The Charlie Bravo Story

Shameless Hussy

Shameless hussy (SHāmləs həsē) a: a girl or woman who behaves in a disrespectful or inappropriate way; b: a large black dog from the south who has an entirely too exalted view of herself and everyone else must pay the price. (See also “char‐le’ brah-voh”)
If you disagree with this assessment, I would introduce as evidence into the record her reaction when she realizes that we are going for a motorcycle ride. More importantly, when SHE is going for a motorcycle ride, and the other dogs can’t go. You might think that she would show a bit of humility and decorum, but if you did think that, you don’t know the Charles, as humility and decorum are not in her lexicon.
From the second she realizes that I’m gearing up for the road or trail, she commences losing her ever-loving mind. Flouncing, charking, attacking my boots, no activity is too ridiculous to refrain from performing to express her desire to GO!!, and go right now.
And doG forbid if I don’t work my way to the garage quickly enough to suit her, because then I will find her already on the bike and impatiently waiting. This is very bad news for me for two reasons:
One, I then have to back the bike out of the Cave Canem with a 65# mass of prancing dogflesh already perched high in her Charkstream. This would be risky business for a normal sized person, but since I’m a bit more “fun-sized” with bowling pins for legs, it’s downright hilarious. And two, it puts her directly at my ear level. Her foghorn CHARKs at such close range are enough to push my eastern eardrum through my western earhole.
It is said that the definition of insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different results; if this is true, then I should have been committed long ago. This is evidenced by the exact same scenario playing out every time we ride: Charlie starts with the “CHARK, CHARK CHARK!!!”, which prompts my witty comeback “QUIT, QUIT, QUIT!!!”. This is the equivalent of pouring high octane gasoline directly on her fire and merely serves to escalate the hostilities AND the volume. This scenario has been reenacted Every. Single. Time. we have saddled up on the bike for the last six years, and shows no sign of lessening in the future.
But then we’re off and flying. For a short time, Gravity ceases her unrelenting mission as the Enemy of Aging, and becomes our ally. She playfully pulls the bike towards the ground as we dive into the curves, only to release her grasp at the last moment to allow the thrum of the engine and the gyroscopic force of the wheels to pull us back upright. Then it’s on to the next curve, and the next, the middle-aged man, the shameless hussy, and the old Honda becomes as one organic being surfing an asphalt wave on a curl of torque.
But Gravity always wins, pulling those things that were once vertical downwards towards the horizontal. The waves we are now riding are less large or frequent than those of years past, and the day will eventually come that they will disappear entirely. But even then, we’ll ride that last wave all the way to the safety of the shore, and a new chapter will unfold before us.
But today is not that day; today, we ride. Because The Queen decrees it, and as it is written, so shall it be done. After all, what does the schedule of a commoner such as myself have to do with anything against the decree of a royal such as Charlemagne Bravissimo?
As the Facebook “waves” are becoming more erratic as of late, and the rocks known as “fact checkers” becoming more prevalent in the flow, we would strongly encourage you to join us on her blog over at:
In these uncertain and often divisive times, we feel that Charlie’s message is as vital as ever; the prospect of her chark being throttled is not one that she should have to deal with. The blog is our life insurance policy with you listed as our beneficiaries should you ever log on and find us gone due to forces beyond our control. This ride is way too much fun to have it throttled back by faceless thugs with unexplainable agendas.
We be of one blood, ye and I.

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