| It's a small out of the way bike shop. You know what I mean-- Tucked up a side street, an independent store, not a dealer. You spy the sign one day while out for a ride, go right by it, and then-- Something makes you turn around and pull in. You park your bike, and walk inside to check it out. Its looks dingy, but you never know. Maybe there are some nice bikes, some rare machinery. And friendly people, with stories to tell. It's empty, and there's not much work to be done. There's a sign up that says customers aren't allowed in the work area, but Big Sid doesn't give a damn about "liability"and you get to go back and see for yourself.At Big Sid's you got the run of the place: look, read, learn. And maybe you got a question, that's ok--just contact Big Sid and we will do what we can. What else? Well, if you like the vintage pics and the writing, then please consider buying a copy of Vincents with Big Sid. We also have a few other items to flog, so visit the swapmeet . I also encourage you to sign our guestbook so that we can inform you of updates. Now that the photohistory is done, Big Sid can finally finish the memoir: A Wish in the Veins, a tale of motorcycling, and so stay tuned. Meanwhile spend some time at Big Sid's. We humbly think that if you do you will want to own the books excerpted here, and with luck, and your support, we can make that happen. Big Sid's. Only on the net. |
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Through the Megaphone #4 | |||||
Bikes I'm talking about. The Red Rapide up on its podium in the center, the hooligan Egli in the far corner, sounding wicked as ever (those out of the know need to check Big Sid's trophycase); the bathing suit Vincent on one side as you walked in
(unless Herb was lighting her off
and on the other side our table of books, And yes I rode the Goldfarb Egli around some, but it was the 800 miles on my Honda Hawk GT that I will remember, shooting through the rain and fog north of Louisville, stopping only to refill, piss, and have a smoke. Of course 400 miles in a day is nothing these days. How could it be something special when I grew up riding that distance on the back of a '51 C Shadow most Sundays? No "support vehicle." Mostly alone. And I never imagined we would encounter a problem with the Vin that couldn't be fixed at the next gas station or parts store, if not on the spot. No surprise then that I can't quite fathom the opinion that Vincents don't live up to their legend. Nor can I build up two days of flat out riding on my '89 Hawk. All the same, I'll remember fondly puttering around the pits at Mid-Ohio Sunday afternoon, after just about all the racers had packed up and the place was empty. My friend Jim was looking to wish Corey a speedy recover from his spill into the haybales, and after we left him on crutches (and with a new book to read while resting up), Jim and I headed out. Jim was bound for the Columbus airport, thence to Frisco. South I--riding through carved mountains with red rock that in the afternoon's tint made me think of Robert Lowell's line: "A red fox stain covers Blue Hill" ("Skunk Hour"). Hey, like we said, Jim: Next time we'll be on our Vincents. But with winter on the horizon, at least we can stop in here at Big Sid's. Issue 4 features new photos in the gallery, and new pieces in pretty much all of our departments. We've been out on the web for well over a year and getting about thirty visitors a day for over 20,000 hits. We're proud of that too. So enjoy and if you got something that is right for Big Sid's send it along.
Out Riding
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