W&W Cycles

No parking at any time

Budweiser beer has a few key functions. Constant viewing partner for all major sporting events, especially Monday Night football. Motor Oil that helps one have Sex with not so attractive people at the end of long parties. Better than coffee the next morning after that long party, and of course when you're thirsty something good to pour down your throat.

I was now drinking the damned coldest Bud I'd ever been served. And looking at it from Mo's Burgeria my opinion of Des Moines, Iowa was getting better. Furthermore I had met my cousin Corinne and we had planned a short trip to Fort Dodge. So I took my Police Special Electra Glide - what could go wrong. The sleeping bag tied to the bars,a six pack stored in the radio-case, I picked up Corinne. It took me a while to attach her suitcase but then we hit Interstate 35, heading North and all was electric, Glide and Blue. On the map I had discovered a promising shortcut to Interstate 20. This would save us 20 miles. So we left the Highway a few miles north of Ames and found ourselves right in the middle of Iowa's Great Outdoors. The day came to it's end and so did the fuel. I thought it would be enough to get us to the nearest Truck-stop. Wrong. The V-Twin farted twice and the fat whitewalls came to a grinding halt right under a "No Parking at Any Time - Violators will be violated"-sign, that some butthead must have placed there decades ago.

As cool and clueless as a chicken in a slaughterhouse I said: "Yip, the right place at the right time. Let's stay." And with Corinne I took care of the Tequila and the fantastic body she had brought. A strange metallic clicking sound ejected me out of my dreams and I realized I was looking down the business end of a hacksawed-off 12-gauge shotgun.

"Alright, git yer fat hobo-ass out of your sleeping bag an' onto this here Pickup truck. You too, sweetheart!" The information, that I was a member of the Des Moines, Iowa, Highway Patrol Police Force and she was my cousin made no difference to the pancake-face under the green John-Deere cap.

Our farm animal molesting white trash posterboy friend replied with a tobacco juice grin "Shut the fuck up, biker-asshole, this is Ames County and my brother-in-law is the local sheriff."We had the pleasure to meet him on monday afternoon, when he set us free from the garage. "Ah, I understand, Des Moines, Iowa, Highway Patrol Police Force. So why not call our colleagues over there." As luck would have it he got Chief McNamara on the line. The Sheriff listened with his eyes wide open and finally asked "Yes, Sir, and you literally want me to repeat this to him?

How will Cop Hal's cousin make it home to Des Moines and - how much is a petcock with reserve? Stay tuned when Cop Hal is asking himself: "How do you spell Boise, Idaho. And is there a bus I can take?"