The Party 🥳 🎉 💪😃

G-man wrote:

It's the Holiday Season and time to have work parties with those "lovely co-workers" as well as with family and friends. I'm sure we can all...

It's the Holiday Season and time to have work parties with those "lovely co-workers" as well as with family and friends. I'm sure we can all relate to another gem from Super Hunky.  

THE PARTY

By Rick Sieman/September 1981/Dirt Bike

(Notes: Any of this party conversation ring a bell with you?)

“ Say , this is a great party, isn't it?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. Swell.”

“Hey, my name is Parker Westley. You can call me Wes. I'm into real estate and financial management. How about you?”

 

“I'm a welder. I just keep busy mak­ing two things into one thing. John's the name.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed your hands were a little chewed up and rough-looking. Must be all that smoke and heat. Can't you wear gloves or something?”

 

“Oh, it ain't the torches that do that. I race bikes on the weekends. Guess I fall down more than most.”

 

“You mean like climbing hills? I saw that on Wide World of Sports. Wow! That's freaky! You do that?”

 

“Sort of. Except that hill climbers, well … all they do is climb hills. It makes them happy. Me? I'm a moto­crosser.”

 

“You mean those races where they go through mud and over jumps? Things like that?”

 

“Basically.”

 

“Why on earth do you do that? What are you … 32? Maybe 34?”

 

‘‘I'm 36.''

 

“Well, you must make a lot of money to do that Evel Knevil sort of stuff.”

 

“Nope. Just a trophy … when I get lucky. Or when nobody good shows up.”

 

“You mean you race a bike and don't get paid for it?”

 

“Pretty much. In fact, if you get right down to it, it probably costs me more than the price of a car each year. Easy.”

 

“You actually pay? Like paying to go bowling? Strange! Don't you worry about getting hurt? I mean, have you ever been injured?”

 

“Nothing to talk about. Busted a few ribs. One wrist. Knee ain't work­ing too great. Did the shoulder in twice. Same one. No big deal.”

 

“Whoa! You oughta take up base­ball. Or bowling. Something safe.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why? Why not? Don't you ever think about what could happen to you? I mean, you could get really screwed up on those bikes. I've seen the slow-motion replays on TV, you know. Flipping end over end. Crash­ing one on top of the other. Like roller derby. Hey, that's not for me!”

 

“What is for you?”

 

“Softball. I'm in a league. We play a killer tournament with the North Side that runs 18 weekends. You gotta be in real shape for that. I mean, we do jumping jacks and pushups … stuff like that. If you aren't in good shape, you can feel it the next day. You guys on the bikes, you've got it made. Just sit there and ride. No effort.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Now, you take bowling. There's another sport that you have to get in shape for. Man, you can get a blister the size of a watermelon after three games. I've even got a special glove to protect my fingers.”

 

“I can see where that might be a problem.”

 

“Not only that, it puts a real load on your lower back—not to mention the workout your arm gets. Of course, it's worth it. You get out with the guys, have a few drinks … it's a lot of fun. You ought to try it sometime. In fact, we're forming a new “C” team down at the lanes. You should drop by and

 

“Me? Nope. That sport sounds too physically demanding. See, when I stick with the bikes, why, like you say, I just sit there all the time and take it easy. Sort of like a pleasant ride in the country. Why don't you try riding a dirt bike? We're going out this Saturday for a trail ride. My wife has a bike you could use for the day. There's real­ly nothing to it.”

 

“You know, I just might take you up on that. I used to do a lot of drag racing when I was in high school—had a ‘62 Chevy—so I'd probably be a natural at this motorcycle racing stuff. In fact, give me a few hours to get used to the thing and I betcha I just might surprise you. Probably come right by you and your friends doing a willy.”

 

“That's a wheelie. Accent on the E's.”

 

“Willy, wheelie, whatever. I mean, if you know how to handle one kind of a machine, making the transition to another kind is a snap.”

 

“You know, Wes, maybe you ought to ride my bike instead of my wife's. After all, I can see that with your rac­ing background her little 125 just wouldn't be enough machine for you. You can use my 495 KTM. Yup. That's just the bike for you to learn on.”

 

“What's the 495 stand for? Cubic in­ches?”

 

“Nope. CC's. Cubic centimeters. It's a single-cylinder, two-stroke. Real light.”

 

“Don't you have anything bigger? Something with a real engine? I've heard about those Harleys and Indians … 2,000 cc's and up. That'd be what I'd want to learn on.”

 

“Well, Wes, maybe you can work up to one of those, but none of the guys I ride with are good enough to handle those big bikes yet. We all have little-bitty things like 465 Yamahas and 490 Maicos. Why, poor Fred, my best buddy, he rides a 250 Honda and it's so skimpy that it only has one shock on the back!”

 

“You know, John, this is starting to sound sort of exciting. I think I just might break free this Saturday and chase you guys around for a few hours. But only if you agree to be my guest next Wednesday night for bowling. That'll be on me. Deal?”

 

“Gee, Wes. I'm not sure I can handle all that physical work, but I'll give it a try. What the heck … let's shake on it. Listen, here's my address. Meet me at 5:30, Saturday morning. And wear some old clothes and a strong pair of work shoes.”

 

“Five-thirty?”

 

“Hey, I never said it was going to be easy, did I?”

 

“Well, okay. I'll be there. Just you don't forget to show up for that bowling.”

 

“Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

 

“Okay. See you then. Well, better get back to my wife. Five-thirty?”

 

Parker Westley walked toward the bar and fixed another scotch and soda, a small excitement building inside of him. He remembered how he used to skid his Chevy around corners late at night. Yes, he'd show them, all-right.

 

John, the welder, finished the last of his orange juice, glanced at his watch and headed for the door. He still had time to get in his usual three-mile run before bed.

 

As he left the house, there was a curious smile on his face.