February is the most commonly misspelled month, and one of the most commonly misspelled words in the English language. It seems so simple, but many times people miss the first “r”. Why does this happen with the poor month of love? Is it that it is the shortest month and no one gives a shit if we spell it wrong? What ever we write about the month will only be applicable for 28 days, or 29 every fourth year, and is no big deal? Are we just not paying enough attention to our own language? Does eating chalk-like shaped hearts with goofy sayings on them poison our minds and render us unable to spell the month correctly? Do we overdose on chocolates and other candies and have a sugar high that renders our brains unable to spell one of the 12 months correctly? Did you look right past the header with my purposeful misspelling of the aforementioned month? If so, I got ya, if not, good on you!
Many things happen though in the month of February. It is commonly referred to as the month of love for Valentine’s day, although the origins are a bit less romantic in nature. The commonly used color themes of reds may have had different original meanings even before all the St Valentine stuff, but here we are, nonetheless, celebrating love and romance in the middle of the shortest month. February also brings us Ground Hog day; you know the day from that Bill Murray movie that we find out how much more winter we have from a rodent. We also get the Super Bowl, Black History Month, President’s Day, Mardi Gras, American
On the Cover the
Heart Month, and many more special days. Another monumental event in February is that Melanie turns five zero this month. I used words instead of numbers so that it is not as noticeable. I have been telling people she was five zero for over half a decade, but now it is here, and I am sort of scared really. I sure as hell hope she doesn’t implode or anything on the 22nd. I don’t even know what to expect, I have never been married to a woman this old! I am sure it will all be fine, at least that is what I am telling myself now. She won’t be mad at all about my uber smart ass comments! Anyway, Happiest of B Days wifey! Speaking of the month of love, I have been missing all of my girlfriends immensely as of late. Yes, it is my bitchy time of year due to parked motorcycle syndrome. I know that we have had some amazing days the past couple of months, with an occasional quick zip around, but motorcycles mainly parked for the winter is a drag. At least they are in their wintertime slumber right here at home in my garage. All of them but one are here every day I should say. The green machine is still down at Lehman Chompers in Des Moines yet, but otherwise, they are all here and I walk past them each and every day. I walk past them and I place a hand on them lovingly. I ask if they need anything. I check and see if anything is missing or looks awry. Once in a while I move them around if I have the time just to make sure all is ok with them.
Our cover this month brings us a pretty lady named Holli, with legs a mile long! Holli has modeled for Natanic’s Pin-ups calendar many times in past years, and the cover is from a shoot in Natanic’s garage, with his vintage bike collection providing a nice background. Check out our calendar page this month for more details on this cool photo-shoot!
February is the month of St. Valentine, the month of love, but also the month of starting to get your poop in a group and making sure your bikes are ready to go for the upcoming riding season! Keep those batteries charged, check out the tires, check all the fluids and the brakes, and make sure all is good for when we get a day to just take off on a tear and enjoy the road again.
I sure as hell hope to see all of you soon! Take care and be safe.
Vernon vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Proud
Editor/Owner
Thunder Roads Magazine of
Iowa
Proud Owner Thunder Guns and Thunder Guns West
IMDA Board Member COC Liaison
Quote of the Month: “Blessed is he who has learned to admire but not envy, to follow but not imitate, to praise but not flatter, and to lead but not manipulate.” William Arthur Ward
Thank God we have finally turned the corner on the New Year. The days are getting longer and I’m so ready that I even got out the old Road King and side hack after the big snow. I had a ball and at this age with the side car it’s even more fun because I can’t fall over. I think I even have flashed back to my misspent youth cutting cookies in the bowling alley parking lot after a snow. It was always high adventure to see who could go the fastest and get the closest to the light poles - though come to think of it, some of those memories and consequences are better left un-revisited. I guess what our wives say about us guys never growing up is true.
Now, If I only had a heated shop, I could really get a jump on those bike projects. Hint, hint to my lovely wife. Probably won’t happen as it seems that ship has sailed. If we only had the foresight and had taken advantage of the opportunities when they became available, how different things could be. It reminds me of an earlier duck hunting trip to Minnesota where I ran across an old duck blind that I now realize would have made a great day care. Could have called it “Little Quackers and Old Coots - We serve more meals than McDonalds.” And had I really been on the ball, right next to it was an abandoned ice-fishing shed which would have made great health care offices. Sign could have said “Trust Us Health Care: We only smell a little fishy. Hours are negotiable. To request an appointment just leave a pile of money under the rock at the entrance to the tunnel behind the burnt-out Toyota. If you don’t hear from us just keep leaving money.” Oh, the missed opportunities. If only . . . I could be basking in a heated, 15-stall shop and filled it up to boot. It’s probably too late now and someone else has 50 or 60 businesses there already.
