Harley Ride in 1969 Deer Woman

In 1969 it was the sweet summer of love all over the world.  The Rolling Stones had released "Honky Tonk Woman"  and were throwing a mammoth party attended  by 200,000 in Hyde Park, London. Mick Jagger released thousands of white doves to fly free, into the air, each carrying a Jasmine peddle to evoke Buddha spirit.

About the same time in 1969, Victor Burgundy was getting ready for graduation from Wentworth Military Academy High School in Lexington, Missouri. Wentworth was a second rate private school that Victor attended because he couldn't get into St. Johns. He excelled in History, English Literature and played football quitting after breaking his nose in three places his sophomore year. VB refused to wear a face guard because he felt it would hide his pretty face. After the hit his face and mind would be bent the rest of his life.

Young Victor had a gift for gab and a telepathic imagination. He had a plan and wanted his family to forgo his graduation. He asked his ma, Pauly Mai to lend him some money. He planned to buy a Harley "shovel head" police unit so he could get of town fast. 

When the long anticipated graduation day came in June, VB had all the stash in place. He had bought a  67 Road King  with a "shovel head" engine with a  eight ball suicide clutch and a kick start at a Missouri Highway Patrol auction. The bike had police options. It was in meticulous condition because of regular maintenance. Victor had a  rain suit, leather coat, some overalls and kilo of Thai stick. He tied his rolled army issued pup tent with sleeping bag side ways behind the large leather saddle. He stored his Harley in a stall at the school stables, a old run down barn with some sway backs, rustled from the glue factory. For Victor getting out of military school in Bumsfuck Missouri was like receiving  a get out of jail card dropped from heaven by Jefferson Davis, freeing VB from Andersonville.   

VB would often go to the stable ( heavy with trees, free and open land) smoke dope with pals, camp and swim the horses in the near by Missouri river. Often they would go fishing for Cat Fish and Suckers, cooking them on sticks over camp fires. These were happy Sundays out of uniform. One time a friend, Tom Minter, drowned himself and his horse trying to make it across the strong current of the Missouri. Making it across was a talent you had to develop. They finally retrieved old Tom's body still hung up in the reins with his horse " The Clock" near the Gulf of Mexico, in the Mississippi. Too bad, knowing Tom he would have rather gone all the way out to sea with his horse, Viking style. Tom Minter and "The Clock" RIP.

Graduation was over at 2pm on Sunday. Victor didn't even bother to say good by, he threw his diploma and uniform in a dumpster, running in his boxer shorts as rain poured down. When he got to the stables his white pony was ready to rumble, hidden under a green tarp on a bed of straw. VB pushed the heavy bike up a dirt path, unto the road, choked it, throttled it, gave the kickstart peddle a mighty push, turning the engine over the second time. 

Victor was off and running like a bat out of hell, grinding  every gear on every shift of the suicide clutch. You really needed a extra hand or foot to ride them. He roared over the old black metal, riveted Missouri River bridge, leaving Lexington Hell at legal speed. Once out on I- 70 Victor was getting in clutch groove.

It was dark so VB made a pit stop in Independence, the home of Harry Truman. At the Standard Station he checked his oil (no leakage , amazing for Harley's of the time) tire pressure and tanked up. He slipped into a liquor store and bought vodka and Prince Albert in a can . The rain had stopped so he chose to ride through Kansas City and headed for Lawrence, Kansas

Lawrence was  the home of  " The University of Kansas" and William Burroughs was born here. VB made it downtown at 10pm and headed straight for Skip's bar, a local collage hangout. In 69 not allot of people were riding Harleys. When VB backed his Harley into a empty spot in front of Skip's, 60 college kids emptied out to watch. Skips was a great bar with allot of river wood paneling, old oars and Moose heads, shit like that. The coeds were were hot, perfect 10s all over the place. Once VB got to the bar rail no buddy would let him buy a drink, he drank Coors in baby cans. The big Peavy speakers were blaring the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Canned Heat, Muddy Waters and of course Three Dog Night's, "Momma Told Me Not to Come". VB WAS KING OF THE WORLD, FREE AT LAST!

Sittin alone in the corner of Skips at a heavy wooden table was a beautiful Native American girl, she looked like Joan Baez. On the wall over her head was a fake stuffed, White Buffalo head with piercing blue eyes. She wore white buck skin with hand bead work. Her hair was unwashed, crow color, in native braids. VB offered to by her a drink. She was a heavy drinker, so she was thankful for the free drinks. We started to chat and Victor could feel his huge horse cock doing back flips and thrusting forward like a dragon. He hadn't been laid in 4 years at military school.

