Welcome to June! One of the biggest riding months of the year, for sure the busiest with bike nights, poker and fun runs, and some gatherings around the Midwest. This is the month that the roads of Iowa just seem to open up! A majority of the ag equipment is off the small highways and with that, less debris on the road. The days are the longest in this month, which means more time riding after work and on the weekends. The temperatures are getting warm for sure, but not oppressively hot like in the next couple of months. Hot days, cool nights, and the official start of summer this month, what could be better for riders? This all means that you have no excuses! Get your ass out on two wheels and capitalize on the season!
One of the most important things about being a part of the riding community in Iowa has always been about interacting with other riders. Other people that we come across on a regular basis. It does not matter what we ride, different brands of bikes, different styles of motorcycles, different roads and types or roads, or even off-road riders, we are all a part of the motorcycle community that was built on the love of freedom, respect for others, and the camaraderie that comes with out beloved sport. There is no concern if you ride a brand-new bagger, a rattedout chopper, a trike, a cruiser, a bobber, or dual sport, or whatever else, we all share the same love of riding when we twist the wick and open up the throttle. When we interact with others, shake a hand, check out their rides, make new friends, and get new ideas on rides, roads, places to go, and things to do. That is all a part of this. Riders always seem to come together and make things better than they were before we showed up. If society acted more like bikers, it would be a better world!
Last month was the designated Motorcycle Awareness Month. Here at Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa, we are naming SUMMER as the Motorcycle Awareness Season! Let’s continue to ride as safely as possible, advocate for safer roadways for all travelers, remind the cages that we are here, be seen and heard on the roads and at the State and Federal Capital buildings, and never give up fighting for the right to ride freely on our roadways. Let’s make a goal more widespread public awareness for motorcyclist safety, for motorcycles and riders being out on the road, for our lawmakers to keep our two and threewheeled modes of transportation in their thoughts when drafting legislation, and show praise for those in the biker community that do so much for the public good. Making people aware of all of this that riders do will only help keep us in the forefront of the traveling public’s minds, and hopefully make them realize we are here, we are not going anywhere, and they need to watch out for us for a variety of reasons. We need to be aware of our own safety as well, so stay sharp, ride smart, ride straight, and watch out for each other. No ride is worth ending in tragedy from doing dumb stuff. We’ve lost too many good people over the years, and every rider making it home safely matters, and we should all keep that in mind.
On the Cover
We wanted some images for the June issue of Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa with a sexy, intelligent, strong woman, and Jess obliged us in that aspect. We chose to pose her with a bad ass Iron Head owned by Danny Rohr. This 1985 XLH is the last year of that style of engine that spanned the time frame of the 50s to the 80s. “Tramp” as Danny refers to his bike, has had many things massaged over the years, and has some cool old school custom flame paint. His award winning bike, Jess’ spicy attitude, and some graphic work by Dawn helped up make this what we think is an awesome diversion from our normal artwork. We hope you like it, and the whole June 2026 Issue! This marks our anniversary, as we started this thing in June of 2010, so now 193 issues ago! Thanks for being a part of our ride, and thanks to Jess and Danny for making our 16th rear running a possiblility!
We would like to offer a heartfelt message of gratitude to all of our advertisers, contributors, readers and friends in this biker world for helping us keep this going month after month, year after year. Our little Iowa magazine exists because of our local Iowa support and readership and we ask that you look on our pages and try to frequent those places when you are out and about. Many of those listed are mom and pop businesses like us and rely on you walking through their doors to keep them open. For every reader that picks up a copy, please share it when you are done with it and we hope no one is ever afraid to submit some photos for Thunder Cam, stop by to see us at events, or help us get into more businesses that should have the latest issue of Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa on their counter. We appreciate all that you do for us, and try to give back to the biker community with our publication. Thanks, one and all!
Stay safe, enjoy the ride, and I’ll see you down the road.
Vernon Schwarte vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Proud Editor/Owner Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa
Proud Owner Thunder Guns West and Thunder Guns
IMDA Board Member
Iowa COC
First things first: Thanks to all the participants and supporters of CMA’s annual Run for the Son and Bike Blessings. They were a resounding success. The resulting stories and testimonies are ongoing, even eternal, touching people and situations around the globe. Good job everyone!
Last weekend, Karla and I were fortunate to be able to take part in blessings in Burlington and Muscatine. It was of course, wet, extremely windy, involving road construction with multiple detours and one of us doing a lot of whining but… well worth the time and effort. OK, maybe there was more than one of us doing some whining and maybe we will just leave the name out to protect reputations.
As part of these particular events, we always have the chance and privilege to pray with and for not only bikes and safe travels but lots of people and families. It definitely is a privilege as well as humbling and eye opening to see and hear how everyone is dealing with life and its challenges. The joys and heartbreaks, the losses and loneliness - no one escapes them; the challenges are just different. Remembering the people we saw last year who are no longer with us this year is a very hard thing to deal with. We have to remind ourselves that we all have eternal
life and we do have the hope that we will see those friends and loved ones again. But then the big eternity question becomes “Where will we spend it?” Just like the detours and rerouting we experience here trying to get to an event, we face the other big eternity question of “How do we get there?”
Who we ask for directions and what road we take is pretty important. Nowadays there isn’t a dearth of opinions but an overload of voices and information. Who we trust with the most important trip of our lives is pretty significant. One group would tell us that we can’t get there from here. Other groups or so-called religions and liberal theologies would try to convince you that any road is the right road. Jesus tells us that he is the only way and that we need to make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many will try to enter heaven through other doors and will not be able to. The world, i.e., Satan, offers a multitude of roads and earthly ideas of a deity and a destination but Jesus offers the only true way to God’s salvation and what was meant to be man’s true destination, heaven. One path, one Savior, but open to everyone who would believe. “Too exclusive,” some say but in reality “all inclusive” as he died for all. Romans 5:8 says, “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” Not when we have proved ourselves good enough or got our lives straightened out but while we were still a mess, he went to the cross for us. He will not turn away any who put their faith in him. Someday, all will give account for their lives and what they did with the truth of Jesus. Every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord! God will make himself known. Psalm 19 states, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” This verse emphasizes how creation itself cries out and expresses the majesty and glory of God.