Happy Bisesquicentennial, Sestercentennial, Semiquincentennial, Quarter Millenium, or just plain America 250! Jeesh. As berserk as so many have gone about the MAGA logo let’s see what happens when someone tries to fit all that on a hat. Or we could simplify it, naming it the way our former president Biden famously referred to items: “You know... Uhm... that, that thing.” Anyway, It’s another big anniversary year for our country with lots of activities planned. Hopefully, it will all go off without a hitch with us all enjoying and making the best of it. My desire for this year and going forward is that we not only MAKE
AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, MAKE AMERICA HEATHLY AGAIN but most importantly that we MAKE AMERICA GODLY AGAIN. It’s exciting to see all the celebrations and remembrances planned, though it will be a huge challenge to thwart all the enemies, domestic and abroad, who would try to throw a wrench in all the activities. Our enemy’s desire is to ruin the country at this juncture in time as contrasted with the exciting possibility of what could be if we give it to God. I believe our country’s key to true greatness doesn’t come from political power, military might, oil, or riches but from a nation’s devotion to God and its spiritual health. In 1863, President Lincoln got it so right as he called for a national repentance and day of fasting and prayer. He said, “We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of Heaven; we have been preserved, these many years, in peace and prosperity; we have grown in numbers, wealth and power as no other nation has ever grown. But… we have forgotten God. We have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of a redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the God that made us.” Psalms tells us, “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord and the people whom he hath chosen for his inheritance.” Proverbs says, “Righteousness exalteth a nation but sin is a reproach to any people.” For our nation to again be prosperous in all areas of life we need to heed the advice in the book of Matthew. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you.”
We need to keep in mind something our brother Pastor Steve said in a podcast the other day when he reminded everyone that “Heaven is sweet, Hell is hot and everyone will have the choice as to which one of these places they will go.” God is faithful and the gospel doesn’t change. Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s promises to us and remains forever the only way!
Blessings, Mark
Mark and Karla 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
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
not so USELESS RAMBLINGS not so USELESS RAMBLINGS
“Great Party Switch” Myth
American political arguments have a few greatest hits—phrases that get pulled off the shelf whenever convenient. Among them sits one of the most persistent oversimplifications in modern political history: the idea of a “Great Party Switch.” You’ve probably heard the line. It usually goes something like this: “The Democrats and Republicans swapped places in the 1960s. Democrats became the party of civil rights, Republicans became the party of racists, and the parties reversed.”
It’s a tidy narrative. It’s also wrong, or at least so oversimplified as to obscure more than it reveals.
Like many myths, it contains a kernel of truth: there was a longterm political realignment in the United States, particularly in the South, driven by race, culture, and economics. But the cartoonish version—where the parties simply traded ideologies overnight—is not supported by facts, voting records, or the behavior of actual politicians at the time.
The most famous example was Senator Strom Thurmond of South Carolina—a larger-than-life segregationist who bolted in 1964. His switch is routinely pointed to as “proof” of the wider claim. But the fact that people keep citing the same example ironically underscores the problem: if nearly all of the segregationist Democrats had moved to the Republican Party, we wouldn’t be recycling the same half dozen names.
Instead, most Southern Democratic politicians simply stayed put. George Wallace never left the Democratic Party. Nor did James Eastland, William Fulbright, Robert Byrd, or Lester Maddox—all towering figures of Southern resistance to civil rights. These men remained powerful Democrats for decades.
Understanding what really happened requires stepping back from slogans and looking at the deeply American, deeply complicated process of how political coalitions change.
That alone should dislodge the simplistic story. If the parties truly “switched,” why didn’t its key architects switch with them?
The Voters Moved Long Before the Politicians Did Where the simplified narrative goes seriously wrong is in assuming that parties only change when politicians do. In reality, American political parties are coalitions of voters first, politicians second. And in the American South, it was the voters—ordinary citizens—who moved, slowly and unevenly, from one party to the other over many decades.
The mythic account claims that in the wake of the Civil Rights Act (1964) and the Voting Rights Act (1965), the Democratic Party transformed into the progressive party of equality while Republicans absorbed the segregationists. Case closed.
But the facts tell a much more contingent story.
Let’s start with the most glaring problem for the myth: very few segregationist Democratic politicians actually became Republicans. This isn’t a matter of opinion; it’s a matter of counting. More than 130 Democratic members of Congress from the South served during the civil rights era. Of those, only around six switched to the GOP. That’s not a wave. That’s statistical noise.
This movement did not begin in 1964. You can trace the earliest cracks in the “Solid South” back to the 1920s and 1930s. Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal created a tension within the Democratic coalition: traditional Southern Democrats supported FDR’s economic populism but bristled at the growing influence of Northern liberals. That tension simmered for decades before erupting in the civil rights era.
Nor did this process end in the 1960s. The South remained largely
Democratic at the state and congressional levels for decades after civil rights legislation passed. Democrats controlled most Southern legislatures well into the 1990s. Georgia didn’t elect a Republican governor until 2002. West Virginia—once deep blue—didn’t fully flip until even later.
So, when people imagine a big red versus blue map magically changing color the moment LBJ signed the Civil Rights Act, they are ignoring thirty-plus years of messy, nonlinear political evolution.
What Actually Drove the Southern Realignment?
Realignments have multiple causes, and the Southern shift was no exception. So, what actually drove the Southern Realignment?
Was race a factor? Absolutely. When major parties stake out positions on moral or cultural issues, voters who strongly disagree tend to migrate. The national Democratic Party’s embrace of civil rights legislation made it harder for many white Southern conservatives to stay put.
The transition from agrarian to suburban economies in the South changed the voting base. As the region modernized, middleclass suburban voters reacted less to 1930s economic populism and more to 1980s conservatism.
The rise of the evangelical movement, Roe v. Wade, and debates about school prayer and cultural values drew many conservative religious voters toward the GOP in the 1970s and 1980s.
