Rides and Tales

Observations From Behind Bars

The Price of Glory

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The year must have been 1976, because Ray Stevens’ hit, The Streak, was streaking to the top of the charts. (Streaking, the non-sexual act of running naked through a public place.)

Down at the new mall, center of art and culture for Corpus town, our own streaker made TV news. Describe by a blushing young interviewee as, “a diamond in the buff”, the streaker turned out to be a fellow that we’d all known since childhood as (if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’), “Wienie”.

Patsy was throwing a party at the little house she rented in the neighborhood. Like so many events, the details are lost, not in time, so much, as in the atmosphere of the particular eve (if you catch my drift). I do remember The Streak coming on the radio and the front yard filling up with naked revelers. I laughed so hard I nearly fell off the porch as Patsy yelled in her foghorn of a voice, “all you goofy sumbitches get back in the house before the neighbors see y’all and call the cops”.

Most all the goofy sumbitches put their clothes on returned to drinking , dancing and telling lies, the exceptions being Patsy’s boyfriend, Benny, and my mom’s second favorite son. Imaginations fired, they decided that regular streaking paled in comparison to the prospect of motorcycle streaking. So, ignoring Patsy’s protests and threats, off they rode, with the exception of helmets and socks, nekkid as the day they was born.

Times being what they were, they were a little surprised to look back and see a car, then another, following them down the two lane. Reaching the corner and turning on to the three lane, the boys were dismayed at the number of admirers they saw trailing, or tailing, them. It was time for some serious evasive maneuvering and the parade was, indeed, evaded as brother hard gunned the bike back into the neighborhood. Now, while my brother could ride, there is, to this very day, a tricky little turn in that area that is easily misjudged.

It’s good they were wearing their socks and helmets, because after the bike went down, but before they rolled their naked behinds into a rose bush, they collected a number of raspberries from skidding across the sidewalk and lawn. The lights of the house came on and the resident must have been treated to quite a sight as two buck naked yahoos quickly pushed that motorcycle down the road, putting distance between them and the scene while bump starting the bike.

The two adventurers who walked back into the house under Patsy’s baleful glare looked like they’d tried to stick a hot wire up a wildcat’s ass (as the saying goes).


Patsy took Benny to the bathroom to doctor him up while one of my brother’s many admirers looked after his wounds in the kitchen.

Now, Benny was about as tough as they come so I was more than a little alarmed when, a moment later, I heard him screaming like a girl.
When Patsy came back down the hall I asked why the commotion.


Looking me dead in the eye, she said, “I put a little Campophenique on that road rash”.

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Written by fiddle mike

January 23, 2008 at 8:45 pm

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