We have eternity in our hearts and the gospel is being preached throughout the whole earth. We have even heard in recent years the exciting accounts of Muslims and other religions having dreams of Jesus appearing and making himself known to them.
The Bible gives us the comfort and assurance that we are on the right path and do have a sure destination. I Samuel 12:22 tells us, “The Lord will not forsake his people, for his great names sake, because it has pleased the Lord to make you a people for himself.” A local church sign summed it all up pretty good. It said, “No Jesus – No Peace. Know JesusKnow Peace. “
We all need Jesus.
Blessings, Mark
Mark and Karla Cornick are with the Christian Motorcyclists Association. Find out more about CMA and God’s plan for you at www.cmausa.org
The Biker Friendly Business Directory is a list of establishments throughout Iowa that sponsor the magazine. You can pick up your copy here every month. Let them know that you saw them in TRMI. If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Biker Accessories
Dirty Biker Design 61 W Washington Street Winterset, Iowa 50273 www.DirtyBikerDesign.com 515-444-9050
Hell Bent Hotrods
Kickass Designs, Quality Garments Shirts | Hats | Gear | Attitude www.hellbentapparel.com Hell Bent Hot Rods on Facebook
Dealers
Baxter Cycle 311 4th Street Marne, Iowa 51552 712-781-2351 www.baxtercycle.com
Metro Harley-Davidson 2415 Westdale Drive SW Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52404 319-362-9496
www.metro-motorsports.com
Route 65 Harley-Davidson 1300 S Jefferson Way Indianola, Iowa 50125 515.962.2160 www.route65hd.net
Storm Lake Honda
3040 Expansion Blvd Storm Lake, Iowa 50588 StormLakeHonda.com 712-732-2460
Big Barn Harley-Davidson 81 NW 49th Place Des Moines, Iowa 50313 515-265-4444 www.bigbarnhd.net
Heartland Harley-Davidson 117 S Roosevelt Ave Burlington, IA 52601 319-754-1100 www.heartlandhd.com
Indian Motorcycle of Mason City
Mason City Powersports 12499 265th Street Mason City 641-423-3181 Masoncitypowersportsinc.com
Fireside Lounge 504 W 7th ST
Atlantic, IA 50022
712-243-2426
Open Daily at Noon
Flaming Office 201 W High Street Toledo 641-484-2255
Outdoor Patio, Happy Hour 5-7 Flaming Office on Facebook & Google
Haverhill Social Club 202 1st Street Haverhill, Iowa 50120 641-475-3321
Entertainment
Book Em Dano’s
33 S Main Street Denison, Iowa 51442
712-263-9818 Mon-Sat 4-2
Dancers Nightly 5-1:30
Food and Drink
(Popular Poker & Fun Run Locations)
Busch’s Duck Stop Tavern 608 Inman Street Mallard, Iowa 50562
712-425-3384
Facebook: Busch’s Duck Stop Tavern
Catfish Charlie’s On the Mississippi River 1630 E. 16th Street Dubuque, IA 52001 (563)582-8600
Riverside Tavern 450 E Main St Lehigh, Iowa 50557515-359-9998
Riverside Tavern on Facebook
Shootout Saloon 3571 310th St Dexter 1 Mile West of Bonnie & Clyde Shootout 712-249-0041
Secluded Bar in the Woods Sidetracked 206 West Union Street Creston, Iowa 50801 641-782-8534
Iowa that sponsor the magazine. You can pick up your copy here every month. Let them know that you saw them in TRMI. If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@ thunderroadsiowa.com
A
not so USELESS RAMBLINGS not so USELESS RAMBLINGS
Banner Worth Defending
Every nation has symbols, but only a few are instantly recognized everywhere on Earth—symbols that make hearts swell with pride, enemies take notice, and allies stand shoulder to shoulder. The Flag of the United States is one of those rare emblems. It is stitched not only from fabric, but from generational sacrifice, hope, and the still-radical idea that liberty is the birthright of every human being.
I recently wrote about honor— not as an abstract idea, but as something lived out in the choices we make every day. The truth is, that idea doesn’t stop at the individual level. It extends outward, into the way we treat the things that represent us as a people. And few things represent us more clearly than the American flag.
must return to the beginning—to the origins of Flag Day, Flag Week, and the solemn protocols that signal national mourning. Only then can we fully grasp how far we have drifted, and why it’s time to reclaim the respect this symbol deserves.
Yet today, as we look across the cultural landscape of our own country, something feels off Flying the American flag—an act once universal, apolitical, and unifying—has become contested, mocked, or ignored by many. The rituals surrounding its care, its display, and its lowering to halfstaff have become so diluted in meaning that many Americans no longer even recognize why those traditions exist in the first place.
Flag Day, celebrated each year on June 14, commemorates the moment in 1777 when the Continental Congress adopted the design of the American flag. The resolution was only twenty-eight words long, but its impact has echoed for centuries:
“Resolved, That the flag of the United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation.”
That “new constellation” represented something entirely new in world history: a nation not built on bloodline or monarchy, but on the revolutionary belief that people could govern themselves.
The idea of honoring this symbol with a designated day began long before Congress made it official. Schools, civic groups, and veterans’ organizations in the 1800s held their own celebrations.
One of the strongest early advocates was Bernard Cigrand, a Wisconsin schoolteacher who began organizing annual Flag Day ceremonies as early as 1885 and spent decades lobbying the federal government.
I don’t remember a time when the American flag didn’t mean something to me. Even as a kid, there was always a weight to it that I didn’t fully understand—but I could feel it.
