sweet Lulu.
It was a sultry summer evening when I first met Theresa at traffic school. A comely lass, her long dark tresses and short skirt tripped my love trigger. She slipped me her phone number as we watched Blood Alley. We dated. She would come out to the local motocross track to watch me clear the doubles on my '87 RM250. Unfortunately, she also liked cocaine -a lot. I think I lost my desire for her right after she pilfered my paycheck, or maybe it was after her former boyfriend threatened to kill me. No matter....
April was the ultimate moto-babe. She was a partsgal with a winning smile, employed at the Kawasaki shop smack next to the Yamaha dealership in which I worked at the time. April was a superb lover and great passenger on my GS1000G. We engaged in fast rides, slow rides and slippery rides -and that was before we even got on the motorcycle. The world was a brighter place when April was around. I picked up a clean GS550MZ for her - you know, the weird silver-and-orange Muthmobile. She took a riding class and I looked forward to cruising around with her. Of course, I screwed up another great romance by pulling a few idiotic stunts that inevitably soured our relationship. The last one was the final straw, and I'll tell you about it as soon as the statute of limitations runs out. April was my true soul'mate, and I blew that one - bigtime. I'll never forget the highs of our relationship, or forgive myself for causing the lows. But, hey, live and learn, right, readers? Oh, God....
Shelley was another one that got away. Statuesque, stunning, with model-quality looks, Shelley was my shot at redemption. On our first date she squealed with delight as I pitched the 1000G into corners with the utmost of confidence and verve. I remember we caused quite a stir when stopping at a redneck biker bar. Her exquisite African-American features contrasted rather nicely with my peckerwood self, and the biker trash there was sick with envy. Almost had to bust some heads that afternoon, I did. I recall praying to the Love Gods that Shelley would be mine. Nope. The following week I took her to the USGP at Laguna Seca, and we had a splendid day right up to the point where I got too drunk and took a leak right in front of her, instantly extinguishing the fires of a budding romance. Not a smooth move, that's for sure. Good-bye, Shelley. Sorry....
And so it went. Until somewhere along the line I lost it: charm, charisma, animal magnetism, whatever you want to call it. I'd hooked some good ones in my youth, but they'd always managed to spit the hook and flee. In time, a sexy GSX-R1100 came my way, and I figured the babes wouldn't be able to resist the killer package. Wrong. I even got a vasectomy with the Field of Dreams philosophy in mind ('If you fix it, they will come'). Hasn't happened. Even my inflatable love-doll recently ran off with my truck's spare tire.
Yeah, the ladies come and go (mainly go), but at least I still have an undying love of motorcycles. You see, there is a positive side to babelessness after all. I live life as I see fit and answer to no one. Sure, the lack of lovemaking sucks, but a mate always comes with a price, and I've found that relationships take valuable time away from thinking about my own selfish wants and needs. Yep, I'm perfectly happy wallowing in despair and enjoy the aching loneliness that haunts me. All I need are my motorcycles - nothing less, nothing more. So there.
P.S. For a limited time, I'm accepting resumes from qualified babes. I've learned to never urinate in public while in the presence of a lady, plus I'll change your oil for free. I may not be new, but I'm definitely improved. Act now before this offer expires!
Copyright Twistgrip Magazine 1999