Enjoy this monograph, anachronisms and all.

Variation to the SunScreen song by Lews Therman.
>
>Custom modifications by Team Obnoxious, 5/11/99
>
>Ladies and Gentlemen .....wear Leather.
>
>If I could offer you only one tip for improving your life, leather would be
>it.
>
>The long term benefits of leather have been proved by serious bikers over
>many highways and many years, whereas wearing something unreliable like
>shorts and flipflops means you will experience a trip to the emergency
>room. There, uncaring nurses will scrub gravel out of your wounds, and
>doctors will dispense ineffective painkillers and meaningless advice...
>like telling you to trade that "murdercycle" in for a Camry.
>
>Bullshit. I will dispense some real advice right now:
>
>Enjoy the power and beauty of your ride; If you don't already; you can
>fully enjoy it by doing block-long smokey burnouts in the parking lot at
>the local drive-in.
>
>Trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at the photos of you and your pals
>on your bikes and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much fun you had
>and how fabulous you really looked hauling ass down the highway dressed in
>leather.
>
>Leather is as sexy as you imagine.
>
>Don't worry about what your Mom thinks; or worry, but know that worrying
>about what other people think is as effective as trying to scratch your
>nose in a blinding hailstorm at 80 m.p.h. with a full- face helmet and
>winter gloves on. The real troubles in your life are apt to be Volvo
>stationwagons, driven by some dipstick talking into his cell phone or doing
>her makeup; the kind that blindside you at 4 PM on some urban roadway and
>then claim you crashed into THEM.
>
>Do one thing everyday that scares other drivers... Lanesplit.
>
>Sing into your helmet. Use mouthwash first.
>
>Don't be reckless with other people's bikes, especially if you don't have
>insurance. Don't put up with people who mess with yours.... in fact, beat
>them with a chain.
>
>Ride Fast.
>
>Don't waste your money on chrome, or fancy paintjobs; spend it on racing or
>partying. Sometimes you're fast, sometimes you're slow. Sometimes you're
>hungover. The ride is long, and in the end, a cold beer tastes pretty damn
>good.
>
>Remember the good rides you've had, forget the cuts and bruises; try to
>wear out the sides of your tires before the middle.... if you succeed in
>doing this, tell me how.
>
>Keep your oil changed, throw away old traffic citations.
>
>Take chances.
>
>Don't feel guilty if you ride faster than the posted limit ...the most
>interesting people I know didn't know at 22 how to ride conservatively, all
>the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.
>
>Get plenty of saddle time.
>
>Be kind to your passengers, you'll miss them if they fall off.
>
>Maybe you'll crash, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have surgery, maybe you
>won't, maybe you'll ride a cruiser off a cliff doing 40, maybe you'll get a
>new motocrosser for your 75th birthday ...whatever you ride, don't
>congratulate yourself too much - your choices are 90% foreign,10%
>domestic, so are everyone else's.
>
>Enjoy your bike, use it every way you can...don't be afraid of it, or what
>other people think of it, it's the greatest instrument of pleasure you'll
>ever own, not counting porn sites and a fast modem.
>
>Wrench... even if you have nowhere to do it but in your hotel room.
>
>Read the owner's manual, even tho' you won't remember any of it.
>
>Do not read American motorcycle magazines, they will only make you wish
>you'd bought a British one instead.
>
>Get to know your brake pads, you never know when they'll be gone for good.
>Be nice to your tires; they are your link to the pavement and the things
>most likely to save your butt from a nasty highside.
>
>Understand that mechanics comes and mechanics go, but for a precious
>talented few you should pay them well and buy them sixpacks. Work hard to
>bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older your bike
>gets, the more you'll need the mechanic who worked on it when it was young
>and still not paid off.
>
>Ride in New York City once, but leave before you get killed; ride in
>Northern California whenever possible, but leave a plausible excuse whan
>calling in sick for work.
>
>Do lurid wheelies.
>
>Accept certain inalienable truths: prices will rise, traffic will get
>worse, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you
>were young, gasoline was cheap, the highway patrol couldn't catch you, and
>Harley owners weren't all yuppies.
>
>Respect your rev-limiter.
>
>Don't expect anyone else to see your bike unless it has really loud pipes.
>Maybe your bike has a big gas tank, maybe a smaller one; but remember,
>either way you'll have to make bathroom stops.
>
>Don't mess too much with your carburetors, or by the time your done, you'll
>be walking home.
>
>Be careful whose advice you buy, and save your receipts. Don't take advice
>from those who supply it for free, especially if they own a Britbike.
>
>Motorcycle restoration is a form of self-torture. Doing it is a way of
>pulling the past from the dustbin, degreasing it, painting over the rusty
>parts and dumping way more money into it than it's worth.
>
>But trust me on the leather...

quote:

Sing into your helmet. Use mouthwash first.

LOVE the whole thing (and live/have lived a lot of it...) but the quoted bit is the most solid piece of advice!

Corollary - When you transition from a 3/4 to a full face helmet, spitting becomes a no-no...

I'm sold. Leather it is.

Nice cover, and stolen...

Raise your can of beer on high
And seal your fate forever
Our best years have past us by
The golden age of leather

This was the night not long to come in the year of our Lord A.D.
Where in a desert way-house, poised on the brink of eternity
Four and ninety studded horsemen closed the knot of honor
As only drunken soldiers can

And passed from man to man, a wanton child to dead to care
That each would find his pleasure as he might
For this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of
An age
A last crusade, a final outrage, in this day of flaccid plumage

And there was worn no cloth but leather
Made supple by years of stinging cinders
And here were seen the scars of age
For age had been the common call for one last night together

Down colored the sky (the ritual feast)
Some had died (they were buried with their bikes)
Each grabbed a rag (from a man with a sack)
Torn strips of color (the red and the black)

We made a vow to give it all we had to give
We made a vow to die as we had lived

They flew the colors, they began to fight
They flailed at each other like bugs at a light
Bodies and bikes beyond repair
Smell of oil and gas in the air

Then the wind whipped the desert with a giant hand
And the humans and the Harleys caught the shifting sand
And the old ranger weathered the storm
And he topped the rise by the middle of morn
He saw rippled dunes, calm and surreal
And a glint of a shaft of chromium steel