Seeing flag-draped caskets at military funerals has always stuck with me. It still does. There’s something about that moment— the quiet, the finality, the understanding of what that flag represents—that hits deeper than words ever could. It’s not political. It’s not symbolic in some abstract way. It’s real. That flag isn’t just fabric. It represents someone who gave everything under it.
To understand why this matters, we
President Woodrow Wilson issued the first national proclamation for Flag Day in 1916. But it wasn’t until 1949, after two world wars and as America emerged as a global leader of democratic ideals, that President Harry Truman signed the law establishing Flag Day as a national observance.
Flag Day has never been just about the cloth—it’s about the convictions behind it: unity, sacrifice, and the promise that freedom is worth defending.
Part of the same legislation that recognizes Flag Day also designates the week surrounding it as National Flag Week. Each year, the President is requested to issue a proclamation urging Americans to display the flag, reflect on its meaning, and participate in ceremonies and events honoring it. Flag Week
is more than a ceremonial nod; it’s a deliberate pause in the national calendar. A reminder that patriotism is not a relic—it’s a responsibility.
The U.S. Flag Code lays out clear guidelines for how the flag should be treated. While mostly advisory, these customs reflect generations of respect: the flag should never touch the ground, it should be illuminated if flown at night, and when it becomes worn, it should be retired with dignity.
These aren’t arbitrary rules. They reinforce something deeper— that the flag deserves intentional care, not casual treatment. Yet today, many Americans are either unaware of these traditions or simply indifferent to them. Flags are left tattered on porches, worn as costumes, or used in ways that strip them of meaning. This isn’t merely ignorance—it’s indifference. And indifference is more dangerous than hostility.
Over time, that indifference has grown. The reasons vary—political division, cultural fragmentation, a generation further removed from military service—but the result is the same: a weakening connection to what the flag represents.
Some have come to see it as a political symbol rather than a national one. Others see it as something distant, outdated, or disconnected from their daily lives. But the flag does not represent a party, a president, or a policy. It represents a promise. A promise that freedom requires responsibility. That it requires sacrifice. That it requires a shared understanding of who we are and what we stand for.
A country cannot remain united if its people no longer respect what represents it. Reclaiming that respect doesn’t require mandates or forced displays of patriotism. It requires something much simpler—and much harder. It requires individuals to care.
Parents teaching their children the history behind the flag. Communities choosing to honor Flag Day and Flag Week. Citizens taking the time to understand the traditions that were once second nature. Because in the end, respect for the flag is not about politics—it’s about principle.
As this country approaches its 250th year, the question isn’t just whether we celebrate—it’s whether we still understand what we’re celebrating.
The Stars and Stripes have flown over battlefields, oceans, and city skylines. They have draped the coffins of the fallen, welcomed those seeking a better life, and stood as a symbol of a nation striving—imperfectly, but earnestly—toward liberty and justice for all.
They are not perfect. But what they represent is still worth defending.
- David McCoy - david@thunderroadsiowa.com - FaceBook.com/TRMIDave - FaceBook.com/TRMINSUR
Whistle Stop Café
1102 Story Street
Boone, IA 50036
515-432-9422
Monday-Wednesday
6:00 AM - 1:30 PM
Thursday-Saturday
6:00 AM - 1:30 PM
4:00 PM - 9:00 PM
Sunday CLOSED
When we were so excited for the day and could not sleep on a Saturday morning in Boone, and it was way
There are a few four space booths, a couple two space booths, and then seating around three sides of the center island. Since we had five people, we lined up on open spots on the one corner and could still converse with everyone else just fine.
Our waitress Ricky took good care of us and humored us as we moved from a booth to the counter to all fit in better. She was friendly and very helpful with questions about the place and the menu and had quite the sense of humor. We did not hold back from giving her a ration of shit, and she seemed to be able to dish it right back out. Our drink order was taken, and in short order she was back to take our food order.
We got a spattering of things from the menu such as the #4, eggs, meat, hashbrowns and toast, all of generous portion sizes. Chicken fried steak and eggs, also with hash browned potatoes and toast, filling the plate. Matt asked for dippy eggs, which Ricky knew exactly what he meant, and got him some sunny side eggs along with his vittles. Jane wanted a couple slices of French toast, with a side of bacon, for her side of bacon. Gotta love the bacon!
The meals all ended up with more than what we needed to eat to start off the day, despite some of us just giving the go ahead and making sure we were good until the next meal! The eggs were all done the way they were ordered for everyone, and could not have been better. The bacon was crispy and hit the spot. My chicken fried steak with sausage gravy hit the spot and kept me full for quite some time. Maybe next time I will get a side of bacon like Jane, just to round out the breakfast meat selection.
for the doors to be open at the Sleeping Angels Fun Run, a breakfast joint was in order. We found a great place for some vittles just north of the tracks so Matt, Jessica, Jane, Mike, and I decided to grab some grub. This place has been around for well over four decades and is a pretty cool little place. If you are coming in a large group, it is not gonna happen, as the largest table space is for four people.
The food was delicious, the service was stupendous, and the little place is clean and inviting. The only hang up may be if you are coming in from the south, when Joey or some of his rail road guys end up blocking the tracks for a bit, and it may be a few minutes to get into the Whistle Stop Café while waiting for the crossing arms to go back up. I have been here before a couple of different times, but this time I remembered to actually take some photos for the article! Worth the trip and the sometimes-short wait to get there. Remember, don’t go with a big group, unless you all want to sit separately!
If you get by the tracks in Boone, stop by and grab some vittles. Tell them Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa sent ya!
Sitting in for Mama Thunder this Month,
Vernon
If you have a WRTE location for us to visit, please let me know at Melanie@thunderroadsiowa.com.