As the national Democratic Party grew increasingly urban, secular, and socially liberal, rural, and religious conservatives felt less at home. Conversely, Republican messaging on patriotism, limited government, and traditional values resonated more strongly with these voters.
Put simply: the South didn’t switch parties because the parties’ flipped ideologies. It switched because the voters changed what they valued.
So why do people cling to the “Great Party Switch” story? The answer is psychological as much as historical.
First, offering a neat moral narrative— “the bad guys moved over there”—is politically useful. It allows modern Democrats to distance themselves from their own party’s history while portraying Republicans as inheriting the sins of the past.
Second, it gives modern Republicans a convenient villain to reject: “We’re the party of Lincoln!” But that too is selective history. Neither party today resembles its Civil War version.
Third, it fits the human tendency to prefer simple stories with clean turning points over decades-long processes driven by millions of individuals making independent choices. Gradual demographic shifts don’t make for good sound bites. A “party swap” does.
The Truth Is More Nuanced—And More Interesting
The real story of America’s political realignment is not found in dramatic conversions of Southern politicians or tidy ideological reversals. It’s found in the slow, uneven, democratic process
by which millions of people reassess their political homes over time.
What happened in the South was not a switch, but a sorting. A new political identity emerged in the region, rooted in a combination of cultural conservatism, economic aspirations, and reactions to national events. The Republican Party capitalized on that shift—but it didn’t cause it. The Democratic Party accelerated it through positions that no longer aligned with the South’s majority views—but it didn’t flip a switch.
And that is what makes the myth so frustrating: it ignores the agency of millions of voters. The people, not the parties, moved.
If we want to understand modern American politics, we need to retire the idea of the “Great Party Switch” and grapple with the deeper truth: political coalitions are living things. They grow, shrink, break apart, and reform—not in a single moment, but over generations.
That story isn’t as simple. But it’s the real one.
Please feel free to share this with everyone that tells you there was a party switch. It’s time to get rid of this tired narrative and replace it with truth.
David McCoy - David@ThunderRoadsIowa.com - FaceBook.com/TRMIDave - FaceBook.com/TRMINSUR
Ruby red lips and legs for days, that’s what Holli brought to the photos for this month’s cover and calendar! No stranger to m odeling, Holli has appeared in Natanic Pin-ups biker babe calendar many times, and for the photos seen here, “Natanic” Nate Ullrich cleared out his old garage, providing his vintage chopper collection as ornaments in the background, making Holli’s long-n-lean frame the main attraction! As a professional photographer, Nate rarely does photo-shoot s just for the fun of it, considering tight work schedules that have him all over the country, always require his work to have purpose as print and/or commercial projects. But with this shoot he tells us, “Holli and I were tossing back shots and brain-storming some photos ideas at the bar one night, and it all seemed like some cool shit coming together, so we decided to follow through with them, regardless of any intended purpose.” He goes on the add, “Holli is one of the most entertaining models I’ve worked with during a shoot, a lways bringing a smile, her bubbly humor, and bottle of whatever her fl avor is that week, ha, ha!” You can see more of Natanic’s work, and get a Free 2026 biker babe calendar with any order this m onth at Natanic.com
Destination Grille
2491 E 1st St, Grimes, IA
(515)355-1153
Hours:
Mon–Sat, 11AM–9PM
Sun, 11AM–8PM
Fri & Sat bars open until 10PM
Destination Grille is located in Grimes, Iowa and Vernon and I were lucky enough to have the company of Lehman Chompers very own Jeremy and Donna join us for some grub on a warm Saturday afternoon this winter. We had just spent some time at Chompers
headquarters firing up Vernon’s latest addition to the fleet and had worked up our appetites. We drove the short jaunt over to Grimes and landed ourselves a table at D.G.
Our server was extremely helpful as she went over some drink specials and the happy hour starters that were offered well below regular menu price. We ordered the Garlic Cheese Bread, a Grande Mozzarella, garlic herb and bleu cheese base, served with marinara, as a starter. And also, an order of Crab Cakes, that consisted of three wild caught lump crab cakes drizzled with roasted red pepper lime sauce. Jeremy ordered a soda, while Vernon requested an Old Fashioned made with D|G Private Barrel Woodford Reserve Bourbon, orange vanilla syrup, bitters, and Donna and I ordered from the holiday drinks specials menu. Donna had a chocolate based hot toddy and I ordered a cranberry gin concoction that had Christmas written all over it. We sipped our drinks and enjoyed the delicious appetizers while we waited for our meals (which arrived in short order).
I ordered the Chicken Fried DeBurgo, which consisted of a juicy, crispy fried chicken breast served on creamy Asiago mashed potatoes and covered with an herb cream sauce. Jeremy also went the chicken route and ordered the crispy hand-breaded chicken strips served with housemade ranch and waffle fries. Donna ordered a flatbread Hawaiian Pizza that was deliciously piled high with ham and caramelized pineapple. Vernon ordered the Candied Bacon Cheeseburger. It arrived in all its 1/2-pound patty glory, topped with candied bacon, crisp lettuce, sliced tomato, mozzarella cheese, atop a perfectly toasted brioche bun. Vernon’s side was an order of crisp and delicious house made chips with a side of roasted garlic and chive dip.
In addition to Happy Hour Specials and a vast regular menu, Destination Grille also offers and extensive gluten free menu, catering, and four venues to host your next event. The waitstaff is friendly and attentive, and the prices are reasonable (cheap if you hit the specials). Next time you are in the Grimes area, stop by Destination Grille and try their delicious menu for yourself. Make sure to tell them that Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa sent you!
