Word: bike
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...means of transport ever suffered a worse drubbing than the motorcycle? In the 17 years since Stanley Kramer put Marlon Brando astride a Triumph in The Wild One, big bikes and those who ride them have been made into apocalyptic images of aggression and revolt -Greasy Rider on an iron horse with 74-cu.-in. lungs and ape-hanger bars, booming down the freeway to rape John Doe's daughter behind the white clapboard bank: swastikas, burnt rubber, crab lice and filthy denim. It has long been obvious that the bike was heir to the cowboy's horse...
...bleat of Orwell's sheep in Animal Farm: "Four wheels good, two wheels bad!" The image of the biker as delinquent will take a long time to eradicate. "You meet the nicest people on a Honda," proclaims the Japanese firm that has cornered nearly 50% of the bike market in the U.S.; but the general belief is that you still meet the nastiest ones on a chopper...
...sarai solo," Leonardo da Vinci remarked five hundred years ago, "tu sarai tutto tuo" (If you are alone, you are your own man). Biking, like gliding, is one of the most delightful expressions of this fact. There is nothing secondhand or vicarious about the sense of freedom, which means possessing one's own and unique experiences, that a big bike well ridden confers. Antisocial? Indeed, yes. And being so, a means to sanity. The motorcycle is a charm against the Group...
...there any place a mutant can get a decent meal around here?" That quaint query is a line from a "contemporary and American opera" called Escalator Over the Hill. And who is recording it but Viva, underground superstar of such Andy Warhol hand-held flicks as Blue Movie and Bike Boy, and brand-new author of a rather autobiographical and hilariously funny novel called Superstar. Mrs. Michel Auder in relatively real life, Viva combines the best features of a beautiful woman, a four-year-old child and a man from Mars, and is about to try a new role: motherhood...
...LITTLE LEAGUER whose game had been rained out took shelter under the open walled shelter of the Fairbanks picnic area one evening, waiting out the shower before riding his bike home. His great-grandfather had been one of the early Alaskan bush-pilots; his father is a carpenter, and his mother is an Eskimo (or Alaskan Native, as all Alaskan Indians and Eskimos are called) from a large Eskimo village to the North. He was a bright and talkative kid who enjoyed telling stories about the winter hunting and trapping trips he makes with his father; flying their small plane...