A man wanted Valentine’s Day to be special, so he bought a bottle of absinthe and stopped by the florists to order a bouquet of his wife’s favorite flower: white anemones. Unfortunately, the florist was sold out of flowers and had only a few stems of feathery ferns. The man asked the florist to make a bouquet out of the ferns and the flask of liquor. He added a card and proceeded home. After a romantic candlelight dinner, he presented his wife with the gift. She opened the card to read, “Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.” With a tear in her eye, she whispered to him lovingly, “Yes, and with fronds like these, who needs anemones.”
A manager at Walmart had the task of hiring someone to fill a job opening. After sorting through a stack of resumes, he found four people who were equally qualified. He decided to call the four in and ask them only one question. Their answer would determine which of them would get the job. The day came and as the four sat around the conference room table, the interviewer asked, “What is the fastest thing you know of?” The first man replied, “A thought. It just pops into your head. There’s no warning.” “That’s very good!” replied the interviewer. “And now you sir?” he asked the second man. “Hmm, let me see, a blink! It comes and goes and you don’t know that it ever happened. A blink is the fastest thing I know of.” “Excellent!” said the interviewer. “The blink of an eye, that’s a very popular cliché for speed.” He then turned to the third man, who was contemplating his reply. “Well, out at my dad’s ranch, you step out of the house, and on the wall there’s a light switch. When you flip that switch, way out across the pasture, the light on the barn comes on in less than an instant. Yep, turning on a light is the fastest thing I can think of.” The interviewer was very impressed with the third answer and thought he had found his man. “It’s hard to beat the speed of light,” he said. Turning to Bubba, the fourth and final man, the interviewer posed the same question. Old Bubba replied, “After hearing the previous three answers, it’s obvious to me that the fastest thing known is Diarrhea.” “What!?” said the interviewer, stunned by the response. “Oh sure,” said Bubba. “You see, the other day I wasn’t feeling so good, and I ran for the bathroom, but before I could think, blink, or turn on the light, I had already soiled my pants.” Bubba is now the new greeter at a Walmart near you!
as long as you want.” Greatly encouraged, the man turned and started to walk away, then stopped and asked, “How do I stop the medicine from working?” The herbalist replied, “Your partner must say ‘1-2-3-4,’ but when she does, the medicine will not work again until the next full moon.” Eager to see if it worked the man went home, showered, shaved, took a spoonful of the medicine, and then invited his wife to join him in the bedroom. When she came in, he took off his clothes and said, “1-2-3!” Immediately, he was the manliest of men. His wife was excited and began throwing off her clothes, and then she asked, “What was the 1-2-3 for?” And that, boys and girls, is why we should never end our sentences with a preposition because we could end up with a dangling participle.
It’s the middle of winter and a Primary School teacher was helping one of her pupils put on his boots at the end of the day. He asked for help and she could see why. Even with her pulling, and him pushing, the little boots still didn’t want to go on. By the time they got the second boot on, she had worked up a sweat. He then announced, “These aren’t my boots”. She bit her tongue, and resisted the temptation to say, “Why didn’t you say so?” like she wanted to. Once again, she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off his little feet. No sooner had they got the boots off when he said, “They’re my brother’s boots. But my mum made me wear ‘em today”. Now she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. But she mustered up what grace and courage she had left to wrestle the boots BACK onto his feet again. Helping him into his coat, she asked, “Now, where are your mittens?” He said, “I stuffed ‘em in the toes of my boots”.
On his 74th birthday, a man got a gift certificate from his wife. The certificate paid for a visit to an herbalist living nearby, who was rumored to have a wonderful cure for erectile dysfunction. After some discussion with his wife, the man made a visit to the herbalist and handed his voucher over wondering what he was in for.
The elderly herbalist handed a potion to the man, and with a grip on his shoulder warned, ‘This is a powerful medicine. You take only a teaspoonful, and then say ‘1-23.’ When you do, you will become more manly than you have ever been in your life, and you can perform
A gray-headed old man shuffled into a downtown bar holding his head up high. His hands shook as he took the “Piano Player Wanted” sign from the window and handed it to the bartender. “I’d like to apply for the job,” he said. “I was a Navy F-4 pilot off the USS Coral Sea. I learned to play the piano at Officers’ Club happy hours while in port, so here I am.” The barkeep wasn’t too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was falling off. So, why not give him a try. The old pilot shuffled his way over to the piano while several patrons snickered. By the time he was into his third bar of music, every voice was silenced. What followed was a rhapsody of soaring music unlike anything heard in the bar before. When he finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. The bartender took the old Navy pilot a beer and asked him the name of the song he had just played. It’s called “Drop your Skivvies, Baby, I’m Going Balls To The Wall For You” he said. After a long pull from the beer, leaving it empty, he said “I wrote it myself.” The bartender and the crowd winced at the title, but the piano player just went on into a kneeslapping, hand-clapping bit of ragtime that had the place jumping. After he finished, the F-4 pilot acknowledged the applause, downed a second offered mug, and told the crowd the song was called, “Big Boobs Make My Afterburner Light.” He then launched into another mesmerizing song and everyone in the room was enthralled. He announced that it was the latest rendition of his song, “Spread ‘em Baby; It’s Foggy Out Tonight and I Need To See The Centerline”, excused himself and headed for the john. When he came out the bartender went over to him and said, “Hey, Fly boy, the job is yours; but do you know your fly is open and your pecker is hanging out?” “No but hum a couple of bars and I’m sure I’ll pick it up!”