Melanie Schwarte
If you have a WRTE location for us to visit, please let me know at Melanie@thunderroadsiowa. com.
A penguin takes his car to the shop and decides to get an ice cream while the car is getting repaired. Because he has to use his flippers to hold the spoon, he is having a hard time eating and ends up covered with melted ice cream. When returning to the shop, the mechanic looks at him and says, “It looks like you blew a seal.” The penguin replies, “No, it is just ice cream!”
An old couple in their 70s visited a sex therapist. The man asked if she could watch them have intercourse, and she agreed. Afterward, the therapist said everything was normal and the couple was actually doing great considering their age. The couple seems happy and leaves after the man pays his $80 co-pay. Surprisingly, the couple returned every Wednesday for six weeks, repeating the routine. Puzzled, the therapist eventually asked why. The old man explained, “Well, you see, we can’t do it at my place because my wife is there, and we can’t do it at her place because her husband is there. And even the cheapest hotels charge $130 a night. But my co-pay here is only $80.”
A boy tells his father that his gym teacher wants to meet with him. “What’d you do?” the dad asks. “He said I was aiming for kids’ heads during dodgeball,” the boy explains. “Well, did you win?” “Yes, I did.” “That’s my boy. I’ll talk to your gym teacher soon,” the dad decides. The next day, the boy says his band teacher wants to see him. “Why’s that?” he says. “She said to play louder, so I played as loud as I could.” The father laughs, “Well, you did what she asked. I’ll drop by soon to talk to him.” Two days later, the father says he is going to school to meet the teachers. The boy admits, “Well, you don’t have to go now, I got expelled today.” Confused, the father asks why. “I got called to the principal’s office, and there was my gym teacher, band teacher, and art teacher there.” “What the fuck was the art teacher doing there?” questions the father. “That’s exactly what I said!”
Every sperm carries 760 MB of DNA information. There are also at least 80 million sperm per load. That means at least 60.8 trillion MB of information per load in total. That’s a lot of information to swallow.
What do a man on a one-night stand and a snowstorm have in common? You don’t know how many inches you’ll get and how long it will last.
I couldn’t believe that my dad and mom divorced. My dad always described their marriage as: “Being just like Christmas.” Later, I learned he meant it’s because Christmas only comes once a year.
My grief counselor died. He was so good, that I don’t even care.
A wealthy financial backer of a hospital goes on a tour with the director and can’t help but notice a patient is masturbating. She is shocked, but the director explains, “This man suffers from Semenitis, a rare medical condition where his testicles fill up too quickly.” The woman says, “I suppose it is ok then.” Continuing their visit, they now walk past a room where a patient receives oral from a nurse. Shocked again, the woman asks, “And why is THIS happening in your hospital??” The director calmly responds, “Same condition. The patient just has a better healthcare plan.”
Why are orphans usually bad at dodgeball? Because almost no one ever misses them.
My phone keeps autocorrecting “fuck” to “duck.” That’s okay – it’s still fowl language.
Prince Andrew comes home one day and finds his girlfriend packing up all her personal belongings in some luggage. She tells him that she’s leaving because people say he is just a pedophile… With a look of denial and disbelief, Prince Andrew steps back and says “wait, wait… that’s a big word to use for a 14-year-old!”
A politician dies and stands in front of the pearly gates. Saint Peter says he will need to spend one day in hell. “It’s a requirement for people in your line of work,” he says. Scared of hell, the politician begins to try and charm Saint Peter into not going, but it’s no use. He drops him into the clouds and the politician falls in hell. He wakes up in a hotel room smelling bacon and hearing ocean waves crash. He opens his eyes to see a butler walking in with a Mai Tai, “Your drink, sir,” the butler says. “Who are you,” the politician says. “Satan!” He is too stunned to speak, so Satan fills the silence. “I know it’s a shock, people expect the whole eternal misery and really it’s just a lot of… what you would call, sins.” Satan hands over the Mai Tai, and the politician hears his wife’s voice calling. He looks out the window to see his wife and all his best friends. The man realizes he looks and feels 20 again and runs outside with his drink. Surrounded by his friends and beautiful wife, he spends the day surfing, drinking and catching up with everyone. The man and his wife, who haven’t seen each other in 6 years, talk and drink for hours before going to the room and making love like they did on their honeymoon. He is the happiest he’s ever been. And then he wakes up suddenly staring at the pearly gates again. Saint Peter starts, “Okay, what will it be?” “I can’t imagine there’s anything better than hell,” the politician says. “Well, heaven is the angels with gold wings, whole chorus singing and white robes thing,” St Peter says. “Ummmm… no, I’ll take hell please,” responds the politician. “Yeah, that’s what people usually say,” Saint Peter says before dropping him again. Awakening to stifling darkness, distant screams pierce his ears. Flickering flames in the distance reveal tormented souls. A lightning flash exposes Satan beside him, wickedly grinning with a soldering iron and razor-wire. “Where’s my wife? Where are my friends and all the drinks?” the politician shouts in despair. Satan leans in, “Yesterday, we were campaigning. But now, you have just cast your vote.”
Marriage is like Indian food. It starts hot and spicy but ends up with someone crying in the bathroom and regretting their choices.