Her name in the  White-man's  world was Stella Mae but "skins" called her " Deer Woman". She was hitchhiking  to visit her grandfather the great Native American medicine man "Crow Dog". He had a lodge on Pine Ridge Indian Reserve in South Dakota. As it turned out both Victor and Deer Woman were on the loose and didn't have a place to stay that night. VB SLAM DUNK! Deer Woman was about to get the banging of her life, VB let out a war whoop so loud that everything in the bar seemed to stop. So loud in fact that booth he and Stella Mae got 86ed from Skips. 

The lovers walked into a dark alley way. VB lit some Thai stick mixed with China White . Deer Woman took two hits and fell to her knees. VB toked for awhile and he and Deer Woman were in a "energetic mass" covered in white mystic fallout. As the sky began to open, Deer Women began to fumble with Victor's zipper, giving primo head of a higher consciousness.

Deer Woman jumped on the bitch seat of VBs Road King, the engine was cold but started easily . God what a feeling  ridding  into the night with DW holding on, way out there, two love Coyotes! We were crashing and burning, about 30 miles out of town VB pushed down hard on the right handle bar and derailed the ole razorback deep into a cornfield, slipping the eight ball clutch on the tank into neutral and finally layin his pony down. We could have passed out on the spot, but DW insisted on putting up the pup tent. We hopped in, snuggling and sipping vodka from VBs skull shaped flask. 

The next day was dry the air had straw smell. The sun felt good, it turned out the cornfield the love couple went down in the night before was a sunflower field. The smell of  tractor diesel fuel caused VB and DW to dry puke some. Hunched near us was a old Kansas farmer in overhauls wearing a sun bleached ODseeds cap. He looked at VB and said "did you steal that motorsickal from the po000lice boy"? Grinning and spittin some Red Man. Most farmers back then didn't care any more bout the "po000lice" than VB did. Red was sending black steel radio waves towards Deer Woman. Then bursting forward, Deer Woman put both her arms around Red and put her tongue deep into his mouth. Old Red's  20 ton mule hide neck turned 50 shades of red. He invited VB and DW back to his farm house for some brunch. He introduced us to his old lady, mighty kind.  Red's  wife was called Mag. We enjoyed pancakes, home smoked bacon, home made biscuits, fresh farm eggs and Hobo Nut coffee. It turned out Red and  Mag (she looked pure n sweet,white hair in braids with flower dress and white apron), never had kids. They were just gonna keep farming till they dropped on the land. Deer Woman liked that allot, this way of dying, on the earth, falling.  She told them she would make a Indian burial mound under a 100 year old Cotton Wood Tree on their land, when they were ready, they could go lay together and die.

Once back on I-70 West VB and Deer Woman got into brawl while making  a pit stop at Stucky's station near Junction City. Maybe it was the sugar rush. They were eating boxes of peanut brittle washed down with coffee, DW said she wanted to get to Pine Ridge in no less than three days. It would be her grand pa Crow Dog's birthday. VB had other plans, he wanted to go Southwest to New Mexico and party in Taos.  Maybe spending some time at the Limbo Foundation with Mama Bum Rush and the spirit people . VB and DW where smoking Thai stick and drinking vodka from his skull flask 24/7 now. VB had this insane ideal that he could go to the Limbo Foundation and be greeted like a returning holy man.

Tanked up and ready to roll, police unit stoked and rumbling, VB watched Deer Woman, freshly made up, sashaying stealth rumba tango out the girl's room making a B line for and climbing into the the cab of a Peter Built with South Dakota plates. Not even looking back at VB. She had used her charm and schmoozed a cowboy (who was hauling  mustangs) into giving her a ride to Pine Ridge, not wanting to miss Crow Dogs birthday.

Later VB found out the cowboy was shit canned by a bunch of drunk skins at Pine Ridge and had caught gonorrhea from Deer Women, as told by a numeroligist in Vegas.

VB was dumb fucked, but he new the  bronco buster slash rodeo clown didn't have a kilo of Thai stick. And he learned how strong willed Sioux women were. VB was destined for the higher calling of a holy man at the Limbo Foundation. He decided to get the hell out of Dodge City, Kansas and far away from fucking I 70, the scene of Deer Woman's hiatus. He headedsouth down rural Highway 50 towards Sugar City through small towns made of cinder block, the locals would stare at VB on his Road King like he was a circus freak. He liked to ham it up for simple country folk, give em a thrill. While stopping  for vodka, he would walk around town like Tony the Tramp with a bull whip. He could do rawhide tricks, snap cigarettes out of tree stumps and bar room stools. 

Sometimes pulling  off a empty road, VB would smoke dope and take nips of vodka from his flask.He would take off down road, putting his feet up on the handle bars riding 33 MPH, like he was sittin on a easy chair in a living room. All the time the dry air and corn fields flowed like green rivers going by in total silence. This beat the living shit out of watching American Idol.

