CasterTroy
Faster'N You
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2005
- Location
- Wallburg
I left the absolute coolest pad in the world last night, totally jealous. Nestled in a off camber corner that I use to rail on back when I had sportbikes, but blazed past a million time so fast that I never was able to appreciate it, sits a 2 story former mill house adjacent to a creek that roars like a lion.
This former mill now acts as the perfect “Man Show†home. One that just exemplifies what a “MAN†would have as a residence…..well…with the exception of NOT having a 12 bay garage out behind it.
Anyway, I was privilege to be able to explore the inside of this hidden paradise and enjoy the view of the roaring waterfall from indoors.
Man whatta pad. One where you can open the back door onto a deck that overlooks said raging waterfall and snap off a coupla rounds of 7.62mm at a target across the stream at any given hour without fear of the local popo comin a knockin in moments.
After my encounter with the dream-estate, my brother-n-law and I ventured just a few miles up the road to the shop that said “paradise in the mountains†owner works out of to pick up my freshly locked bronco. I had taken it up there the previous week to have my Detroit’s installed, and was now taking delivery of it.
There she sat….lifted, locked, and on what can only be described as rubber bands around Frisbee’s
See I had to take the bronco up there on the spare “roll arounds†I had for it because the shop didn’t have hardly ANY doorway clearance OR inside lift clearance, so in an effort to reduce labor I myself installed my anorexic wheel/tire combo to aid in it’s garagablilty.
So as I roll up on the shop I see my pitiful overgrown beast wearing ballet slippers and commence in giggling at it’s wretched state. My brother-n-law assures me it’s not as bad as he’s pictured…..but then I’m reminded of the few Triad members that saw it up there mentioning to me on here how silly it looked and I hang my head in shame
I get in and fire it up…..and begin backing in a circle to turn around. Mud flies everywhere and I hear a strange crumbing…..what could it be? Is the earth opening up like in Superman II, bound and determined to swallow me and my bronco, like Lois lane in her red LTD 4 door, forcing superman to fly around the earth at mach 450 to reverse the effects? Are my differentials shattering due to the stress of making the extreme turn I forced the wheel at? Was my brother-n-law crunching grape nuts in my truck behind me?
No…none of the above..it was the new, previously never experienced, sensation of a locked rear end (gasp)
As I exited the shop and made a left I found myself fighting to turn the newly locked beast…she wanted to go in a straight line perpendicular to the rear axle..MAN what a bull-ride
As I traveled further I noted the increasing difficulty associated with wrangling this bucking bronco thru even the slightest of curves
Being UP high, and without ANY sway-bars made even the broadest of curves an exercise in pectoral and triceps flexing finesse that would make even the bow-flex infomercial models proud.
More difficult curves were to follow…how would I negotiate them? CRAP..what have I gotten myself into? Then the voices of reason and technological marvel from NC4x4 kicked in and I remembered talk of letting off the gas (something as a sportbike rider and track day junkie you’re taught to NEVER do mid-corner) with an auto locker to allow for separate rotation.
So came the next batch of twistes….these were negotiated with a bit more finesse and less of me looking like I’m trying to reel in a champion marlin from a $300k off-shore boat in that lone seat off the back.
BUT, prior to aiming the nose at the upcoming strait before engaging the accelerator, I press down on the gas JUST after the apex of the last corner and LAUNCH the bucking steed into the oncoming lane.
Instantly the vinyl seat formed a peak that would make Pike fans question it’s status as the biggest challenge to climb in the shortest time.
After pulling 3.4 yards of cotton from my sphincter, I regained my composure and thanked God for there NOT being any traffic coming as I crossed the centerline. WOW…this biache really wants to go straight when you goose it.
Getting a better feel of it’s quirkiness I rolled into the city limits of a town smaller than Charmin dingleberrys left on a bears ass, and wondered how I would negotiate the narrow city streets with my new driving skills. But with ample clutch for tight corners and a crosshair embedded in the windshield for straight roads, I proceeded with caution and found myself at the hiway onramp without incident, or any more dirt roads formed in my fruit of the looms.
The hiway was a welcome oasis of rest for my now tense upper-body. I could relax knowing that the largest radius corner I would now have to negotiate would be the curve to miss the giant nipple (pilot Mtn). Of course, with a top speed of 67 and short passing bursts of up to 74 being a stretch of RPM range, it made hiway travel a little less relaxing that lower back hair removal with hot wax from a German female wrestler named Helga the horrible.
