Roost News

Greetings Brethren and Sisteren in the wind.

   Well fellow road-addicts, your ol’ Uncle has a brighter report for yaz at this writing. Another legendary Riders’ Roost Spring Fling has trundled its way down the tunnels of time to become a sweet and satisfying memory to those who were partakers…Whew that’s a mout’ful, an’ I talks slow.

Here’s th’ foah-wun-wun:

   This 13^th annual event was all you could have hoped for and not expected. Hang, I’ll explain. First off, let me give a heartfelt thanks to the nearly 200 attendees. It goes without saying that YOU made a dynamite party!  Many rode through hard conditions to get here, and yer Ol’ Unc. wants ya to know such loyalty does not go unnoticed nor unappreciated. Bikers…I LOVE YA!  End of gratitude expressing, psuedo-suck up, speech.

   We threw down on a weekend, so of course it rained. But, all praise be to Odin (who I personally consider the ‘Party God’) that wet, dripping, buzz-killing bane of biker bashes relented, taking our goddam needs into consideration for a change. And wasn’t it ABOUT TIME!

 Yes, it rained. BUT not before all th’ chickens beed safe, set up, snug, and smug at th’ Roost. Ya might GET here WET, but ya never haveta GET wet HERE. We gotz yoah shelter from th’ storm baby, an’ plenty of it.

   Friday night comedy club was the best ever. Many thanks to you open-mikers for bein’ willin’ to look as amateurish as you truly did, in front of a bunch of strangers. Jus’ kiddin’..Ya’ll killed.  I LOVE ya….no….really.. There were about 70 people in the crowd, many of whom had ridden through inclement weather to get here. They were waiting for the headliner, and I didn’t get the feeling they were likely to settle for some un-funny loser! That shit is intimidatin’, ESPECIALLY when YOU’RE the headliner. In case you haven’t figured it out by now, the headliner at a Roost Thang is always your very own, Uncle Roy. (go; TA-DAAAA in your head)

Now, I’m a pro an’ all, but looking out at that assemblage of grizzled, burly bikers and they wimmins, and realizing my reputation was on the line…well, let’s jus’ say I was as nervous as a gerbil in a San Francisco pet shop!

   To explain how my performance went sort of puts me on the spot. If I tell ya’ll how I truly killed, if I describe how I tore out the crowd’s guts, and waded ankle deep in they blood, no matter how I doctor it, I’M gonna come off soundin’ immodest. So, to protect my reputation as a humble kinda guy, I’ll just tell ya’ll that no comedian was harmed as a result of the show, and EVERYONE did a LOT of LAUGHIN’.  In my opinion, a comedy show with a LOT of laughing is pretty much the idea; ‘nuff said.

   After the yukkin’ it was time to meander down to whatever campfire ya judged most promising. That is never an easy choice here, cause there are always several cool pah-tayze goin’ on at the same time. It’s a camaraderie vibe for which Riders’ Roost is famous. Hey, we’re talking about the most interesting, stimulating, and entertaining sub-culture in our entire society, TOGETHER at one of nature’s most impressive pieces of the planet. How could ya lose? How we do it here at th’ Roost is ya wander from campfire to campfire meetin’ new and friendly people, and bullshittin’ like there was some kinda ‘bullshittin award’ up for grabs, and enjoying our brand of brotherhood because we are the only mofos on earth who have it like this!  I want you to think about that for a moment.

Go ahead, feel special. You’re a biker, you deserve it.

   At one fire, some dude had a group circled up lissenin’ to him work an acoustic guitar. At another camp, ya might come up on some big, drunk-ass biker holding forth on a variegated choice of subjects. An’ YOU’RE so gone, you think he knows what he’s TAWKIN’ about. Under our rain-defying pavilion, I spotted a bunch of first-timers, or “Roost Virgins” as we call ‘em, who APPEARED to be havin’ more fun than me! That shit is un-authorized! Some illustrated sumbitch called “SmokenJoe” had a geezer glide crankin’ some killer biker rock from its space-age CD player. Several wimmins, apparently overheated from dancing, were allowing the cool night breeze of the Eastern Slope to caress some of their more visually popular body parts, without the inhibiting restraint of clothing. I believe there may have been some sort of prize at stake, probably a shot of liquor or sompin’. Those darn zany bikers, who knows what they’ll do next?

   I being the friendly type jumped right into the mix. But, I kept my package undisclosed. Hey, I just built that fuckin’ pavilion two years ago, I don’t need a buncha horny biker bitches tearin’ it down in a STAMPEDE!  Anyway, thanks new-meats for the ta-kill-ya, th’ lemon-drops an’ well, you know…..

