I burned up 5-6 miles riding my new mountain bike up and down East Coast Beach in the rain this morning. This bike was a long overdue purchase on many levels. I looked at its $200USD price tag as an investment in my community as well as my health. I say that because I live here now, for short or for long term, and getting out and getting more into my local area is paramount. The bike, named The Brit for it's blatant Union Jack on the frame, is perfect for a getting my leg workout/cardio in addition to quick jaunts down to the gym, grocery store, and just getting my bearings in my neighborhood.
I noticed on the rainy ride this AM that Americans do the beach differently. It looked like the Indians, and I don't mean the Redskins, were having a beach party complete with DJ, mini-soccer game (called FutSal here), tandoori grilling (think BBQ), and a shitload of people for a rainy day! This was about the closest to an American-style beach venture that you will see here except that the Indians don't do bikinis and they don't kiss in public (remember when Clooney kissed the Bollywood honey and got their ire?). The Asians, probably Malaysians or Vietnamese/Laotian, basically move all of their crap from their HDB flat (barrio) onto the beach complete with whatever shit is stewing in a pot 24/7, lines of clothing in varying degreess of freshness and stages of dry/wet, and bedding. It's looks like they're moving in and staying for days with lots of guests coming and going from their commandeered or, possibly, government subsidized, park bench. Ahh...the population lobotomy continues.
I needed a little shot of Texas or America or something non-Singaporean/Asian today. It was raining all day and the prospect of finding a suitable TV program to keep me from creatively taking my own life was dim. Shows like 'Gags' which is a french candid-camera, fuck with the viewer kind of show and really bad Anime were running like a Jerry Lewis MD Marathon all day. My exit was imminent.
I've been DYING to go to the Handle Bar since having gone to the one in Manila last month! It's the coolest dive bar/biker bar piece of Americana in Southeast Asia, hands-down, bar none. The one in Singapore is somehow loosely affiliated with the one in Manila, but the one in Manila is a little 'ruddier' as an Aussie would say. I've been chompin' at the bit for some kind of motorcyle outlet here beyond Japanese 250cc jobbies which are everywhere. I was ready for some V-twin Milwaukee thunder and the Handle Bar would be my outlet!
I noticed on the rainy ride this AM that Americans do the beach differently. It looked like the Indians, and I don't mean the Redskins, were having a beach party complete with DJ, mini-soccer game (called FutSal here), tandoori grilling (think BBQ), and a shitload of people for a rainy day! This was about the closest to an American-style beach venture that you will see here except that the Indians don't do bikinis and they don't kiss in public (remember when Clooney kissed the Bollywood honey and got their ire?). The Asians, probably Malaysians or Vietnamese/Laotian, basically move all of their crap from their HDB flat (barrio) onto the beach complete with whatever shit is stewing in a pot 24/7, lines of clothing in varying degreess of freshness and stages of dry/wet, and bedding. It's looks like they're moving in and staying for days with lots of guests coming and going from their commandeered or, possibly, government subsidized, park bench. Ahh...the population lobotomy continues.
I needed a little shot of Texas or America or something non-Singaporean/Asian today. It was raining all day and the prospect of finding a suitable TV program to keep me from creatively taking my own life was dim. Shows like 'Gags' which is a french candid-camera, fuck with the viewer kind of show and really bad Anime were running like a Jerry Lewis MD Marathon all day. My exit was imminent.
I've been DYING to go to the Handle Bar since having gone to the one in Manila last month! It's the coolest dive bar/biker bar piece of Americana in Southeast Asia, hands-down, bar none. The one in Singapore is somehow loosely affiliated with the one in Manila, but the one in Manila is a little 'ruddier' as an Aussie would say. I've been chompin' at the bit for some kind of motorcyle outlet here beyond Japanese 250cc jobbies which are everywhere. I was ready for some V-twin Milwaukee thunder and the Handle Bar would be my outlet!
I was prepped too... in tandem with reading the James Bond Biography, I've also been reading "Under and Alone" about real-life ATF agent Bill Queen on how he infiltrated the Mongols OMG (Outlaw Motorcyle Gang, not Oh My God you fucking LOL-writing instant message/texting dolts). Reading Bill relaying his bike and gun stories just got me going. I was dead set on getting to the Handle Bar, alone if necessary. I was pretty sure The Man from Snowy River wouldn't go for it and Ray lives too far away to make journey, so it was The GMAN and a cabby who couldn't find the place.
Thankfully, my keen sense of direction, which I attribute to my seemingly useless degree in Geography, delivered me safely into the arms of the only other piece of Americana here besides the American Club, the US Embassy, and the Hard Rock Cafe. Upon entering, it became blatantly apparent the Americans do a couple of things right. If immitation is the sincerest form of flattery then we should be thankful that everyone around this planet emulates us on 4 things...Rock N Roll, V-twin motorcycles, Handguns, and Guitars my friend! Everyone wants to do these things better than us but fear should be the last thing on your mind my friends...they could NEVER do it justice! We have a corner on the market in these 4 areas, I assure you!