I made it home without any dents, scratches, and with only a few fibers still remaining in my colon from the brief (pardon the pun) encounter with “vacuum ass†on a few curves…so I must say it was a success
The next task will be seeing how the kickin bitch reacts to my “grown up tiresâ€â€¦it outta be fun
This former mill now acts as the perfect “Man Show†home. One that just exemplifies what a “MAN†would have as a residence…..well…with the exception of NOT having a 12 bay garage out behind it.
Anyway, I was privilege to be able to explore the inside of this hidden paradise and enjoy the view of the roaring waterfall from indoors.
Man whatta pad. One where you can open the back door onto a deck that overlooks said raging waterfall and snap off a coupla rounds of 7.62mm at a target across the stream at any given hour without fear of the local popo comin a knockin in moments.
After my encounter with the dream-estate, my brother-n-law and I ventured just a few miles up the road to the shop that said “paradise in the mountains†owner works out of to pick up my freshly locked bronco. I had taken it up there the previous week to have my Detroit’s installed, and was now taking delivery of it.
There she sat….lifted, locked, and on what can only be described as rubber bands around Frisbee’s
See I had to take the bronco up there on the spare “roll arounds†I had for it because the shop didn’t have hardly ANY doorway clearance OR inside lift clearance, so in an effort to reduce labor I myself installed my anorexic wheel/tire combo to aid in it’s garagablilty.
So as I roll up on the shop I see my pitiful overgrown beast wearing ballet slippers and commence in giggling at it’s wretched state. My brother-n-law assures me it’s not as bad as he’s pictured…..but then I’m reminded of the few Triad members that saw it up there mentioning to me on here how silly it looked and I hang my head in shame
I get in and fire it up…..and begin backing in a circle to turn around. Mud flies everywhere and I hear a strange crumbing…..what could it be? Is the earth opening up like in Superman II, bound and determined to swallow me and my bronco, like Lois lane in her red LTD 4 door, forcing superman to fly around the earth at mach 450 to reverse the effects? Are my differentials shattering due to the stress of making the extreme turn I forced the wheel at? Was my brother-n-law crunching grape nuts in my truck behind me?
No…none of the above..it was the new, previously never experienced, sensation of a locked rear end (gasp)
As I exited the shop and made a left I found myself fighting to turn the newly locked beast…she wanted to go in a straight line perpendicular to the rear axle..MAN what a bull-ride
As I traveled further I noted the increasing difficulty associated with wrangling this bucking bronco thru even the slightest of curves
Being UP high, and without ANY sway-bars made even the broadest of curves an exercise in pectoral and triceps flexing finesse that would make even the bow-flex infomercial models proud.
More difficult curves were to follow…how would I negotiate them? CRAP..what have I gotten myself into? Then the voices of reason and technological marvel from NC4x4 kicked in and I remembered talk of letting off the gas (something as a sportbike rider and track day junkie you’re taught to NEVER do mid-corner) with an auto locker to allow for separate rotation.
So came the next batch of twistes….these were negotiated with a bit more finesse and less of me looking like I’m trying to reel in a champion marlin from a $300k off-shore boat in that lone seat off the back.
BUT, prior to aiming the nose at the upcoming strait before engaging the accelerator, I press down on the gas JUST after the apex of the last corner and LAUNCH the bucking steed into the oncoming lane.
Instantly the vinyl seat formed a peak that would make Pike fans question it’s status as the biggest challenge to climb in the shortest time.
After pulling 3.4 yards of cotton from my sphincter, I regained my composure and thanked God for there NOT being any traffic coming as I crossed the centerline. WOW…this biache really wants to go straight when you goose it.
Getting a better feel of it’s quirkiness I rolled into the city limits of a town smaller than Charmin dingleberrys left on a bears ass, and wondered how I would negotiate the narrow city streets with my new driving skills. But with ample clutch for tight corners and a crosshair embedded in the windshield for straight roads, I proceeded with caution and found myself at the hiway onramp without incident, or any more dirt roads formed in my fruit of the looms.
The hiway was a welcome oasis of rest for my now tense upper-body. I could relax knowing that the largest radius corner I would now have to negotiate would be the curve to miss the giant nipple (pilot Mtn). Of course, with a top speed of 67 and short passing bursts of up to 74 being a stretch of RPM range, it made hiway travel a little less relaxing that lower back hair removal with hot wax from a German female wrestler named Helga the horrible.
I made it home without any dents, scratches, and with only a few fibers still remaining in my colon from the brief (pardon the pun) encounter with “vacuum ass†on a few curves…so I must say it was a success
The next task will be seeing how the kickin bitch reacts to my “grown up tiresâ€â€¦it outta be fun
nope...hadn't come across that, but it'll be researched NOW thanks to you 