An American soldier, serving in World War II, had just returned from several weeks of intense action on the German front lines. He had finally been granted R&R and was on a train bound for London. The train was very crowded, so the soldier walked the length of the train, looking for an empty seat. The only unoccupied seat was directly adjacent to a well-dressed middle-aged lady and was being used by her little dog. The war weary soldier asked, “Please, ma’am, may I sit in that seat?” The English woman looked down her nose at the soldier, sniffed and said, “You Americans. You are such a rude class of people. Can’t you see my little Fifi is using that seat?” The soldier walked away, determined to find a place to rest, but after another trip down to the end of the train, found himself again facing the woman with the dog. Again, he asked, “Please, lady. May I sit there? I’m very tired.” The English woman wrinkled her nose and snorted, “You Americans! Not only are you rude, you are also arrogant. Imagine!” The soldier didn’t say anything else; he leaned over, picked up the little dog, tossed it out the window of the train and sat down in the empty seat. The woman shrieked and railed and demanded that someone defend her and chastise the soldier. An English gentleman sitting across the aisle spoke up, “You know, sir, you Americans do seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong thing. You eat holding the fork in the wrong hand. You drive your cars on the wrong side of the road. And now, sir, you’ve thrown the wrong bitch out the window.”
He picked up his sundae and, without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, “Here, this is for you. Shove it up your ass you grouchy old bitch! “ Touches the heart, doesn’t it?
“Two hillbillies walk into a restaurant. While having a bite to eat, a woman eating a sandwich at a nearby table begins to cough. After a minute or so, it becomes apparent that she is in real distress. One of the hillbillies looks at her and says, “Kin ya swallar?” The woman shakes her head no. Then he asks, “Kin ya breathe?” The woman begins to turn blue, and shakes her head no. The hillbilly walks over to the woman, lifts up her dress, yanks down her drawers, and quickly gives her right butt cheek a lick with his tongue. The woman is so shocked that she has a violent spasm, and the obstruction flies out of her mouth. As she begins to breathe again, the hillbilly walks slowly back to his table. His partner says, “Ya know, I’d heerd of that there ‘Hind Lick Maneuver’ but I never seed nobody done it.
A father walks into a restaurant with his young son. He gives the young boy three nickels to play with to keep him occupied. Suddenly, the boy starts choking, going blue in the face. The father realizes the boy has swallowed the nickels and starts slapping him on the back. The boy coughs up two of the nickels but keeps choking. Looking at his son, the father is panicking, shouting for help. A well-dressed, attractive, and serious looking woman, in a blue business suit is sitting at a coffee bar reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. At the sound of the commotion, she looks up, puts her coffee cup down, neatly folds the newspaper and places it on the counter, gets up from her seat and makes her way, unhurried, across the restaurant. Reaching the boy, the woman carefully drops his pants; takes hold of the boy’s’ testicles and starts to squeeze and twist, gently at first and then ever so firmly. After a few seconds the boy convulses violently and coughs up the last nickel, which the woman deftly catches in her free hand. Releasing the boy’s testicles, the woman hands the nickel to the father and walks back to her seat at the coffee bar without saying a word. As soon as he is sure that his son has suffered no ill effects, the father rushes over to the woman and starts thanking her saying, “I’ve never seen anybody do anything like that before, it was fantastic. Are you a doctor?” “No,” the woman replied. “I’m with the IRS.”
“I went to visit my Nana.” “No, you went to visit your GRANDMOTHER. Use ‘Big People’ words!” She then asked Mitchell what he had done. “I took a ride on a choo-choo.” “No, you took a ride on a TRAIN. You must remember to use ‘Big People’ words,” she said. She then asked little Alex what he had done. “I read a book,” he replied. “That’s WONDERFUL!” the teacher said. “What book did you read?” Alex thought very hard about it, then puffed out his chest with great pride and said, “Winnie the Shit.”
Last week, I took my grandchildren to a restaurant. My sixyear-old grandson asked if he could say grace. As we bowed our heads he said, “God is good, God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Grandpa gets us ice cream for dessert. And liberty and justice for all! Amen!” Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a woman remark, “That’s what’s wrong with this country. Kids today don’t even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream! Why, I never!” Hearing this, my grand-son burst into tears and asked me, “Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?” As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job, and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my grandson and said, “I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer.” “Really?” my grandson asked. “Cross my heart,” the man replied. Then, in a theatrical whisper, he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), “Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes.” Naturally, I bought my grand-children ice cream at the end of the meal. My grandson stared at his for a moment, and then did something I will remember the rest of my life.
Alfred and Jethro ran a small farm and kept a number of animals. They’d been working very hard for many months and one day Alfred decided that they deserved a night off, so seeing that there was a well-known Evangelist appearing in the West End of London, they decided that was just the job for them. So, they set off in good time and arrived at the theatre and took their seats. The Evangelist went through his whole performance, getting people up and persuading them to reveal their innermost thoughts and secrets, until he arrived at the climax of the show. “I want to talk about the afterlife now,” he said. “Is there anybody here who has seen a ghost?” Several hands went up. “Is there anybody here who has talked to a ghost?” Again, hands went up, but fewer this time. “Is there anybody here who has been touched by a ghost?” Only a few hands went up this time. “Finally, if there is anybody here who has had sex with a ghost, I want them to come up here on the stage.” At first, nobody moved, then suddenly Jethro stood up and started walking towards the stage. Astonished, Alfred shouted out, “Jethro! When did you have sex with a ghost?” “Oh, ghost,” replied Jethro. “I thought he said goat.”
Have a great summer! NO JOKE!
Ron and Mark’s Excellent Adventure
Part Three
...I’ve had rougher days on the road since then, but don’t know that I ever had a rougher day before that one!...
