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Bullin’ Through Life with Buckshot: Still wastin’ air

By Buckshot

Howdy! Grab a seat in ol’ Santa’s sleigh, an’ a beer! Well, we’re wrappin’ up another year, an’ I’m still wastin’ air. If you’re readin’ this, that means you’re still wastin’ air, too, an’ that sure beats the alternative!

Reggie an’ I just got back from a mini-vacation to Lake Tahoe. Unfortunately, we had to take the car this time, cause Reggie’s on painkillers too strong to ride right now. (A couple years ago, I told ya about the fish-eyed freak neurosurgeon that butchered her spinal cord. Dammit, read those diplomas before ya sign!) Right now, no doctor in the state wants to treat her because of the lawsuit that’s still draggin’ on two and a half years later, so they just keep increasin’ the dose of morphine. Anyway, on a brighter note, we met my amigo, “Nevada Paul” Finch there, an’ some friends from Baltimore, an’ had a really nice time.

Comin’ back down Highway 50 this morning, Reggie was wishin’ out loud that we were ridin’ instead of drivin’. I may have ta take her outta state to get her a decent doctor, but she will ride again, an’ that’s a promise!

Paul was tellin’ me that his long time gal pal Donna lost her job a while back, an’ had ta move to Folsom. She worked for I.G.T., the outfit that makes most of the slot machines ya play when ya donate to the Indians or the Nevada boys. (I always call it a donation, ’cause I never lose!) I guess that tells ya how far in the shitter the economy is, when nobody’s gamblin’! Now she rides all the way over the pass to see him on weekends. We wanted ta get in a visit with her, too, but the new job’s got its demands.

Funniest damn thing happened to me last weekend. While I was draggin’ groceries home from the store, I spotted a hotrod an’ bike show out here in Madera Ranchos that I hadn’t heard about. I went home, stuffed the chow in the fridge, then I got the ol’ Heritage out, an’ took off for the show without even wipin’ off the month’s worth of dust an road grime that’s collected since its last bath. When I pulled up, the show was about over, but the guy runnin’ things waved me in ta park inside the lot. I made the rounds, droolin’ over all the hotrods an’ muscle cars, an’ a hand-built trike powered by a big block Chevy! When I got back, there was a trophy sittin’ next to my bike. I told the guy that I hadn’t entered, but he said, “three bikes, three trophies,” with a little shrug. Now I know how Obama felt when he won the Nobel Peace Prize! Oh, well… If you don’t tell anybody, I sure as hell won’t, an’ it looks really sweet on the shelf with all its legitimate litter-mates!

Next year, I’m hopin’ that we can get a little more travelin’ in. If we can get Reggie fixed up an’ out of pain we’ll ride, but if not, we’ll have to trailer. Yeah, I know… as much as we’ve always hated the idea of haulin’ somethin’ that’s too damn much fun ta ride, sometimes life throws shit at ya that changes the way ya have to go about doin’ things if you’re gonna do ’em at all.

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