I must have hated myself riding these temperamental Brit bikes all those years with their horrible Lucas electrical systems (Lucas had three settings, dim, flicker, off) that failed you at the worst times … when riding down a dark, winding highway at high speed … the lights would go out..
mid 50’s Vincent Blackshadow
Vincent power land speed record holder Rollie Free featured in one of the most iconic photographs in motorcycling history.
Rolland “Rollie” Free (November 11, 1900 – October 11, 1984) was a motorcycle racer best known for breaking the American motorcycle land speed record in 1948 on the Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah. The picture of Free, prone and wearing a bathing suit, has been described as the most famous picture in motorcycling  and Russell Wright won another World Land Speed Record at Swannanoa with a Vincent HRD motorcycle in 1955 at 184.83 mph (297.46 km/h).
late 60’s Norton Commando 750
1969 Triumph Bonneville 650
1968 BSA 650 Lightning
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson on his BSA while riding with the Hells Angels, just prior to getting his ass kicked.
From another Easy Rider from another time ...
No accolades for a Honda 350?
Song of the Sausage Creature (Cycle World magazine, March 1995)
Of course. You want to cripple the bastard? Send him a 130-mph café racer. And include some license plates, so he’ll think it’s a streetbike. He’s queer for anything fast.
Which is true. I have been a connoisseur of fast motorcycles all my life. I bought a brand-new 650 BSA Lightning when it was billed as “the fastest motorcycle ever tested by Hot Rod magazine.” I have ridden a 500-pound Vincent through traffic on the Ventura Freeway with burning oil on my legs and run the Kawa 750 triple through Beverly Hills at night with a head full of acid…. I have ridden with Sonny Barger and smoked weed in biker bars with Jack Nicholson, Grace Slick, Ron Zigler, and my infamous old friend, Ken Kesey, a legendary Café Racer.
Or maybe not: The Ducati 900 is so finely engineered and balanced and torqued that you can do 90 mph in fifth through a 35-mph zone and get away with it. The bike is not just fast — it is extremely quick and responsive, and it will do amazing things…. It is a little like riding the original Vincent Black Shadow, which would outrun an F-86 jet fighter on the takeoff runway, but at the end, the F-86 would go airborne and the Vincent would not, and there was no point in trying to turn it. WHAMO! The Sausage Creature strikes again.
There is a fundamental difference, however, between the old Vincents and the new bred of superbikes. If you rode the Black Shadow at top speed for any length of time, you would almost certainly die. That is why there are not many life members of the Vincent Black Shadow Society. The Vincent was like a bullet that went straight; the Ducati is like the magic bullet that went sideways and hit JFK and the Governor of Texas at the same time. It was impossible. But so was my terrifying sideways leap across railroad tracks on the 900SP. The bike did it easily with the grace of a fleeing tomcat. The landing was so easy I remember thinking, goddamnit, if I had screwed it on a little more I could have gone a lot further.
Maybe this is the new Café Racer macho. My bike is so much faster than yours that I dare you to ride it, you lame little turd. Do you have the balls to ride this BOTTOMLESS PIT OF TORQUE?
That is the attitude of the New Age superbike freak, and I am one of them. On some days they are about the most fun you can have with your clothes on. The Vincent just killed you a lot faster than a superbike will. A fool couldn’t ride the Vincent Black Shadow more than once, but a fool can ride a Ducati 900 many times, and it will always be bloodcurdling kind of fun. That is the Curse of Speed which has plagued me all my life. I am a slave to it. On my tombstone they will carve, “IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME.”
To illustrate the effects of a deadly Arctic blast that had pummeled much of the United States this week, leaving millions of people shivering and in the dark,Trevor Noah of “The Daily Show”homed in on the plight of a particularly well-known resident of Houston.
Of course, the late-night comic was referring to Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Tex.), who earlier in the day confirmed that he had abandoned the freezing temperatures in Texas — where sustained power outages have left at least 30 people dead — for a tropical vacation in Cancun with his family.