Reaching Sugar City (pop 7689) about 9am. VB tanked up Police Unit, and looked for a cheap motel. He had been sleeping outside and not washing much, as well as, eating allot of  green corn that made him feel like puking. VB rolled into a dump with a neon sign that read  "Circus Motel".  He waited in the 50s deco style front office and rang the desk bell. A not so hot blonde, smoking a cigar, in a see through blue   nighty appeared. She  had a set of  4Os, D cup. Her tits were hanging some and she had huge brown skin pierced nipples. VB noticed a Green Mermaid tattoo on her neck. She asked VB to stay with her in her room behind the front desk because she was lonely. Cool enough, her name was Sharon and her room was like the inner sanctum of a freak show. It was paneled with wood painted black, there were allot small lamps covered with purple lace. Her family pictures  looked like a Diane Arbus exhibition. It turned out Sharon's father had ran a freak show for Ringling Brothers circus.

She came on to VB (still sick from green corn) and he puked all over her. That seemed to turn her on some. When Victor got his big greasy finger in her pussy, wet feathers fell out all over the place. The two loveless and sick birds ended up passing out on each other. The next day Sharon made VB some waffles and coffee, tearfully sending him off. But first she wanted a ride on on the back of VBs Road King. It was like freak show day in Sugar City. She didn't even bother to change her nighty with puke on it. VB and Sharon pulled right up to Sugar City Hall and parked. Sharon did a hippie dance and Victor did some bullwhip tricks, everybody started throwing money.

VB headed out of Sugar City,  southwest on Route 28. It was easy and uneventful, clear riding, passing through Ulysses, Kansas. A few hours latter he made it to Comanche National Grassland Park in Colorado. Victor wanted to camp and lay back here, do some soul searching. The circus freak scene in Sugar City was fun but not uplifting.

After a few weeks of total psychedelic purity and warlock soul travel in Comanche central,  VB ran out of Vodka and beef jerky.  He felt high and purified, a true long body rider ready to share his beautiful inner being  and purple throbbing aura with Mama Bum Rush and the spirit people at the Limbo Foundation in Taos.

He pulled the the tarp off Police Unit, checked the oil, brushed the white pony off. Open the gas line, caped the battery, cleaned the spark plugs some with a wire brush, choked it. Only three sweet kicks on the shovel head starter peddle and…. the beautiful sounds only a Harley can make. 

Deer Woman had left a pair of her braided buckskin breeches in VBs saddle box. It was a the oldest love gesture known  from women to man. Leaving some of her sweet scented deer spirit behind to guide him back to her soul. 

VB took to the road shirtless with his bullwhip wrapped around his waste like a cummerbund, wearing DWs buck skins. And of course, his WW 2 tank commander goggles (which kept bugs out of the eyes). He never wore a helmet, in 1969 helmet laws were dada. You could scramble your fuckin brains any old way you wanted during the summer of love.

Taos, New Mexico was only a 3 hour drive from Comanche territory on Route 64 through Trinidad and Cimeron. When VB got to Taos he asked a  KFC clerk how to get to the Limbo Foundation. He said "dude  you mean them gay weirdoes out by Sphincter pass"? VB, the holy brahmin messenger of love, pulled Police Unit onto front ground of the Limbo foundation at lunch time. He was sick, relying heavily on the Thai Stick and Vodka. He was greeted by some high spirit zombies who asked him to meditate with them in a silly little circle jerk of sorts. During the chanting Victor pulled out some Thai stick and his skull flask. He lit a joint and tried to pass the shit around. It was as though a alarm went off, all the love turned to hate. The Limbo spirit people started giving VB nasty looks. A security guard who looked like Chuck Norris in yoga pants started making threatening moves on VB, telling him to leave the grounds. VB uncoiled his bullwhip and stood the dude back some, skillfully removing a few centimeters of his foreskin in one rawhide crack. In a flash of light the Sheriff had VB in handcuffs on the way back to the Taos jail, were he was booked disruption of mantra. 

The Sheriff allowed Victor to make a few calls. VB called his mother Pauly Mae in Milwaukee and asked if she could wire a few bucks to give to the church. She agreed being the a big sweet pea she was. She then asked Victor where he had been and if could mail his diploma home? He told his Ma he was looking for a job. Pauly Mae then told Victor he got a official looking letter from the  Department of the Army which she took the liberty to open. She then red the shattering news. "Victor William Burgundy is requested to report to Fort Sheridan, Illinois on said date next month to begin processing  to enter the United States Army". 

Victor William Burgundy, sitting in a Taos jail, drafted as of June, 1969 the party was over for awhile.

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