"sausage_creature" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Hunter S)

Posted to a Motorcycle Mailing list. The story "A Lost Day at
Owl Farm" was also in the issue.

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Flying around on the backroads around White's Ferry and on old
familiar backroads headed home on Sunday, I was reminded of
pieces of paper someplace in the compost heap I refer to as my
filing system. These particular pieces of paper are known more
formally as the March 1995 issue of "Cycle World" magazine.
Held within some of those pages is a particular bit of prose written
by the premier "gonzo journalist" and inspiration for "Doonesbury"'s
Uncle Duke character, Hunter S. Thompson. He was supposed
to write impressions on a Ducati but instead primarily diverged into
musings on the realm of the Caf├й Racer. Hunter is a Cafe Racer.
I fear that I may be one as well. And yes, someday one of my three
"terrifying Kawasaki Triple(s)" *will* be built into a full-blown caf├й
bike. Ho, ho. Lord help me when that day comes!

For your entertainment, reproduced without permission, "Song of the
Sausage Creature" by Hunter S. Thompson:



There are some things nobody needs in this world, and a bright red,
hunchback, warp-speed 900cc caf├й racer is one of them -- but I want
one anyway, and on some days I actually believe I need one. That is
why they are dangerous.

Everybody has fast motorcycles these days. Some people go 150
miles an hour on two-lane blacktop roads, but not often. There are too
many oncoming trucks and too many radar cops and too many stupid
animals in the way. You have to be a little crazy to ride these
super-torque high-speed crotch rockets anywhere except a racetrack --
and even there, they will scare the whimpering shit out of you.... There
is, after all, not a pig's eye worth of difference between going head-on
into a Peterbilt or sideways into the bleachers. On some days you get
what you want, and on other, you get what you need.

When Cycle World called me to ask if I would road-test the new
Harley Road King, I got uppity and said I'd rather have a Ducati superbike.
It seemed like a chic decision at the time, and my friends on the superbike
circuit got very excited. "Hot damn," they said, "We will take it to the
track and blow the bastards away."

"Balls," I said. "Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We
are Road People. We are Caf├й Racers."

The Caf├й Racer is a different breed, and we have our own situations.
Pure speed in sixth gear on a 5,000-foot straightaway is one thing, but