While everyone criticized my cooking, the smoke detector thought it was lit. (Stacey Lawyer)
A guy went to the emergency room, and the Doctor told him, “You have lettuce sticking up your butt. The man replied, “That is just the tip of the iceberg.”
What’s better than roses on a piano? Tulips on your organ.
A blonde walks into a bar. She sits down, and when the bartender comes over, she says, “I’ve never had a beer before. Give me a beer.” The bartender asks, “Anheuser-Busch?” She says, “My bush is fine, thanks for asking.”
An elderly retiree wobbled into an ice cream shop and carefully, slowly climbed up onto a counter stool. He wheezed for a minute, then ordered a chocolate sundae. “Crushed nuts?” The server asked. “No,” he answered. “Bad knees.”
What’s the difference between light and hard? It’s easier to fall asleep with a light on.
A man and a woman who had never met before found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a transcontinental train. Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly, him in the upper bunk and her in the lower. At 1 am, the man leaned down and gently woke the woman saying, “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I’m awfully cold.” “I have a better idea,” she replied, “Just for the night, let’s pretend we’re married.” “Wow! That’s a great idea,” he exclaimed. “Good,” she replied. “Get your own blanket,” she snapped back. After a moment of silence, he farted.
Roger, who was 19 years old, was buying an expensive bracelet to surprise his girlfriend for Valentine’s Day. The jeweler inquired, “Would you like your girlfriend’s name engraved on it?” Roger thought for a moment, grinned, and then answered. “No. Engrave, ‘To my one and only love.’” The jeweler smiled and said, “Yes, sir, how very romantic of you.” Roger retorted with a glint in his eye. “Not romantic, just practical. That way, if we break up, I can use it again.”
Steve and his buddies were hanging out and planning an upcoming fishing trip. Unfortunately, he had to tell them that he couldn’t go this time because his wife wouldn’t let him. After a lot of teasing and name-calling, Steve headed home frustrated. The following week when Steve’s buddies arrived at the lake to set up camp, they were shocked to see Steve. He was already sitting at the campground with a cold beer, swag rolled out, fishing rod in hand, and a campfire glowing. “How did you talk your missus into letting you go, Steve?” “I didn’t have to,” Steve replied. “Yesterday, when I left work, I went home and slumped down in my chair with a beer to drown my sorrows because I couldn’t go fishing. Then the ol’ lady snuck up behind me and covered my eyes and said, ‘Surprise!’ When I peeled her hands back, she was standing there in a beautiful see-through negligee, and she said, ‘Carry me into the bedroom, tie me to the bed, and you can do whatever you want,’ So, here I am!”
A married couple is fast asleep when suddenly the phone rings. The groggy husband answers it, expecting the worst. After listening a few seconds, he shouts, “How should I know? Who do you think I am, the weatherman?” Then, he slams down the receiver. “Who was that?” asks his wife. Her husband shrugs and says, “I don’t know, some guy wanting to know if the coast is clear.”
A man goes to a restaurant and is seated by an extremely hot waitress. When she asks him for his order, he replies, “I’ll have a quickie.” The waitress storms off angry. After she regains composure, she comes back and asks him once again what he will have. He replies, “All I want is a quickie.” She can’t control herself this time, so she slaps him. A man sitting near him leans over and whispers, “Sir, I think it’s pronounced ‘quiche’.”
A washed-up actor hasn’t gotten a job in years. He has lost his ability to remember lines. But after looking for work for a very long time, he finally gets the lead role in a Broadway musical. When he arrives at the theater, the director tells him, “You have the most important part, but you only have one line. You walk onto the stage with a rose; bring it close to your nose with your thumb, index, and middle fingers, and sniff it deeply. Then you will say, ‘Oh, the smell of my lover.’” When it comes time for him to say his line, he walks onto the stage and says, “Oh, the smell of my lover.” With this, the crowd begins to laugh hysterically and the director explodes with anger. The actor runs off stage and asks, “Did I forget my lines?” The director replies, “No! You forgot the flower.”
A bush ranger is roaming the outback on his horse and sees a snake in his path. Rather than kill the snake, as most people would, he got a stick and carefully moved it out of the way. When it was set down, the snake looked at him and said, “Thank you, stranger, most people would not be so kind. I am a wizard cursed to live as a snake, and for sparing my life, I grant you three wishes.” The bush ranger pondered for a moment before coming to a decision. “I wish for a face like Brad Pitt, a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger, and to be hung like this here horse I’m riding.” The snake said, “Go home and look in the mirror, your wishes shall be granted.” The bush ranger thanked the snake and set off home, excited to see the results. Sure enough, when he looked in the mirror, he saw a face like Brad Pitt and a body like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Excited, he stripped bare. “Oh no, I took out the mare.”
A mom is driving a little girl to her friend’s house for a playdate. “Mommy,” the little girl asks, “How old are you?” “Honey, you are not supposed to ask a lady her age,” the mother warns. “It is not polite.” “Okay,” the little girl says, “How much do you weigh?” “Now, really,” the mother says, “These are personal questions and are really none of your business.” Undaunted, the little girl asks, “Why did you and daddy get a divorce?” “Those are enough questions, honestly!” The exasperated mother walks away as the two friends begin to play. “My mom wouldn’t tell me anything,” the little girl says to her friend. “Well,” said the friend, “All you need to do is look at her driver’s license. It’s like a report card; it has everything on it.” Later that night, the little girl says to her mother, “I know how old you are, you are 32.” The mother is surprised and asks, “How did you find that out?” “I also know that you weigh 140 pounds.” The mother is past surprise and shocked now. “How in heaven’s name did you find that out?” “And” the little girl says triumphantly, “I know why you and daddy got a divorce.” “Oh really?” the mother asks. “Why?” “Because you got an F in sex.”
