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Show Mountain Biking? We Do It! It's that simple. Witti lines like Fat Chance, Fisher, Marin, Ibis, Bianchi, Mountain Goat, Slingshot, Salsa, Bontrager and Haro all under one roof, you spend more time test-riding and less time driving from shop to shop. Knowledge & Prices Find someone who rides or races a mountain bike and ask about us. Parts ·& Accessories We've got lots of them. Not just bread-and-butter Shimano, but track stuff like Cook Bros., Bullseye, WTB, Salsa, exotic wheelgoods and a wall full of knobby tires. Repairs? We do them right!! And usually overnight. Need a wheel built today or a quick tune before a trip to the desert? Give us a call. We don't hire salesmen. Everyone who works here is a mechanic. We love bikes and the people who ride them. Wild Rose 702 Third Ave. 533-8671 It's that simple. FICTION: Adventures of Frank and Stony Poor Howard's Dead and Gone Chapter Four: Boots and Saddles This bit of whimsy began in the October, 1992 issue and is offered purely for your enjoyment. -ed. Leaving the phone booth after his puzzling conversation with Thelma at Good Time Carla's Relaxation Center, Frank Wakefield (boy banjo genius) and Stoneman (faithful rottweiler) returned to their camper parked on the street nearby. "Follow the original plan/' she had said. But he didn't even know what the original plan was. Retrieving his banjo from the cab where he had stashed it, Frank and Stoneman climbed into the camper and began to prepare dinner. Frank whipped up a couple of liverwurst and Velveeta sandwiches for the faithful dog, and opened a can of Beanie-Weenies and a package of raspberry Zingers for himself. Suddenly, Frank heard a sound that sent a chill through his very being. The sound of a third party breathing! "Stony/' said Frank, "I. think we've got us some company." Sure enough, a quick inspection of the bunk in the camper's cab overhang revealed the shape of a form concealed beneath the covers. Someone had sneaked in while they were gone, and had hidden in the bed! "Explain yourself, you scoundrel!" Frank shouted, jerking the covers back. Only it wasn't exactly a scoundrel. It was more like an eight foot alligator. With hard, bright, orange eyes and · abouta zillion knifelike teeth. And great big jaws that snapped and slavered and roared. A harbinger of death and doom, smuggled into Frank's camper by those who did not want the original plan (whatever it was) to be carried out? Snarling and gnashing, the hideous brute leaped for Frank's throat. Thinking quickly, the boy banjo genius grabbed his trusty thirty-eight pound Gibson Whyte Lay die and, holding it like a club~ smote the beast between the eyes again and again. After about forty whacks with the banjo, the monster closed its eyes, rolled onto its back, lolled out its tongue, and expired with a·burp and a sigh. Frank dragged the carcass outside, lashed it to the top of the camper, and went back in to finish his BeanieWeenies. "Stony/' he said, "I think there's something ~y going on here. I don't remember anything about wild alligators in Omaha." The next morning, with his favorite Roger Sprung tape blaring on the stereo, Frank pulled into the parking lot of the Nebraska Lone Star Western Bootery. Accompanied by the faithful mutt, Frank entered the front door into the large waiting room. At a desk shaped like the state of Texas sat a middle-aged nymphet wearing a fringed Dale Evans blouse and a bouffant hairdo the size and color of a hay bale. "Pardon me miss/' said Frank. "I'd like to speak to someone about a dead alligator." "Jist a moment, podner," said the receptionist, pressing a button on her desk. Directly there was a clatter of - hooves, and around the comer into the waiting room galloped a burly, Teddy Roosevelt-looking guy astride a huge Palomino stallion. Stoneman arfed and jumped around at the sight of this new prospective playmate. Leaping from the saddle, the horseman extended a beefy hand. "Howdy, podner," he said. "McCusker's the name ... Scott McCusker. And this here's my faithful horse Django." He turned to the horse; "Go lie down, Django." The stallion immediately obeyed, curling up 10 Intermountain Acoustic Musician, January 1993 |