We rolled out of Huelett, Wyoming on the morning of Tuesday, July 27, 1999 and headed for Devil’s Tower. By 1999, I had made no fewer than 25 trips across South Dakota on motorcycles and had never seen Devil’s Tower before that day! We hung around the tourist trap at Devil’s Tower for an hour or so and rode down to Sundance, Wyoming and then to Cheyenne Crossing on the South Dakota side of the Black Hills. We fueled up the bikes at Cheyenne Crossing and took a little side trip up into Icebox Canyon a couple of miles to look at a truly unique home that was being built there. I had designed the home a year or two prior and had not seen it “in the flesh” as they say… The landscaping contractor was setting paving stones when we got there. I told them I was the Architect on the project and I don’t think they believed me, but they opened up the home and gave us a guided tour, anyway! After we toured the “Hansel and Gretel House” we rode Spearfish Canyon Road down to the golf course on the edge of Spearfish. When we arrived in Spearfish, Ron suggested we go to the Honda dealership there and buy a spare 18” inner tube. I told him that was damned good thinking on his part and we were off the Honda shop! I testrode a Honda Valkyrie while we were there and Ron thought I looked cute on a Honda so he took some pictures of me. We left the Honda shop and went straight to K-Mart to buy another bicycle tube repair kit and a hand air pump to mount on the bike. (Now 27 years later, the pump is clamped to the frame leg on Dirty Gurl and the bicycle tube patch kit is in the saddlebag and neither has been used. AND, the spare 18” inner tube is in the saddlebag, still in its unopened original package!) We covered a scant 130 miles that day, but it was about all I was good for considering the Day from Hell we had on Monday!
On the morning of Wednesday, July 28, 1999, we headed back towards the Spearfish Golf Course and up Spearfish Canyon Road again. Of all the roads I have ever ridden, Spearfish Canyon Road is one of my favorites. If you’ve ever
ridden it, you know what I mean. If you haven’t ever ridden it, I can’t explain it. We gassed up the bikes at Cheyenne Crossing again and rode south through the Black Hills to Hill City where we hooked up with some of my contacts there. After saying good-bye to the friends in Hill City, we rode up to Mount Rushmore and to Keystone. Everywhere we traveled, people asked us if we were either on our way to The Rally, or if we were here for The Rally. We just played dumb with most of them. “Rally? What Rally? Is there a Rally?” Some of them ‘got’ our twisted sense of humor, most didn’t. We left Keystone and did some of the other ‘touristy’ things one does while visiting the Black Hills. When the day came to an end, we found ourselves at a “Mom and Pop” motel in Hot Springs. (All of nine years ((Now 27 years, and I still don’t remember!)) have gone by since we made this ride, and I cannot recall today if we visited the Mammoth Site in the evening of July 28th or if we visited the site in the morning of July 29th.) We had ridden a very cool 185 miles that day; not a huge number of miles, but a huge level of cool!
Thursday morning, July 29, 1999, we rode out of Hot Springs towards the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I told Ron long before we left Sioux Falls several days earlier that he had best hope his motorcycle didn’t break down on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I explained to him that if his bike ‘rolled a seven’ on The Rez that he would simply have to leave it there and finish the ride behind me on the saddle of my ’40. I told him there was no way in God’s World that I would be caught dead wrenching on an Indian Motorcycle on the side of the road on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. (Of course, I was just kidding Ron, but to this day, I’m not entirely convinced that he ever ‘got’ the joke.) Pine Ridge can be and often is a very dangerous place. One must always remember that he is riding into a Sovereign Nation with its own Laws when one rides onto the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. Fortunately for me, I have made several strong and longlasting relationships with a good number of the Indigenous People of Pine Ridge. But I still go there with equal portions of utmost respect and extreme awareness and caution.
(NOTE: It is at this point in the story that all my notes from 1999 have gone missing. I’ll do the best I can to recall and accurately tell the tale all the way to its end.)
As Fate would have it, I had business with the Oglala Lakota Tribe at the Loneman School, just a few miles north of Oglala, South Dakota. (There had been a devastating tornado roll through there just a few weeks prior. Darned near wiped the village of Oglala off the map! I had offered my pickup and 15-foot trailer to deliver some disaster relief to the Rez. Blankets, clothes, toys, etc., all gathered by American Indian Services in Sioux Falls. Just after we got everything unloaded and I was heading out of Pine Ridge, the transmission on the Ol’ GMC came unglued. Fortunately, there was another vehicle from Sioux Falls on the same disaster relief run. As I recall, we left the trailer on the side of the road and Joel towed me into the Mission in Pine Ridge, where Brother Simon graciously allowed me to leave my pickup until it was repaired and I could ride back there to retrieve it. We hitched my trailer to his van, and I rode back to Sioux Falls with him.) My ‘business’ with the Tribe
was to get an update on how they were planning to repair my vehicle so I could drive it back home someday.
Before we left Sioux Falls, nearly a week prior, I had informed Ronnie that he could ride as near to me or as far from me as he choose, just as long as I can always see him in my mirror. By the way, Ron was very good at that. Sometimes he was right in my pocket. Other times, he would hang back a half-mile or more, but he always stayed where I could see him.
We were about ten miles west of Loneman School when we passed a rather large Native American Man. He was all of six-foot-two-inches tall and likely tipped the scales at a strong 225 pounds. I waved at him as we rode past. Ronnie just kept his eyes on the road and on my tail. As soon as we passed that fellow, Ron dropped back to that ‘half-mile’ distance. And then ‘it’ happened. Ron closed that halfmile gap in less than a minute and came flying by me as if I were riding backward. After he put me behind him by a half mile, he turned off his motor and coasted to the side of the road. He had the presence of mind to pull into a field approach so we wouldn’t be broken down on the shoulder of a US Highway. (Good thinking on your part, Ronnie!) When I pulled up next to him, all he wanted to do was throw his leg over my seat and ride east with me. I told him to chill and that we weren’t going anywhere. I grabbed a small bag of tools off my bike and got down on my knees next to his machine. (He had told me that his throttle had fully opened and that he couldn’t shut it down at all.) I did a quick assessment of the situation and told him that we could fix it right there, on the side of the road. About this time, the Large Man’s head was coming into view over the near horizon, perhaps three-quarters of a mile away. Ron is freaking a bit. He asked if I could possibly work just a little faster so we could get the hell out of there.