“I’m not even mad that you were selfish,” Noah said, addressing the senator directly. “I’m mad that you were so stupid. How can you be in politics for 10 years and still have no idea how bad this would make you look?”ADhttps://0487d06eed5530a1f6abd20c4cdce11a.safeframe.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-37/html/container.html
As Cruz would quickly learn on Thursday, his trip to the Yucatán would not just make him look bad. It would, within a matter of hours, cast him as the object of many Texans’ ire — and the butt of many a joke on late-night TV and around the Internet.
With reports of Texans having to boil snow just to be able to flush the toilet or burning furniture to stay warm, several late-night hosts and cable news pundits highlighted the cruel discrepancies between “the world’s shortest spring break” and the reality for many of his constituents.
“I get that Ted Cruz is tired. The man deserves a break after trying to overthrow the government, but this is not the time, Ted,” Noah quipped, hinting at Cruz’s support for President Donald Trump’sbaseless claims of election fraud that fed into the Jan. 6 riot at the U.S. Capitol. But “when your constituents said they need clean water, they didn’t mean go find a wet T-shirt contest in Cancun.”
On ABC, Jimmy Kimmel called Cruz “a snake on a plane,” highlighting the senator’s past support for Trump’s aggressive security measures on the U.S.-Mexico border.
“Where was Mr. Texas while his constituents are suffering?” the ABC host asked. “Well, there he is on a plane. … Ironically, to the very place he tried to build a wall around.
Cruz, whose home had reportedly been without electricity but still had gas, called the trip “a mistake” and expressed regret for getting on the plane in the first place.
“With school cancelled for the week, our girls asked to take a trip with friends,” he wrote in a statement Thursday. “Wanting to be a good dad, I flew down with them last night and am flying back this afternoon.”
But even that explanation drew ridicule, with many commentators pointing out both his itinerary and luggage seemed to indicatethata return trip on Thursday had not been part of the original plan. As first reported by Skift — and later confirmed by Cruz — the senator had initially been set to stay in Cancun for another two days.
S. Clay Wilson, the most scabrous and rollicking of the underground cartoonists who first achieved notoriety as contributors to Zap Comix in the late 1960s, died on Sunday at his home in San Francisco. He was 79.
His wife, Lorraine Chamberlain, said the cause was deteriorating health arising from a traumatic brain injury more than 12 years ago. He had experienced a number of serious health problems in recent years.
Violent, obscene and scatological, Mr. Wilson’s hyperbolic stories — full of corny puns and incongruously decorous dialogue, and populated by such unsavory, anatomically distorted characters as the Checkered Demon, Captain Pissgums and his Pervert Pirates, the Hog Riding Fools and Ruby the Dyke — are all but indescribable in this newspaper.
Interviewed in the early 1990s for The Comics Journal by the underground-comics aficionado Bob Levin, Mr. Wilson called comics “a great visual art form,” adding, “Primarily, I’m trying to show that you can draw anything you want.”
What Mr. Wilson wanted to draw was densely packed scenes of mayhem, dismemberment and grotesque sex acts that, in their allover style, suggested both the Abstract Expressionist paintings that were at their height of prestige when Mr. Wilson was in art school and the splash panels drawn by comic book artists like Jack Kirby and Wally Wood.
His drawings were so outrageous in their humorous depravity that on first encountering them in 1968 his fellow cartoonist R. Crumb recalled feeling that “suddenly my own work seemed insipid.”
Steven Clay Wilson was born in Lincoln, Neb., on July 25, 1941, the first child of John William Wilson, a master machinist, and Ione Lydia (Lewis) Wilson, a medical stenographer. Inspired by EC horror comics like “Tales From the Crypt,” he began drawing as a child.
After leaving the University of Nebraska, he served in the Army, then joined a circle of Beat Generation artists and poets in Lawrence, Kan. His first published work — in a Lawrence underground newspaper, The Screw, and a small literary magazine, Grist — showed his style fully developed.
