Mike Baron's Blog
June 27, 2013
June 25, 2013
"They say it's your birthday!"
How I spent my birthday. Drove out to Boyd Lake State Park to meet Stephan on his boat. Just as the boat was about to strike the pier someone said "grab the boat!" So I got down on my hands and knees and slipped, my head plunging just below the pier in perfect synchronization with the prow of the boat. My head got crunched between the boat and the pier. Hurt like a mofo for a moment but then I was alright except for a couple of cuts and a sore jaw.
We went out on the boat. The lake was eight feet low due to the drought, and the fact that I got a letter from my HOA demanding I fix my desiccated front yard or get out. I had to fix the underground watering system (which every Colorado house has) that my dog Freddie ripped out upon arrival. But more on this later.
It was great on the boat. Stephan has numerous bizarre water toys which are almost impossible to ride. We watched people try for an hour.
Ann made me crab cakes for dinner prompting several Facebook friends to ask for the recipe. It's on Ann's page.
The next day I had a molar extracted. It was a long, bloody process but the result is a gold tooth mounted on one long prong (the other got snapped.) I'm thinking of selling it on eBay. I will post a picture of it on Facebook shortly.
Today is the Fourth. No fireworks. We're going to hear Colorado Swing at City Park. This drought is a massive drag. They say the Poudre may run dry through the city by the end of summer.
Yes there is a new Badger in the works.
We went out on the boat. The lake was eight feet low due to the drought, and the fact that I got a letter from my HOA demanding I fix my desiccated front yard or get out. I had to fix the underground watering system (which every Colorado house has) that my dog Freddie ripped out upon arrival. But more on this later.
It was great on the boat. Stephan has numerous bizarre water toys which are almost impossible to ride. We watched people try for an hour.
Ann made me crab cakes for dinner prompting several Facebook friends to ask for the recipe. It's on Ann's page.
The next day I had a molar extracted. It was a long, bloody process but the result is a gold tooth mounted on one long prong (the other got snapped.) I'm thinking of selling it on eBay. I will post a picture of it on Facebook shortly.
Today is the Fourth. No fireworks. We're going to hear Colorado Swing at City Park. This drought is a massive drag. They say the Poudre may run dry through the city by the end of summer.
Yes there is a new Badger in the works.
June 18, 2013
My Interest in Cycle Gangs
MY INTEREST IN CYCLE GANGS
I worked as an editor at the now defunct Boston Phoenix in the early seventies. A couple hairy bikers in colors kept stopping by the office requesting we do an article on them. "Because we're like interesting, man." So one evening I took the train to blue collar Randolph to hang out with the Rum Pot Rustlers in their clubhouse, an old garage in which the boys wrenched their rat Harleys.
Their president Wild Bill had a perfectly circular scar in the middle of his forehead. "One day I hear this yellin' so I go out on my front yard and there's a bunch of Wild Childs (a rival MC gang) doin' doughnuts so I tell them to get the hell off my lawn and one of 'em throws a beer bottle at me. Hit me dead center in the forehead and knocked me out."
Mostly they talked about gang rape. They didn't call it that. They called it "sharing" with their brothers. I dutifully wrote it up. They day after the article appeared three of them were arrested for gang-raping F. Lee Bailey's secretary whom they picked up in a bar. When I went to work the next day the secretary warned me to lay low--I was about to be deposed by the District Attorney. The publisher refused to supply me with an attorney. The entire editorial staff led by Carl Oglesby walked out in protest and I got my attorney.
In the days that followed Rum Pot Rustlers dropped by the office asking for me.
I was never deposed.
I began studying karate.
I worked as an editor at the now defunct Boston Phoenix in the early seventies. A couple hairy bikers in colors kept stopping by the office requesting we do an article on them. "Because we're like interesting, man." So one evening I took the train to blue collar Randolph to hang out with the Rum Pot Rustlers in their clubhouse, an old garage in which the boys wrenched their rat Harleys.
Their president Wild Bill had a perfectly circular scar in the middle of his forehead. "One day I hear this yellin' so I go out on my front yard and there's a bunch of Wild Childs (a rival MC gang) doin' doughnuts so I tell them to get the hell off my lawn and one of 'em throws a beer bottle at me. Hit me dead center in the forehead and knocked me out."
Mostly they talked about gang rape. They didn't call it that. They called it "sharing" with their brothers. I dutifully wrote it up. They day after the article appeared three of them were arrested for gang-raping F. Lee Bailey's secretary whom they picked up in a bar. When I went to work the next day the secretary warned me to lay low--I was about to be deposed by the District Attorney. The publisher refused to supply me with an attorney. The entire editorial staff led by Carl Oglesby walked out in protest and I got my attorney.
In the days that followed Rum Pot Rustlers dropped by the office asking for me.
I was never deposed.
I began studying karate.