By the time I was rolling up the tools and cleaning my hands, the Big Guy was less than a hundred yards out. As I was
finishing up my hand hygiene, Ron was in the saddle of his bike, motor running and wanting me to “HURRY UP, NOW!” Of course, I completely ignored his request and opened the little bag that was tied to the cross-bar on my handlebars. He said, “What the HELL are you doing now???!!!” To which I replied, “I’m going to have a cigarette with this man and ask him if he would like a ride to Loneman School with us.” Then I walked back towards the fellow, handed him a smoke, lit his and my cigs and headed back to the ‘other’ Old Indians. I climbed onto the Forty and instructed my new passenger on how to board and where to park his feet. Ronnie said nothing, one hand on the throttle, one hand on the shifter, and his left foot on the clutch pedal. He was MORE than ready to get the hell off the side of that highway. I did the same and, in a minute, we were all heading for Loneman School. My bike, especially the seat overload hardware, was fully aware of the additional cargo.
When we arrived at Loneman School, it looked like a Disaster Relief Area because, in fact, that is exactly what it was! The Big Fella got off the bike and I did as well. I handed him a few cigarettes and bade him farewell. He disappeared into the fast-gathering little crowd in the school parking lot. I told Ron to keep an eye on the bikes and speak to NO ONE. As I was walking away, two very Caucasian and very salty-looking ranch hands rolled up in a beat-up F-250 4x4. The driver got out, walked around the bikes, looked at the license plates, and told us we had to be the two Craziest White Guys on Planet Earth. He got back in the vehicle and drove away. Apparently, they had ‘business’ at Loneman School, too...
(Look for the conclusion of this very true story in the next issue of TRMI.)
Thanks to Bill Wilson and the H.P.
Thanks to all you Faithful Readers, too!
Love and Respect to All.
Alice (LS) Landshark, etc.
Unplug the F’n Noise!
By Crash Davis
I don’t feel that I am that much different than anyone else in life, we are all different but the same in several aspects, and while I understand that is a very broad way to start this, follow me for a second and it will become clear as mud, mud like the concepts and thoughts that have been rattling around in my melon more now than ever it seems.
Many years back, after being fully invested in the world of news and politics, I didn’t like the way it was making me think. The constant barrage of shit on either side was wearing me out. It was all day and night, every day. When I would get home after talking about crap, I would return home and cable news was on all the time. I was constantly taking in information, opinions, forming them, having discussions in my head on the best way to address it, what I could do with it, how to best be informed and fight for what I thought or felt was important and was right. It didn’t really matter what the topic was, my job was to have an opinion, to express that opinion, and my bosses at the time didn’t believe in an open discourse, you were on one side (that was the only side that was right) and if someone was against you, they were the problem and every issue was a problem that “my side” knew more about and was the only way. If it came from the other side, it was wrong.
trigger them just to watch shit burn. It’s really easy. In fact, sometimes on the Spacebook I will post a misspelled word or use a phrase incorrectly. It stands out, it gets people fired up, and it creates active engagement. That is all social media really is at its core…something to create engagement where normally there wouldn’t be.
I was so deep into this world that not only was I recruited to run for office a couple of times, one offer I actually put some serious thought into and started thinking “what if?”
WTF? “What if?” Not a chance in hell would this have been a smart move for me so, I turned it down.
I hated all of it. Issues that we thought were the more important issues at the moment had to be treated as such, and here is the best part…I really don’t remember what any of the issues that were “so important” and needed to be addressed even are anymore. I used to laugh to myself from time to time, this is bullshit, not more than a few people care, big deal.
I am not correct about much but I was right about that. It was all dumbass fodder designed to illicit emotions, nothing more. It was nonsense and it just never stopped. I was good at it, I knew how to trigger people, it was a challenge that I got a weird charge out of, I still do It for fun once in a while because sadly people get wrapped up in a narrow mind of thinking, I
Then, I turned it off. All of it.
I walked away, cancelled our Direct TV package, zero 24/7 news anymore. No more talk radio (except for sports or podcasts) No more politics. None of it.
Cold Turkey.
I stopped all news, local, national, TV shows for the most part, I have watched a handful of movies in the last 14 years, they are all pretty much shit anyway and I am not a big comic book superhero fella, so it isn’t that hard.
This doesn’t mean I am not informed, I think I am, or I sort of know the big things that are going on, but I don’t deep dive on them, don’t listen to what others “think” is the answer nor do I dwell on it. It is not easy to get sucked in. It does take a lot of focus to not, well…be focused if that makes any sense.
My hardest issue is reading posts from dipshits who don’t know what they are talking about on social media. Scroll by, scroll by, scroll by, do NOT engage, ignore them and move on. I mean, that is what I tell myself all the time, but even having that as a focus, it’s easy to get sucked into a discussion because, I mean come on, they cannot be that stupid, right? But never the less, many are.
My businesses, my world, sadly does rely on social media. It
is super important to reach people, control the narrative, and let’s face it, if you do ignore the dumbfuckery, social media can be a wonderful thing. I have found old connections, stayed in contact with people all over the world, and learned many new cool things.
It can also still suck you down a rabbit hole and get under your skin. It got to me recently. Thankfully, I saw it, felt it starting to get it’s claws into me and cloud my judgment and vision and I knew what to do.
Get on my damn bike and ride.
A decent Friday night was in the forecast, my bike had a few miles on it for the 2026 season, a little behind schedule for my riding goals but the weather was doing dumb things that didn’t help me really get after it. I gathered some trusted riding friends, had a general idea where I wanted to head, and I put all the work shit, social media crap, and all the other general wackiness in a mental box, left it behind, fired up a new playlist, grabbed my backpack (that is code for my ride or die, she LOVES it when I call her my backpack), pointed down some familiar, yet favorite local roads, and let it fly.
