A WHITE LINE NIGHTMARE    

By Ray Hryb

So, I’m in my bathroom or what I refer to my ”library” enjoying the privacy while flipping through the 2008 World Championship of Custom Bike Building magazine, (this is total "moto-porn!") I opened it up thinking 'Sports Illustrated' and put it down, shaking a little, thinking 'Hustler'. 2008 was a good year, (well at least for custom bikes anyway.)

I don’t know whether it’s the tough economy or people waxing nostalgic for simpler times, but builders seem to be heading further and further into the “less is more” attitude, getting back to the fundamentals of the original Bob-job. For those not in the know, bobbers and chop-jobs first appeared after WWII when soldiers returning from war stripped everything they could off of the heavy military issue bikes to make them lighter and faster. Anything that didn’t make it run, went, giving birth to what we now know as custom bike building…and subsequently, the modern bike culture.

By Ray Hryb

I know I mentioned it earlier, but I’ll do it again for those just tuning in. This piece is a little late getting to good folks willing to read on because the website has been down due to some miserable scumbag out there who thinks it’s a regular laugh riot to spread internet virus like an unclean prostitute with a man-hating vendetta. So, nothing could be uploaded for the past couple of months. If you did it you’re out there reading this, and you know who you are, a great big fuck right off to your useless ass and any worthless degenerates that aided you in your little crime. You just made the Don’t Be A Dick list for life. I hope you’re satisfied. You parents must be proud. But I digress ....

Yes folks, I’m still really pissed. So, we’re going to address anger management, or maybe just anger. Unfortunately for you poor readers, my ranting publicly is my anger management, my virtual punching bag if you will. I’ve been a motorcycle freak my entire life, longer than I care to divulge in this passage, but suffice to say I still enjoy video games, some anyway, a good afternoon of paintballing, and the occasional drunken barfight. In my limited time on this sometimes God forsaken rock of a planet I have eagerly anticipated the yearly installment of Cycle World’s Buyer’s Guide, kinda like looking forward to the 'Sears Wishbook' every year at Christmas time when you were a kid. (If you don’t know about that, ask your parents.) Until this year. The only reciprocity I get this year is that with our moron induced economy, toilet paper costs almost as much as this now worthless rag of a magazine, so I won’t mind wiping my ass with it. If it wasn’t evident enough in years passed, the suck-ups at Cycle World have definitely sold their souls (to those who have paid to fatten them up) to declare something called a Honda Fury the “Big Red Goes Easy Rider”. Hopper and Fonda are rolling over in their graves and last I heard they hadn’t checked out yet. If they read that caption, taken straight from the pages 'Psycho World', they might just punch their own tickets and check the f out.