Happy Valentine’s Day!
“Why I Ride Old Motersickels”
As a small boy, growing up in a small Southeast South Dakota town, I was not exposed to many motorcycles nor motorcyclists. There were a few local farm kids who had Cushman scooters or Japanese dirt bikes and a handful of mini-bikes in town but only one American-Made V-twin. I found out many, many years later that the first HarleyDavidson I can remember was, in fact, an H-D “45”. (Most likely a military-surplus Model WLA.) That was back in the early-Sixties...
That old Harley had been stripped down to its barest of elements and sported a pair of VERY loud drag pipes. The proud owners of the old motersickel were the Cartwright Brothers: Jack, Joe, and Tom. These young men were my distant cousins. Tom, the youngest of the brothers was five or six years older than I and was a classmate of one of my older brothers. The Cartwrights were good guys and were well-liked in the community; their Loud Little Four-Five, not so much... At least not by the ‘citizens’...
As any of you Readers who have ever had a bike which sported open-tube exhaust know, these machines ‘can’ be ridden with a ‘light hand’ on the throttle to make the bike at least ‘somewhat’ civically accepted. Unfortunately, the Cartwright Boyze LOVED the sound of the cackling of their bike and ALWAYS made certain that EVERYONE in town knew when they had that Little Monster up and running. I do not know whatever became of that bike, but for good or for ill, it left an indelible mark on my psyche.
one time or another. Dad taught us all how to take care of our customers as well as he taught us how to hot-patch an inner tube, lube, oil, and filter change a car, or replace shocks, exhausts, and tires. Of course, we all knew how to pump gas, check engine oil, wash windshields and visit with our customers while taking care of their vehicles.
We didn’t see a lot of motorcycles in that little gas station, until the mid-Nineteen-Sixties, when the notorious ElForastero Motorcycle Club began to come to town on somewhat of a regular basis. These guys were the Real Deal. Honest to Goodness Badass Bikers. Hardcore MFers.
Interstate 29 was under construction back then and these guys would leave Sioux City on Run Days and top off their fuel tanks at our Gas House. US Highway 77 was also Main Street in Smallsville. It was a good place for them to gas up, have a shot or a beer at the pub across the street, then head out to Points Unknown to me. They knew that Dad had taught all of his Boyze to treat them well and with respect. My brothers and I knew exactly how to treat them from their arrival to their departure.
There were soon to be more motorcycles finding their way into my memory.
My Dad was a small businessman in our humble little hometown. He owned a Sinclair service station. Two islands. Three fuel pumps. One service bay with an infloor hoist. Another service bay for Motor Vehicle Safety Inspections and farm truck and tractor tire repairs, etc. All seven of my blood brothers and I were employed there at
Our instructions were clear: Greet the first Member with a clean shop rag, start the Ethyl pump and give these fellows anything they needed. Headlight. Taillight lamp. Air gauge. Grease gun. Electrical tape. Bailing wire. Whatever they needed. One by one, they would pull up to that Ethyl pump and fill their tanks, carefully not overfilling nor chipping paint with the fuel nozzle. When their tanks were filled, they would either push their bike up to the service bay for whatever they needed, or fire them up, one at a time, and ride across the street and back up to the curb at Larry’s Bar. When the last Member had filled his tank, he would return the shop rag to one of us and settle up with us for the fuel and other things, then fire up his machine and join the Club at Larry’s. Within just a few minutes, the whole Crew would return to the street, straddle their saddles, kick-start their bikes, and roar off to Someplace Else.
These EF’s knew how to build choppers, and how to build them WELL. Most of their bikes back then were Knuckleheads and Panheads. There were a few Sportsters and even a Flathead here and there, but they were ALL choppers. Rule Number One in their By-Laws: “You must have a bike of at least 650cc and it MUST BE A CHOPPER.” (There must have been a few Triumphs or Beezers, but I do not remember them.) These men knew how to RIDE them Old Motersickels, too!
They left quite an impression on my tender young mind.
I don’t believe Dad actually ‘liked’ these guys, but he definitely built a Peaceful Co-Existence with them. I do know that Dad did not want any of his sons to grow up to be a Motorcycle Guy, much less a Motorcycle Clubber. I shattered that glass ceiling in 1980 when I bought a brandnew shiny red Yamaha XS 650 Special. One of my older brothers called that bike a ‘Belly-Button’ (because everyone had one). After 46 years of legally riding Motersickels, I have managed to not be a member of any Motorcycle Club other than the Antique Motorcycle Club of America. At the time of this writing, I hold no desire to be a Member of any Motorcycle Club that would have me.
So, now let’s fast-forward about 40 years to the day I met our Esteemed and Fearless Leader, Vernon Schwarte, the Owner/Editor of this Award-Winning Publication.
Vernon and I share common interest and common friendship with a man we’ll call “Ronnie WHO???” This is the Real Ronnie WHO??? Not some impostor.
