Chingaderas
One Saturday, I had a bad case of ennui (that’s French for, "the funk"). The sun was out, in my neck of the woods, but there was flooding rain a few miles inland.
My road bike was on the lift so I snagged a few small parts to clean and paint. While they were safely baking in the toaster oven, the cigar box caught my eye.
It’s a small cigar box, but then, it only contains hat pins (“vest pins”, for you non-shit kickers). I’ve always like obtaining the pins more than wearing them. With a few exceptions, the pins ended up in the box.
These first pins are rally pins. I paid my five-to-fifty US dollars at registration and I, along with hundreds-to-thousands of other participants, received a beautiful and unique commemorative souvenir. Well, the ROT Rally pin is pretty generic, you can order them, on-line, going back to the first year. More thought seems to have been put into the other designs.
Now, the next bunch I think of as “ride pins”. You can’t order them on-line; you have to ride out and get them yourself, like pins for club rallies, only someone else is not responsible for the success of the ride. Some, like the Grand Canyon pin, are eye catchers. I looked into the canyon and knew I couldn't bring it back in a camera.
I like the simplicity of these two.
If you’ve looked up at the Grand Tetons, no other explanation is necessary. The same is true of the Stone Mountain carving.
Ride pins speak for themselves.
I wear a small one that says simply, “Jackson Hole”. As you might guess, it has sparked many conversations.
"Gimme pins”, I call this last bunch, pins given to me by friends and associates. They are my favorites and some of them live in the box for safekeeping.
My great aunt gave me the lapel pin on the left. Minnie Pearl sent it, along with a "thank you" note, to my uncle for his donation to the fledgling "ASCAP" organization. It has seen the band stands of some honky tonks.
A Canadian rider sent the custom made pin in middle as a gesture of solidarity after I’d outraged the tight ass faction on a cruiser club's message board. It identifies me as a “Fingerteer”, one who engages in the insensitive practice of flipping off riders who won’t return a wave. A photograph cannot capture the beautiful detail of the piece. Its twin is on a riding vest.
The round pin on the right is, obviously, a Narcotics Anonymous pin and was given to me by someone who will remain anonymous. I know how much that fellowship means to him, so the pin has beauty beyond its elegant simplicity, for me.
These little chingaderas are like that; they can become valuable beyond their actual worth.
Ferinstance:
I rummaged through the others and came up with an obscene little pin that looked like a woman with her knees in the air and her ankles apart. It also looked like a variation of the Kawasaki "Vulcan " logo and it passed as such until folks got to wondering why a Honda rider would wear it and got inspecting it closely. It was at this point it was suggested that the pin might be more comfortable in my cigar box.
Five years later, more or less:
I'd become friends with one of the younger men in the neighborhood. who, upon buying a new motorcycle, rode to my house to show her off. She was a beauty, too, an 800 cc Kawasaki Vulcan. While I was admiring, the pin in my little cigar box leapt to mind. I passed it, and its tale, on to him. Both our grins got bigger when he told me his wife, "hates biker shit". If she ever figures it out she's going to flip.
I filled the guy's sister in on it, too, so now there are two riders and a pedestrian who have their lives enriched (granted, in a small way) by an, otherwise, worthless bit of pot metal.
I guess I've been preaching to the choir. I should find something productive to do.
Maybe later I'll tell you how I became a Grope Leader ( Gropin' Führer).
One Saturday, I had a bad case of ennui (that’s French for, "the funk"). The sun was out, in my neck of the woods, but there was flooding rain a few miles inland.
My road bike was on the lift so I snagged a few small parts to clean and paint. While they were safely baking in the toaster oven, the cigar box caught my eye.
It’s a small cigar box, but then, it only contains hat pins (“vest pins”, for you non-shit kickers). I’ve always like obtaining the pins more than wearing them. With a few exceptions, the pins ended up in the box.
These first pins are rally pins. I paid my five-to-fifty US dollars at registration and I, along with hundreds-to-thousands of other participants, received a beautiful and unique commemorative souvenir. Well, the ROT Rally pin is pretty generic, you can order them, on-line, going back to the first year. More thought seems to have been put into the other designs.
Now, the next bunch I think of as “ride pins”. You can’t order them on-line; you have to ride out and get them yourself, like pins for club rallies, only someone else is not responsible for the success of the ride. Some, like the Grand Canyon pin, are eye catchers. I looked into the canyon and knew I couldn't bring it back in a camera.
I like the simplicity of these two.
If you’ve looked up at the Grand Tetons, no other explanation is necessary. The same is true of the Stone Mountain carving.
Ride pins speak for themselves.
I wear a small one that says simply, “Jackson Hole”. As you might guess, it has sparked many conversations.
"Gimme pins”, I call this last bunch, pins given to me by friends and associates. They are my favorites and some of them live in the box for safekeeping.
My great aunt gave me the lapel pin on the left. Minnie Pearl sent it, along with a "thank you" note, to my uncle for his donation to the fledgling "ASCAP" organization. It has seen the band stands of some honky tonks.
A Canadian rider sent the custom made pin in middle as a gesture of solidarity after I’d outraged the tight ass faction on a cruiser club's message board. It identifies me as a “Fingerteer”, one who engages in the insensitive practice of flipping off riders who won’t return a wave. A photograph cannot capture the beautiful detail of the piece. Its twin is on a riding vest.
The round pin on the right is, obviously, a Narcotics Anonymous pin and was given to me by someone who will remain anonymous. I know how much that fellowship means to him, so the pin has beauty beyond its elegant simplicity, for me.
These little chingaderas are like that; they can become valuable beyond their actual worth.
Ferinstance:
While on a weekend ride (that can be politely described as, "rollicking") with a lady friend, we rode into Austin, where we stopped in a tiny adult store.
" A actual store that sells tiny adults?” you ask.
No. It was a small sexually oriented place of business where, oddly enough, vest pins were displayed at the sales counter. When I suggested we get a couple as mementos of our adventure she picked a cool little skeleton riding a chopper, the only one left and the only one she'd have.I rummaged through the others and came up with an obscene little pin that looked like a woman with her knees in the air and her ankles apart. It also looked like a variation of the Kawasaki "Vulcan " logo and it passed as such until folks got to wondering why a Honda rider would wear it and got inspecting it closely. It was at this point it was suggested that the pin might be more comfortable in my cigar box.
Five years later, more or less:
I'd become friends with one of the younger men in the neighborhood. who, upon buying a new motorcycle, rode to my house to show her off. She was a beauty, too, an 800 cc Kawasaki Vulcan. While I was admiring, the pin in my little cigar box leapt to mind. I passed it, and its tale, on to him. Both our grins got bigger when he told me his wife, "hates biker shit". If she ever figures it out she's going to flip.
I filled the guy's sister in on it, too, so now there are two riders and a pedestrian who have their lives enriched (granted, in a small way) by an, otherwise, worthless bit of pot metal.
I guess I've been preaching to the choir. I should find something productive to do.
Maybe later I'll tell you how I became a Grope Leader ( Gropin' Führer).