I have been reading about great new joints on the pages of this award winning magazine that not only intrigued me and my friends, but just happened to be along some of the roads we love to ride so it wasn’t something that we really put a great deal of discussion into, and I think that is a good key to a better ride, not having to overthink where you are going or why you are taking this path, not that we are shy of new paths, hell, like most bikers, we have gone far out of our way to cruise a cool road, stop into a neat store we heard about, or find a cool “joint” that have been rumored to have a good basket of wings, burger, or tenderloin. It doesn’t take much for us to go. I love the fact that I have buddies to ride with that don’t need to be talked into a certain direction, just a time to pull out. I think part of the reason is, yeah, they are always down to rock, but I don’t need to worry about them while I am riding. They are in tune with me, they know how to ride, and it helps clear the brain even more.
I got sucked into the bullshit again, I promised myself I wouldn’t, and I’m happy I caught it in time.
Don’t be afraid to walk away from the news. Getting sucked in is not healthy, walk away and don’t look back. And if you hear about a cool road, burger, or wings let me know. I will head that way.
SUMMER MOTORCYCLE PRE-RIDE CHECKLIST
Before You Twist the Wick This Summer
TIRES
Check tire pressure cold
Inspect tread depth
Look for dry rot or cracking
Check for nails or other punctures, or uneven wear
FLUIDS
Engine oil level
Brake fluid condition
Coolant level (if liquid cooled)
Fuel lines for leaks or cracking
Oil Lines for leaks or cracking
BRAKES
Test front and rear brake feel
Brake Lines for leaks or cracking
Inspect pads for wear
Check rotors for grooves or warping
Confirm brake lights activate
BATTERY & ELECTRICAL
Tight battery terminals
Test headlight high/low beam
Check turn signals
Inspect wiring for rubbing or corrosion
DRIVE SYSTEM
Belt or chain tension and wear
Chain cleaned and lubricated
Shaft drive inspection
SAFETY GEAR
Helmet condition
Gloves and riding jacket
Rain gear packed
Eye protection cleaned
ROAD READY
Registration & insurance current
Tool kit onboard
Phone charger/power bank
Hydration for long rides
Emergency contact info updated
BONUS SUMMER TIPS
Iowa heat can drain you fast — hydrate before the ride. Watch for loose gravel on county roads and intersections
Ride safe everyone, and make sure you do your part to get home safely to your family after every ride. They sure as hell want you to make it home! Be safe!
Vernon
Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa
Iowa Bike Nights and Dinner Rides Dinner Rides
TUESDAY
Teufelhund Veterans Group Anamosa (5-19, 6-23, 7-28, 8-25)
Wednesday
Back Forty Bike Night at the Barn Des Moines (2nd Wed May, Jun, Jul, Sep)
Benolas Baxter
The Honkytonk Clarksville Dinner Rides Zylstra HD Ames
Thursday
Bikes on the Hundred Block Council Bluffs (3rd Thurs)
Roar Into Harlan (3rd Thurs)
Metro HD Cedar Rapids (2nd Thurs May-Aug, 3rd Thurs Sep)
East of Omaha Bike Night Griswold (1st Thurs May-Sep)
Capt. Roys Vintage Bike Night Des Moines (1st Thurs)
Iowa City HD Coralville (3rd Thurs May-Aug, Sep 24)
Fireside Lounge Atlantic (4th Thurs)
Hide’s Inn Camanche (Last Thurs Jun-Aug)
Friday
Bondurant Bike Night (Last Fri May-Jul)
Centerville Bike Night (4th Fri)
American Legion Post 232 Polk City (2nd Fri May-Sep)
Silver Eagle HD Waterloo (Select Fridays)
Saturday
Colfax Saturday Night Cruise (5-2, 6-6, 7-11, 8-1, 9-12)
Sunday
Just 1 More Jamaica (Starting in May)
May 23 Pour Decisions 2nd Annual Memorial Ride Manning
May 23 9th Annual Bill “Jackpot” Top Memorial Poker Run Sibley
May 23 The Freedom Hunt Combat Vets Motorcycle Association 39-2 Springville
May 30 Gears and Beers Mean Machine Cycles Elkhart
May 30 Blessing of the Bikes Marshalltown
May 30 Combat 22 Apparel Poker Run LeMars
May 31 Hill Climb Anamosa
Jun 5-6 Spring Open House Big Barn HD Des Moines
Jun 6 Abate D18 Memorial Ride Keokuk
Jun 6 AMVETS Riders Cancer Ride Post 82 Hudson
Jun 6 ABATE D6 Honor Our Heros Ride Veteran’s Home Marshalltown
Jun 6 14th Annual Chasin’ Tails Motorcycle Fun Run Nevada
Jun 6 Poker Run American Legion Post 232 Polk City
Jun 7 Shootout Saloon Biker Sunday Funday Dexter
Jun 7 11th Annual Austin Strong Ride & Drive Springville
Jun 7 Bikes & Brunch Season Opener Ankeny
Jun 11-14 Lansing Liberty Motorcycle Rally
Jun 12 Wind Therapy Ride for the Kids Sioux City
Jun 13 Roar Into Harlan Fun Run Harlan
Jun 13 Sons of God MC Old School Chopper & Motorcycle Show Iowa Falls
Jun 13 Tenth Souls M.C. Clean and Sober Poker Run Nashua
Jun 13 25th Annual Lost Cause Fun Run Hubbard
Jun 13 Ride for the Kids 11 Sioux City
Jun 13 SeuMo’s 13th Ride Grinnell
Jun 19 Dirty Danglers Golf Tourney for 620 Foundation Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Jun 20 American Legion Post 111 Annual Scholarship Ride Newton
Jun 20 Powerhouse Bike Meet Bondurant
Jun 20 Banding4Benefits 4th Annual Poker Run Dewitt
Jun 20-21 Rumble In the Sand Conesville
Jul 25 Solidarity Ride Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Jul 25 Minburn Legion Riders 17th Annual Toy Run Minburn