I’m not sure just when Vernon met Ronnie, but I’m pretty sure I met Ronnie sometime in the early 1980’s. Ron and I share a love for Old Motersickels. Vernon and Ron share a love for Old Motersickels, as well as a Zip Code. Some time prior to Vernon becoming “Mr. TRMI,” Ronnie made sure that Vernon and I were properly introduced to each other.
Over the next few years, Vernon and I bumped into each other at motorcycle events and became more than just ‘acquaintances.’ We became friends. Sometime after Vernon picked up ownership of TRMI, he asked me if I would ever be interested in writing for this fine publication. At first, I chuckled at his question and asked him if he had all of his mental faculties about himself. He wasn’t quite insistent, but certainly was persistent. Pleasantly persistent, I might add. Not at all ‘pushy’ but always interested in knowing if I had changed my mind.
Then, almost a year and a half ago, I rode Dirty Gurl to the Harley Joe Invitational in Omaha. Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa was one of the major Sponsors of this event, but unfortunately Ol’ Vernon was unable to attend. A couple of days after the event, I called him and told him that he missed one hell of a good show and one hell of a good time. Then, without thinking, I asked him if he’d like me to write a few words about the event. Of COURSE, he jumped on that like a chicken on a Junebug! Fifteen hundred words later, he got his first piece of Literary Excellence out of me. Actually, it was ‘Alice’ who wrote that first piece. I used a ghost writer name for my first few stories in this magazine, as I was unsure if my style (and my opinions) would be
acceptable to Vernon, his Advertisers, and all you Loyal Readers.
That first story changed things between Vernon and me. Nothing bad, just different. This has become a very strange time in my life. I have done a fair amount of public speaking in my time, and I’ve organized a fair number of motorcycle events, too. But WRITING??? Seriously, WRITING??? I’m barely HOUSE-BROKE and you want me to WRITE for your magazine???!!! To tell the truth, I have rather enjoyed putting together all the stories I’ve shared with you-all here on the pages of TRMI, but I wonder how much longer I can come up with decent column-fodder going into the future.
I don’t write these stories for the money. (There isn’t any.) I have been writing these stories as a personal favor to my Dear Friend, Vernon. But, as D-Day (Deadline Day) approaches each month, it has become more and more challenging for me to continue to produce new material.
If you look inside the front cover, at the bottom of Page 3, you’ll see an image of me and a phone number (Area Code 605) and an email address. If you have any questions, comments, or ideas for stories you’d like me to cover, past, present, or future, feel free to contact me via email or text messaging. I don’t always answer phone calls from numbers which aren’t in my Contacts. Your input is important to me.
Oh, by the way, the title to this month’s Contribution is the very title Ol’ Vernon suggested to me way back when he first asked me to submit my prose to his magazine.
Thanks, Vernon! I’ve had a blast trying to come up with some Worthy Words of Wisdom over the past year and a half. Here’s hoping I can continue to poop out some more over the next year and one-half!
Special Thanks to Bill Wilson and the H.P.
Love and Respect to all, Alice, (LS), Landshark
(And don’t forget that Melanie’s Birthday is February 22nd!)
ml
Why February Only Has 28 Days
By Crash Davis
If you’ve ever wondered why February only has 28 days, I’ve got a theory.
It’s not a mistake. It’s mercy. You know this is on brand for me, if you have read my stuff for the last decade or so, you know this is coming and you are more like me than you really should admit to, at least around people.
February is the worst month of the year. Not “kind of bad.” Not “it depends.”
The worst. Full stop. January at least has an identity. It shows up loud, cold, and honest. Snow looks clean. Cold feels official. You expect misery, so it doesn’t sting as much. December has Christmas, lights, family, and the illusion of warmth. Even March gets a pass because hope starts leaking in around the edges. Oh sure, the winter so far has been all over the place, but even without snow, the Second Month stinks. February is dirty snow. It’s frozen gravel roads. It’s wind that feels personal. It’s the month where your truck battery chooses violence and your bike sits there, covered, silent, judging you. This is not “winter wonderland.” This is winter with a hangover.
This is why February only has 28 days. Even the calendar couldn’t stand a full month of it.
The Month That Exists Just to Test You February in Iowa is where optimism goes to die. The holidays are over. The football season is done. The Super Bowl comes and goes, and suddenly there’s nothing left but weather reports and regret. You look outside, see salt crusted on the roads, and think, “Absolutely not.” It’s not even the cold that gets you. Riders can manage cold. We’ve ridden through it, around it, and sometimes in spite of it. February cold is different. It’s mean. It doesn’t sparkle. It doesn’t crunch nicely under boots. It just sits there, damp and gray, soaking into your bones. The snowbanks aren’t white anymore. They’re gray, brown, and filled with things you don’t want to identify. The roads are a mix of ice, salt, and broken promises And every time the sun comes out, you get fooled into thinking, “Maybe today.”
It’s never today.
maybe touch the tank, maybe sit on it for a second like that’ll change the laws of physics. It doesn’t. February doesn’t care about your feelings. You can start it, sure. You can let it idle. You can rev it just enough to remind yourself what it sounds like. That only makes it worse. It’s like standing outside a locked bar at closing time, knowing the party is happening, but you’re not invited.
This is the month where riders start cleaning things that don’t need cleaning. Polishing chrome that won’t see sunlight for weeks. Organizing tools just to feel productive. We pretend it’s maintenance. It’s therapy.
Why This Month Breaks People.
