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Custom Built Bikes, Writing & Words That Ain’t Really Words!

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FC_RF-&-Pam-7[dropcap]H[/dropcap]ey ya’ll, please allow me to introduce myself, my name is Rick Fairless, I am born and raised in Dallas and I am very proud to be a new columnist for MPN. I have been a reading MPN for many years and I have always enjoyed the magazine. I have been riding motorcycles for more than 50 years and I have been in the motorcycle industry for 20 years. I am the proud owner of Strokers Dallas Motorcycle Shop, Strokers Ice House Bar & Grill, Strokers Ink Tattoo Parlor, RF Custom Parts, and Big State Fountain Grill & Diner.

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Bottom line: I love motorcycles, especially custom motorcycles. I like to start with nothing but a crazy idea and build something very cool. I also dig taking a stock motorcycle, like a Harley or a Victory and ripping it apart and transforming it into a completely custom motorcycle. My love of custom motorcycles is what drove me to open my own motorcycle shop.

I also love to write and have written professionally for more than 10 years. To me, writing is sort of like building a custom motorcycle; you start with nothing and turn it into something pretty cool that other people will enjoy, hopefully. The main difference is that if I want to redo something that I’m writing, I can just hit the backspace key and erase it like it never happened.

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There is no backspace key in bike building. If I do something I don’t like, then it costs me time and money to redo it. In both my custom built motorcycles and my writing, I try to create something that will provoke emotion, something that will make you think. Sometimes you may dig it and sometimes you may think I’m just a goon who doesn’t know what he’s doing. Ok, maybe you would be right on both counts… or maybe not!

I think what you will notice with my writing (and my custom motorcycles), is that I write very differently than most writers. I write like I talk, and many times the words that I write aren’t really words at all – at least not according to old man Webster. I tend to use words like: Kinda, Sorta, Fixin, Looky, Wanna, Gotta, Gonna, Brung, Ain’t, and, well, you get the idea. I also don’t dig writing about technical stuff. There’s plenty of writers that do that, ya know, articles that go like this:

FC_RF-&-Natasha-ROT-6-12-14“The best way to increase traffic in your Service Department is to…Blah…Blah…Blah!” Yeah, there’s plenty of people writing about all that stuff so ya’ll don’t need me flapping about junk that’s been covered ad nauseam (yeah, that’s a big word for a Texas redneck, but it’s my first article with these cat’s so I wanted to show off a little, I had to look up the spelling though).

When I write I like to tell a story and share an experience that I have encountered as a motorcycle dealer that other dealers can relate to. Sometimes it’s something common that happens all the time and sometimes it may be something so far in left field that I want to share it with my readers. Either way, my intent is to entertain you readers.

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Here’s a good one… next door to my motorcycle shop – Strokers Dallas, is my Strokers Ice House Bar & Grill (mainly it’s a beer joint). I’m lucky enough to have built up a reputation as a destination and we get people visiting out here from all over the country and from all walks of life.

Yesterday, a young 20-something year-old woman walked in with her butt hanging out of her shorts and she was wearing a skinny bandanna over her boobs, although most of her boobs were hanging out also. Well, after eying… I mean observing her for a few minutes, I decided I had to ask her to leave.

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The conversation went something like this:

Me: I’m sorry madam, you will have to leave.
Her: Why, what did I do?
Me: It’s not what you did; it’s how you’re dressed.
Her: What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?
Me: It’s inappropriate attire for a public business.
Her: Well I think you are wearing inappropriate attire!
Me: What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?
Her: You’re wearing long hair and a tie-dye shirt, my God nobody wears that s**t since the ‘60s.
Me: Ok, get out!
Her: (laughing) My pleasure, Grandpa.

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