   Saturday dawned to clearing skies over the green valley of Elk Creek. Upstream the rapids, fueled by much precip upstream, plunged and danced through the rocks more violently than the wimmins of last night.  A sound much like that of a freight train at speed, permeated the entire camp, and the river ran swiftly, it’s banks brimming.  By noon the weather was heaven-like and 40 bikes rolled out on our poker run to enjoy, dare I say revel in some of Nature’s most inspiring and wonderful scenery. It’s hard to beat the beauty of Western North Carolina , and the

. The green, rolling, bucolic landscape all covered by a cerulean blue sky added the perfect touch to the 120 mile putt. Some dude who just got out of the Army after 23 years of service won the Chuck we hand over for best hand. I din’ mind un-assing the prize money, he was a Special Forces type, so I figure we all owe him.

   Chow went down at 5:30 , and at this point the only downturn of an otherwise perfect bash occurred. Your old Uncle has to apologize for the paucity of bar-b-que portions. The cooking dude was on his first such mission for the Roost. He got paranoid about the unfavorable forecast, and didn’t expect so many people to brave the weather. As a result he had to cut portions short to feed as many folks as possible. He was hanged later that evening, and his body fined $50. Then we found out where his mother lives and burned her house. Needless to say, this food problem has NEVER happened at the Roost before, and it will NEVER happen again. Thanks for your understanding

   Saturday night around nine, CONTAGIOUS took the stage and bailed me out of the doghouse over the food shortage. Their music was so stompin’ that the crowd quickly forgot about the grub glitch. Even better, a full moon now rode high in a clear mountain sky, competing with a huge bonfire, and several individual campfires to light up the night.  In this mellow glow, bikers and their wimmins danced and gyrated to the howling of guitar and harmonica rhythms with a wild abandon brought about by weeks of frustration over unceasing rain attacks on our fun. CONTAGIOUS wailed until two AM . Hey, we’re rural here at the Roost, and we LIKE it that way. When the music ended, it was back to camp-hopping until ya had to give it up, or the sun rose, whichever happened first.

   Sunday morning dawned clear and dry again, allowing ninety-nine percent of the happy campers to pack and ride out dry. But the Roost is a very hard place to leave, and a few hangers-on stuck around until late atta’noon. This turned out to be a mistake on they part, as the skies blew open Sunday around 5 PM and more rain than I have ever seen drenched the camp. Honest ya’ll I saw fuckin’ FROGS with SCUBA gear!  I’m NOT makin’ this up. Me an’ the after-party holdouts sat under the tin roof drinkin’ beer and hopin’ Elk Creek didn’t flood us out. I was reflecting that if this rain had occurred two days earlier, I woulda had to take my Softail out, find a Peterbilt in the oncoming lane, and cross center line. But as it turned out, I was warm, dry, mildly wasted, and happy in the knowledge that nearly all my homeys got home without suffering another soggy bottom ride. It was a mellow end to a righteous gathering.

  Oh sure, there’s some cynical muthafucker out there who don’t know me whose thinking;’ ‘he awready had his dust by Sunday, like he cared about the weather.’ But you’d be wrong. Y’see, Riders’ Roost is run by bikers just like you. Further, it is the ONLY facility of its type that I know of that can make such claim. We FEEL your pain!

  Yes, Spring Fling no. 13 is over, and so is my report. But we re-affirmed a basic tenet of the Biker Philosophy; RAIN DON’T STOP THE PARTY!!! 

   Ride safely….and often…Uncle Roy…out.

  Greetings Brethren and Sistren in the wind!  Uncle Roy from RIDERS’ ROOST, keeping YOU up to date on stuff here at the country’s premiere motorsickle exclusive resort and general biker party zone!  Oh, I know you don’t really give a shit what’s happening here; on the other hand, you ARE veggin’ on th’ net, so yer obviously easily entertained. Let’s put it through on that line.

  I realize that no matter how much you plan to do so, SOME of you will not be able to visit RIDERS’ ROOST this season; does that mean ya don’t deserve to know what went on? Is it fair to keep from you the accounts and description of unfathomable fun and full blown debauchery of which YOU were not a part? 

   Sure it’s gonna be tough on ya; especially th’ part where ya repeatedly bang yer head against a concrete wall, realizin’ that you’re one day closer to death, and STILL haven’t made it to th’ ROOST!  Sure you’re gonna feel a little stoopid because ya blew three times the money for a weekend at a fuckin’ hot, crowded, stifling, engine melting, claustrophobia inducing, COP-INFESTED, mega-rally, than ya woulda dropped for a MONTH at Riders’ Roost, hangin’ with righteous people, reveling in the peace, beauty and seclusion of wonderful Elk Creek Canyon, and riding the kinds of roads that most bikers dare not dream of!         FACE IT, ya fucked up!

   You’d think I’d be bitter about having such a superior place, and losing so much bidness to so called: “Rallies”, and I’d be within my rights to feel that way. But, in the final analysis, I DO love ya, an’ I kinda enjoy rubbin’ it in, so I’ll take the time and trouble ta run down the foh-one-one from here in the North Carolina Mountains , so’s ya can keep up to speed. No, No, don’t thank me…..I’m a professional!