In 1968, Mr. Wilson relocated to San Francisco, where he quickly became one of the leading underground cartoonists as well as something of a counterculture celebrity, partying with Janis Joplin and other local rock musicians.
He contributed to Zap Comix No. 2 a 14-page comic strip concerning the misadventures of a befuddled biker gang along with two single-page strips. It was the short work — one scatological and the other, titled “Head First,” a shockingly graphic joke on cannibalism and castration — that made his reputation. According to “Rebel Visions” (2002), Patrick Rosenkranz’s history of the underground comics (or comix) movement, other cartoonists like Victor Moscoso and Jay Kinney were stunned.
“‘Head First’ blew the doors off the church,” Mr. Rosenkranz quoted Mr. Moscoso as saying. “When I first saw it, I couldn’t believe it. This guy wants to actually print this?”
Zap Comix No. 3 featured a cover by Mr. Wilson in addition to a 10-page Wilson story introducing his scurvy pirate crew. His work appeared in every issue thereafter, and his influence on other contributors was evident and ubiquitous. Zap Comix No. 4, which featured Mr. Crumb’s post-Wilson evocation of happy incest in the suburbs, triggered a raid on Zap’s publisher by the Berkeley police.
Like Mr. Crumb and other underground cartoonists, Mr. Wilson was frequently accused of being a misogynist. His defenders preferred to think of him as a misanthrope, pointing out that the male characters in his strips were also subject to rape and abuse and that the female characters were their equals in brutality.
In addition to Zap, Mr. Wilson’s cartoons were published in other underground comics books, alternative newspapers like The Berkeley Barb and Paul Krassner’s satirical magazine The Realist, as well as, somewhat trepidatiously, in aboveground publications like Playboy. In 1971 Mr. Wilson published Bent, a comic book whose single issue was exclusively devoted to his work, mostly a frenzied 22-page story, “Thumb and Tongue Tales,” involving a mad scientist, a private eye, a band of lascivious female pirates and the Checkered Demon.
Mr. Wilson also contributed to Arcade, the ambitious if short-lived comic-book quarterly edited in the mid-1970s by Bill Griffith and Art Spiegelman. The fourth issue featured a story by William S. Burroughs that was illustrated by Mr. Wilson and that led to a long association with him.
Mr. Burroughs wrote introductions for the catalog to Mr. Wilson’s 1982 show at the Museum of the Surreal and Fantastique in New York and to an anthology of Mr. Wilson’s comics, “The Collected Checkered Demon,” in 1996. Mr. Wilson subsequently drew illustrations for German editions of two Burroughs novels, “Cities of the Red Night” and “The Wild Boys.” Modulating his content a bit, he also illustrated collections of fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm.
Some of his fans compared Mr. Wilson to William Hogarth and George Grosz. But while his work matched theirs in savagery, he had little interest in social satire or social restraint. At heart, he was a formalist.
Reviewing a show called “Imaginary Beings” at the alternative New York gallery Exit Art for The New York Times in 1995, Pepe Karmel singled out the Wilson drawing “Lady Ogre Pukes Up a Junkie” and wrote that Mr. Wilson’s “combination of brilliant draftsmanship and perverse subject matter makes him into a kind of Aubrey Beardsley for teenage boys.”
Reviewing “The Complete Zap,” a thousand-plus-page boxed volume, for The Times in 2014, Dana Jennings characterized Mr. Wilson’s work as a “cross between Bosch and Walt Kelly’s ‘Pogo,’ by way of the most gruesome EC comics.”
In November 2008, Mr. Wilson, who had a formidable reputation as a heavy drinker, suffered severe brain and neck injuries resulting from either a fight or a fall; lying unconscious on a San Francisco street, he was discovered by two passers-by. He never fully recovered.
In addition to Ms. Chamberlain, he is survived by his sister, Linda Lee Schafer.
Despite occasional gallery shows, mainly in California, Mr. Wilson never achieved the art-world respectability of Mr. Crumb or younger cartoonists like Chris Ware. Not that he would have wanted it. He lived in his own world.