February doesn’t bring joy. It brings impatience. You’ve been good. You’ve waited. You’ve survived the holidays, the deep cold, the icy mornings. And now you’re done waiting, but winter isn’t done with you. This is where cabin fever kicks in hard. You start pacing. You start scrolling. You start watching ride videos you’ve already seen. You convince yourself that 38 degrees “isn’t that bad” before someone smarter than you talks sense into you.
Every Iowa rider has had the February argument with themselves.
“Technically, I could ride.”
No. You could die. Sit down. And yet given the chance I likely still will
But Here’s the Thing About Riders, Riders are wired differently. We live on anticipation. We don’t need the ride yet. We need to know it’s coming. February is where the hope lives, even if we won’t admit it. It’s the month where plans start taking shape. Routes get imagined. Trips get discussed. Rally dates get circled. Gear gets upgraded. Oil gets changed. Batteries get topped off. This is bench-racing season. We talk about where we’re going this year. Who’s riding with who. Which road we didn’t take last year and should have. Which dive bar, scenic byway, or middle-ofnowhere stretch of pavement deserves another look. February is where the riding year is built in your head.
The Bike Is Right There, Which Makes It Worse
The cruelest part of February is the proximity. Your bike is right there. In the garage. In the shed. Under a cover. Charged. Ready. Not frozen in a storage unit three states away. You walk past it,
Iowa Riders Earn Every Mile! Here’s the part people outside Iowa don’t understand. We earn our riding season. We don’t get year-round sunshine. We don’t get palm trees and perfect pavement. We get wind that knocks you sideways and temperature swings that make no sense. But when riding season hits here, it matters more. The first real ride of the year isn’t casual. It’s ceremonial. You don’t just throw a leg over and go. You remember how it feels. You listen. You smell the air. You feel the road. February makes sure you don’t take any of that for granted.
Why I Don’t Like February, and Never Will.
I’ll be honest. I don’t like this month. I never have. I never will. I don’t romanticize it. I don’t pretend it builds character. I don’t post pictures about “embracing winter.” February is something to get through, not something to celebrate. Valentine’s Day? Lame, I don’t need an excuse to buy my ride or die flowers, I do that many times on a random Tuesday. We go out when the hell we want. NASCAR sucks anymore, who cares, we get a football game, a shitty halftime show and we move on.
And that’s okay. Not every month needs to be loved. Some months just need to end.
The Light at the End of the Shortest Tunnel.
The good news is this: February doesn’t last. It literally can’t. It’s short by design Every day that passes in February is one day closer to the light of early March, the tease of warmer weather, and eventually the truth of spring. The countdown gets real. The conversations change. The bike stops feeling like a decoration and starts feeling like a plan. And when that first real ride happens, when the roads finally clean up and the air finally smells right, February disappears instantly. Every miserable day gets erased in one good ride. That’s the deal we make.
February is the worst month of the year. It’s ugly, cold, impatient, and unnecessary. But it’s also the price we pay for riding in Iowa. And I’ll pay it every year.
When I’m in charge, I am moving leap year to June 31st, after all, who in the hell wants an extra day in this crappy ass month!
Jan 24-25 Midwest Cycle & Motorsports Show & Swap Meet
South Sioux City, NE
Jan 31 Zero Run & Chili Feed Big Barn HD Des Moines
Jan 31-Feb 1 Colorado Motorcycle Expo Denver
Feb 12 ABATE of Iowa Lobby Day Des Moines
Feb 14 35th Annual Chili Cook-Off Metro HD
Cedar Rapids
Feb 20-22 40th Annual ABATE D2 Lincoln Bike Show Lincoln, NE
Feb 21-22 57th Annual O’Reilly Auto Parts Rod and Custom Show Monticello
Mar 7
B.A.C.A. Flippy Cup Tournament West Des Moines
Mar 8 Parts Girl Promotions Swap Meet Cedar Rapids
Mar 20-22 Omaha Chapter AMCA National Swap Meet Fremont NE
Mar 28-29 Chopper Show at D7 Expo Mason City
Mar 28-29 39th Annual North Iowa Motorcycle EXPO
Mason City
Apr 18 Chosen Few Iowa 2nd Annual Motorcycle Swap
Meet Cedar Rapids
Apr 25 Abate D18 Leather Run,Heartland HD Burlington
May 1 SAFR All Roads Lead to Boone Fun Run Pre-Party Boone
May 2 15th Annual Sleeping Angels Fun Run Boone
May 2 CMA Annual Bike Blessing and Run For The Son Crapo Park Burlington
May 3 8th Annual Blessing of the Bikes Chapel of Praise Muscatine
May 16
B.A.C.A. 100 Mile Ride Route 65 HD Indianola
May 30 Gears and Beers Mean Machine Cycles Elkhart
Jun 6 Abate D18 Memorial Ride Keokuk
Jul 2-4 Iowa Hog Drags and Nostalgia Reunion Humboldt
Jul 2-4 ABATE of Iowa Freedom Rally Algona
Jul 18 Abate D18 Hospice Ride Eagles Club Burlington
Aug 15 The Rust Run Antique Motorcycle Poker Run Atlanta, NE
WE NEED YOUR EVENTS FOR THE REST OF THIS YEAR AND FOR 2026. PLEASE EMAIL THEM TO VERNON@THUNDERROADIOWA.COM INCLUDE DATE, EVENT NAME, AND STARTING LOCATION TOWN.