   Let me tell ya’ll about a pretty special woman from Canada , who hung with th’ Unc. a trio of nights. Her nickname is LA MADAME!  Met her in a chat room, and she dropped down from Ontario . OK, she shows up in a cage; but hey, it wuz twenny-one degrees when she left home, I’m willing to look the other way!  Just in case ya think she ain’t got heart, she’s headin’ back to Frosty th’ Snowman Land to pick up her Bad Boy, that is being serviced in preparation for her FOUR MONTH road trip, beginning on May tenth, and ending after Labor Day!

   I don’t know about ya’ll but I’d happily give my left nut to do a four month road trip!  Hey, I’d still have my RIGHT one, and neither of ‘em has had what you’d call a crowded schedule, for some time now.  I KNOW a four-month road trip would be orgasmic, so hypothetically, it’s a good trade. But enough about me.  LA MADAME, I’m damn proud of ya…ride free, and all th’ best.
She and I shared the party with a couple of my long-time bros from South Carolina ; ‘Scary Larry, and ‘Turribul Tony’ who rolled in unexpectedly; next thing I knew, IT WAS ON!!

   We’re into early May as I bang out this interesting and envy-stimulating column. Each year on the last weekend in April the nearby Town of Wilkesboro , NC hosts a very major gathering of blue-grass, country, and blues, musical talent. They label the event MERLEFEST, after some dead cracker who had a lot of ability in the area of pickin’ and one would hope; grinning. Actually, that phrase when applied to most blue grass musicians, is in a sense oxymoronic.  Think about it; most of the blue grass musicians doing all that ‘pickin’, do NOT need GRINNIN’!  Play your fucking banjo, ‘Jethro’, hold the ‘GRINNIN’!

   Now, the SKOAL-BROTHER genre don’t exactly blow MY skirt up, but I was happy to see some bikers who dig this kind of stuff returning to our camp for a second year. The boyz are from Ohio . Terry, Dickie, and Paul; we had a lot of yuks, slammed the requisite unreal amount of beer, and laughed way too much to be legal. When these dudes left, they laid a serious tip on the old graybeard bull that runs the place—ME!  Thanky guys, see ya next year.

   Each year, on the first Saturday of May, we are visited by a group of hard-core riders from West Va.   They been coming here for like ten years now, no matter how hard the weather, and it can be rough here in the mountains in May; or even June from time to time. Anyway, Jim and the crew were right on time Saturday evening.  A sad note to the visit, Jim has a brother named Howard, who had ridden alongside him for years.  Suddenly one night late last summer, smack dab in the middle of a road trip, Howard, with virtually no warning, informed his stunned, speechless, and confused sibling that he planned on regressing to citizen-hood at the end of the ride they were making!  Yeah, me too; of COURSE we’re stunned!  How does this kinda catastrophe come to pass?

  Report is, he sold his motorsickle, and bought a BOAT!  EWWWWWWWWW!  I coulda only been more mortified and shocked if I’d heard the muthafucker took up GOLF!

    And while I’m on the subject, if you now are, or have ever been a golfer, leave this site right goddam now!  I’ll post no free yuks for goddam GOLFERS!  DIE you elitist, closet YUPPIE scum, DIE!!  Sorry ya’ll, lost muh head for a second.

   I just don’t understand what gets into a seemingly solid biker, a man who to all appearances has his mind right, then he goes stark, raving, inexplicably insane?  Oh sure, I know there are a thousand hobbies out there other than bikes; SO?  See, I hope you know this, and I think you do; to US, Bikers, and RIDING are IT. We don’t have room in our lives, desire in our hearts, or give a fuckin’ shit about ‘other’ activities!  Howard, I still love ya, but I no longer KNOW ya; (ok, visualize a tear runnin’ slowly down muh crusty visage…) Is it possible to run*, slowly?

   Truth to tell, there ain’t been a bundle of activity here at the world’s greatest motorcycle resort so far this season due to a string of rain-soaked weekends. So far, it has rained every weekend since we opened on April first. A few determined ‘frequent roosters’ like Stump and Betsy, who are getting married here at the Roost in July this year, and another couple of great people Mark and Trish, braved the elements to come up and help me watch it rain.

   Obviously with the weather keeping my customers away, I have to come up with some other means to make a buck. I was considerin’ panhandling, but I’m too fat to inspire anyone’s sympathy, and I don’t ‘QUALIFY’ for welfare for reasons that bitch* behind the desk wouldn’t reveal. So I’m gonna have to solicit you gentle reader, to purchase a copy of my Biker Fiction novel; “SHOVELHEAD RED; The Drifter’s Way.”  You get a pile of good reading and belly laughs, I avoid standing on the corner holdin’ a goddam sign!  Fuck workin’ for food!! Help me out here!!

   Things should pick up as May progresses. Ya’ll check back in for the latest irrelevant, but somehow intriguing chronicle I likes to call; ROOST-NEWS.  Ride safely, and often…….Uncle Roy .