Letter From A Constant Reader

The twelth

Dear Carol;

You better get a good grip on your wig, Old Favorite, because here comes a Fan Letter And A Half! Yes, yes. Good news . . . bad news . . . strange happenings . . . human suffering — I got it all! But first I got to go to the restroom.

Later

I'm back now, Carole. Sorry I took so long, but I been having to go clear up to the Standard station, on account of total plumbing failure. Yeah, — the whole bathroom blew. Nothing works. I mean. On top of that, my No. 2 (Everyday) bike wont start, so I have to walk — toe trouble and all. I keep telling my old lady: For crying out loud girl hurry up and fix something. Like that station is over three blocks away!

I got to admit that it is very clean, though.

Boy! I gotta do something about that little old problem right away. I aint exactly Mr. Clean, you know, but this is ridiculous. Like I'd get my plumber buddy after it, except he got all torn to bits in a race at Willow Springs a while back. Poor guy. His name is — get this — Pete "the piper" Poole, and I been telling him for years that he ought to retire, but he just blinks that one good eye at me and dont say nothin'. (You know how stubborn these hobby-riders are.) Hells bells; you'd think a guy 58 would have sense enough to listen to a real pro like me! You got to kinda admire him though. He may be, like, elderly; but he's a sureenough goer. Besides, come to think on it, I dont pay any attention to that kinda advice, either. No sir. Not from nobody. I got a boss bike habit, me; and I'm gonna have that old engine on my back til the day I total! Yeah — and when The Big Man calls that last half-mile in the sky, I'll be tuned and ready!

And I'll probably fail to qualify — as usual.

Aw me. I sure wish Marlan would fix my bike. She knows how moody I get when I cant ride.

Hey. There she goes out the door with her trusty pipe wrench and the black coveralls. Maybe things are looking up. Plumbing wise, that is. Wow. Keep your fingers crossed, okay? Okay.

That reminds me. There was something important I was going to tell you. I wonder what it was? Oh yeah. No . . . that wasn't it. Or was it? Hold everything.

I got it now. Sure — The Big News: Part One! Only thing is, I already blew it in that paragraph up yonder. Balls. I cant even run this old letter right. Oh well. Like here it comes, anyhow.

Marian is back!! Yeah. My everloving former ex-old lady done returned again. Just like I knew she would. You know what I always say: Leave her alone and she'll come home — awaggin' her tail behint her. I mean. But my buddy, Buddy Whistler, is still missing; and so is my No. 1 (Hard Racing) bike. That figures, too. Nobody knows where he is, but MarIan found out where my machine is, and that helps a little. I'm still a bunch worried, though, on account of it is in a pawnshop, on a corner, — in Fresno, California — and how will I get it back home?

LETTER FROM A CONSTANT READER

NEIL CUNNINGHAM

Boy oh boy — what a problem. But later for that, because I want to tell you about the reunion scene. It was real jolly, and like that. After the disaster, that is.

Here is what happened. It was a week ago Sunday morning before last, and I wasn't doin' nothin' — just laying around. Actually, I was asleep, is what I was. Well, Marlan and these two dizzy girl-friends of hers — Chinese Red and Big Kitty — sneaked up the driveway and started hollering THE BRITISH ARE COMING! and MAN THE PUMPS! and like that, outside my window. (The broken one, on the left hand side of the chicken wire, as you face the well.) They were just horsing around, like they do; but I didn't think it was so funny, on account of all that sudden screeching caused me to leap out of the sack and crash in flames. Yeah. I landed in the wastebasket, see, which was half full of beer cans; and I screwed up my game toe again. I think I busted it, but I've messed up that particular piggy so many times before that it's damn near impossible to tell - for sure.

(Say Carol. What does MAN THE PUMPS mean? Let me know, okay?)

Anyway, a little later on — after the moaning died down — I did chuckle a little about it. You know me, Coral, I hate to spoil anybody's good times. Besides — I was glad to see my old lady again. Dumb as I am.

Yes, yes. I gotta admit that it's good to have old Marian back, even if she has been nothing but mean and evil since she misplaced her No. 1 (Acrilan) wig. I wonder where that went? I bet Buddy's dog has it again. He got aholt of it once before, and tried to bury it.

Oh oh. You are going to have to excuse me right here, Carole, sos I can limp up to the station and borrow another pipe wrench for Marlan. I sure wish I didn't have to, on account of those guys that work up there have been pretty surly ever since their lousy restroom got flooded a little the other night. I was taking a quick sponge bath, see, when this here loudmouth customer started pounding on the door all of a sudden, and caused me to kick over my bucket of bubble bath. Could have happened to anybody, right? Right.

Well, I might as well start up there. Maybe the day shift is still on. Besides, Marlan is yelling pretty good; so goodbye for now, Old Favorite. I'll be back soon. I hope.

Much later.

Extra, extra! Here I am again, with great news!

Marlan's got the plumbing running again! Yes, yes. The girl is a champ mechanic, and that's no lie. She psyched it right out — first crack out of the box. What it was, see, was the main drain was all stopped up. Yeah. With her wig, unfortunately. But I told her that I'd spring for a replacement just as soon as my disability check comes — as long as she doesn't get another orange one. So she's happy as a bug in a rug, and everything's cool — for a change.

Also, another good thing happened. (How about that? Two in a row.) Like I just noticed that there is a big old poster nailed to the side of my garage, and it says a bunch of stuff about Cycle World's 3rd Annual Motorcycle Show — coming right up! Great, great! I'm going to be there, me. Like I missed the one last year, on account of I had one of my little mishaps on the way up, and got tied up at Gardena Hospital for a couple weeks. But I'm going to be real careful this time, and maybe take a bus. (Sure, I will.) I'll make it though, by hook or by cracky. You better believe it!

I'll expect you to be there too, girl. I mean it, you hear?

You will, mamn, wont you?

Say, before I forget it, I wish you'd tell the people down at the magazine office that my garage aint no goddam billboard. That big old nail come right through the wall and punctured my valuable photo of Floyd Clymer racing backwards. Yeah. Got him right in the liver. It's just a good thing that my legal advisor is out of town, cause that Buddy is a suing fool. (I'm just putting you on, Old Favorite — probably.)

Well, I think I'll quit this letter now, and go do some serious scheming about how to get my No. 1 (Pride & Joy) bike back. Like its an awful way to Fresno. Yeah — sure is. Damn near to Oregon, I think.

Say, do you think they would mail it to me if I sent them the money? I did that with a watch one time.

Aw me. I better go lie down for awhile. I worry better in a prune position. Prong position? Aw — you know. Flat, like.

Remember: I'll be seeing you at the Sport's Arena for the show, so look for me. I'll be wearing a wide yellow grin.

Til then, then;

Blackie

Emerson O. "Blackie" Dingle

Professional Motorcycle Rider •