Mr. Levin’s description of Mr. Wilson’s apartment in San Francisco’s Mission district suggests the impacted quality of his drawing as well as his exuberantly outré sensibility:
“The first thing you notice is the alligator skull, since it sits flat-out on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Then you realize the coffee table is a coffin; and the sofa is a church pew, occupied by a clutch of grotesque shamanistic dolls; and, at the far end, in front of the window, is a lectern with a sign, ‘Rev. S. Clay Wilson.’”
Mr. Levin also took note of a skeleton, a statue of Jesus, some ceremonial masks, a hat tree with a dozen hats, and a two-headed stuffed bird. “I’m just a big kid,” Mr. Wilson told him. “I like toys, firearms and hats.”
His advice to would-be cartoonists was simple: “Don’t let the page be gray. Make it jump! Make it crackle! Blister their irises!”
Republican representative Lauren Boebert has drawn reimbursements worth $22,000 for gas mileage used during her campaign for Congress in 2020, raising questions from ethics experts.
The Colorado GOP lawmaker wrote two cheques for a total of $22,259 from her campaign accounts for mileage between January and mid-November. The latest one is $21,199, after receiving reimbursement in March 2020, according to reports by The Denver Post and the local blog Colorado Pols.
Her massive reimbursements can also be seen in campaign finance data on the website OpenSecrets.- ADVERTISEMENT -https://s.yimg.com/rq/darla/4-6-0/html/r-sf-flx.html
According to The Denver Post, in order to justify a reimbursement of such a big amount, Ms Boebert’s distance driven during the campaign has to be about 38,712 miles.
However, since her reimbursements came in two instalments, after the modest $1,060 at the end of March 2020, to justify her second reimbursement of $21,200 from 1 April to 3 November, she would have had to drive 36,870 miles in just over seven months.
The figure is extraordinarily high also keeping in mind that Ms Boebert had no publicly-advertised events in April or July, and only in May, The Denver Post noted.
“This highly unusual amount of mileage expenses raises red flags and the campaign should feel obligated to provide answers,” it quoted Kedric Payne, a former investigator for the Office of Congressional Ethics, an independent body in Congress that examines misconduct allegations, as saying.
Candidates for federal office can legally reimburse themselves for miles driven in personal vehicles using the Internal Revenue Service’s mileage rate, which was 57.5 cents per mile for 2020.
The Colorado Pols also noted that Ms Boebert was “reimbursed” for a total of $30,177 in 2020, much higher than outgoing representative Scott Tipton who she defeated. Over the last 10 years, Mr Tipton’s reimbursements account for a total of $12,255 from his campaign.
Yoshiro Mori, a former Japanese prime minister with a history of demeaning remarks, told a meeting of the Japanese Olympic Committee (JOC) this week that meetings attended by too many women tended to “drag on” because they talked too much.
There is no consensus on the origin of the movement’s name; a common story is that the German artist Richard Huelsenbeck slid a paper knife (letter-opener) at random into a dictionary, where it landed on “dada”, a colloquial French term for a hobby horse. Jean Arp wrote that Tristan Tzara invented the word at 6 p.m. on 6 February 1916, in the Café de la Terrasse in Zürich. Others note that it suggests the first words of a child, evoking a childishness and absurdity that appealed to the group. Still others speculate that the word might have been chosen to evoke a similar meaning (or no meaning at all) in any language, reflecting the movement’s internationalism.
The roots of Dada lie in pre-war avant-garde. The term anti-art, a precursor to Dada, was coined by Marcel Duchamp around 1913 to characterize works that challenge accepted definitions of art.Cubism and the development of collage and abstract art would inform the movement’s detachment from the constraints of reality and convention. The work of French poets, Italian Futurists and the German Expressionists would influence Dada’s rejection of the tight correlation between words and meaning. Works such as Ubu Roi (1896) by Alfred Jarry and the ballet Parade (1916–17) by Erik Satie would also be characterized as proto-Dadaist works. The Dada movement’s principles were first collected in Hugo Ball‘s Dada Manifesto in 1916.