Right now Dave and Gary are on their way back to Slowtroit by way of Route 97 along the Delaware River. The weather's beautiful today, perfect for riding, so assuming that the proposed thunderstorm doesn't hit this area tonight it should be a smooth ride home for them.
Last night we met up in NY City, Bleeker Street, the Village. The night started off great, I met Dave and Gary on the corner of Bleeker and Sullivan, and as I walked toward them I thought to myself, "They look like normal guys, but why are they holding hands?"
Nevermind, I'm not homophobic and to each his own, so I walk up and introduce myself. Right away I realize something's a little different about these guys, I mean, this is
New York and I think I've seen just about everything, but sure enough if Dave's not wearing assless chaps and Gary's wearing a ball gag, like the one in Pulp Fiction.
A little shocked, I cautiously extend my hand to shake Dave's, he compliments my eyes, kisses me on the cheek. Ok, so now I'm a little worried about where the night is going, but I reassure myself that I'm an evolved New Yorker and I can accept their choice of lifestyle.
I suggest a Jazz bar a block away called, Terra Blues, which I know Gary will like 'cause he's a fan of jazz (and apparently a fan of bondage also
), he grunts his approval of my suggestion. We walk to the club, take a seat at the bar, order drinks. Dave was upset to learn that the bartender couldn't make his drink, a pink squirrel, but finds satisfaction with a fuzzy navel.
Gary mumbles a little, barely audible through the giant red ball, waves the bartender away, he's not drinking. A couple minutes later and with a pint of Guinness in hand I begin to share riding stories w/ Dave who at this point has turned his bar stool upside down and perched himself upon on of the exposed legs.
We talk for a while, must have been a good hour or so 'cause the band finished its first set so we decided to check out another place. Dave, the gimp, and I stop for a slice of pizza (Gary only smelled his slice) and make our way to a little bar where the most amazing spanish/jazz fusion band is playing. Dave again asks for a pink squirrel, the bartender agrees to make the drink, but asks him to stand in the corner to hide his exposed muffins. Dave agrees, takes his drink, muffins to a dark corner and begins humming the theme song to the Golden Girls. I again order a pint of Guinness after Gary waves the bartender away from himself. Standing in the corner, me, Muffins, and Mumbles take in the band's vibe. Gary begins to cry, turns out his first master was spanish and the music brought back a lot of memories. He motions toward the door, asking us to leave, we oblige, chug our drinks and head toward my car. At this point it's time to hit the strip clubs (about 1am) and Dave shares with me his dream to see Scores, the club made famous by Howard Stern. We drive over, take some pictures outside the club 'cause the bouncers wouldn't let the freak show in (Gary, post the picture
). The circus gets back into the car and we head for 2nd Ave, home to several hot bars/clubs, should definitely be a good time. Sure enough if we don't see DonnyB running down 2nd Ave (Gary, post the picture!!!). It's amazing what you can see in New York.
As we drive south the feeling of exhaustion sweeps through the car and the group makes the decision to turn in for the night. I take the guys back to the west side of Manhattan, near the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel. As the guys leave my car to jump into a cab Dave again shakes my hand, kisses my cheek, compliments my eyes and Gary grunts while applying chapstick to his lips.
After an experience like that I'm left with one question... If these 2 were the only guys man enough to make the ride to New York what the hell is the deal with the rest of the Redline crew?!
I saw DonnyB running on 2nd Ave so I know the story there, and I know that Bluto crashed his bike (only adept at straight-line riding, apparently), but what's the story with the rest of you poofs?!