Despite the obvious Asian staff, for 3-4 hours I forgot I was in a foreign land. I drank Budweiser, wore steel-toed boots & a Cult concert t-shirt, read about V-Twin custom bobber choppers, listened to the Allman Brothers, AC/DC, & other classic rock and roll, saw lots of biker chicks (only on the walls in pictures damn it!), ate a fucking cheeseburger that was cooked to perfection (hard to get here, medium means raw), and otherwise was an American for the afternoon. I hadn't been one in a while and I'll tell you why in a later blog about Identity crisis and my new accent.
The Handle Bar is a piece of biker heaven on a rock in Southeast Asia...an outpost of truly American innovation rivaled by nothing else on this planet. It is T-shirts that no mother would let a son wear, bike parts everywhere, tires & frames & seats made into bar stools, guitars made into chairs, a pool table begging to eat my SG dollars, Screaming Eagles, hot biker chicks posing in HD bike ads, tattoos, and most of all pictures of friends and patrons. Hopefully I will be in some of those pics soon. Because this, my friends, felt like home to me. At least some simblance of a temporary home that is.
I vividly pictured all my friends around...I could see Arthur doing a johnny-on-the-spot napkin rendering of SVP throwing a "Tarrant County Electra-Glide" on some unsuspecting mamacita...Scotty wearing an entirely inappropriate (read expensive) shirt to intentionally spite/slight the patrons while throwing an imaginary drum stick in the air and chugging a longneck upside down as the stick gracefully returns to his free hand...Lee trying to score some weed on an island where drug dealing means death...Kenon banging his bald noggin on the variety of shit hanging from the ceilings since he's the tallest human ever...John Cox (AKA Heavy C) supporting the bar with a heroic tab while complaining that the bartender, Hop Sing, doesn't use a 5-Mississippi count...I could see both Sasha and Denise hating it so I loved it...Brannon B leading a rollicking a capella rendition of the Shinedown's "I Dare You" which he uses to amuse the muses...Danny whipping out a new tale of how he bought, sold, burned down, built back up, bought back, and then sold the Handle Bar twice for a profit to the Sultan of Brunei just because...and Brent (who was born with a cue-stick for an appendage) beating the ever-loving shit out of the bikers one by one, dollar by dollar. I could choreograph every conversation, activity, and adventure in my mind. Thanks for joining me today gents. You were all there and you didn't even know it!
Thankfully, my keen sense of direction, which I attribute to my seemingly useless degree in Geography, delivered me safely into the arms of the only other piece of Americana here besides the American Club, the US Embassy, and the Hard Rock Cafe. Upon entering, it became blatantly apparent the Americans do a couple of things right. If immitation is the sincerest form of flattery then we should be thankful that everyone around this planet emulates us on 4 things...Rock N Roll, V-twin motorcycles, Handguns, and Guitars my friend! Everyone wants to do these things better than us but fear should be the last thing on your mind my friends...they could NEVER do it justice! We have a corner on the market in these 4 areas, I assure you!
Despite the obvious Asian staff, for 3-4 hours I forgot I was in a foreign land. I drank Budweiser, wore steel-toed boots & a Cult concert t-shirt, read about V-Twin custom bobber choppers, listened to the Allman Brothers, AC/DC, & other classic rock and roll, saw lots of biker chicks (only on the walls in pictures damn it!), ate a fucking cheeseburger that was cooked to perfection (hard to get here, medium means raw), and otherwise was an American for the afternoon. I hadn't been one in a while and I'll tell you why in a later blog about Identity crisis and my new accent.
The Handle Bar is a piece of biker heaven on a rock in Southeast Asia...an outpost of truly American innovation rivaled by nothing else on this planet. It is T-shirts that no mother would let a son wear, bike parts everywhere, tires & frames & seats made into bar stools, guitars made into chairs, a pool table begging to eat my SG dollars, Screaming Eagles, hot biker chicks posing in HD bike ads, tattoos, and most of all pictures of friends and patrons. Hopefully I will be in some of those pics soon. Because this, my friends, felt like home to me. At least some simblance of a temporary home that is.
I vividly pictured all my friends around...I could see Arthur doing a johnny-on-the-spot napkin rendering of SVP throwing a "Tarrant County Electra-Glide" on some unsuspecting mamacita...Scotty wearing an entirely inappropriate (read expensive) shirt to intentionally spite/slight the patrons while throwing an imaginary drum stick in the air and chugging a longneck upside down as the stick gracefully returns to his free hand...Lee trying to score some weed on an island where drug dealing means death...Kenon banging his bald noggin on the variety of shit hanging from the ceilings since he's the tallest human ever...John Cox (AKA Heavy C) supporting the bar with a heroic tab while complaining that the bartender, Hop Sing, doesn't use a 5-Mississippi count...I could see both Sasha and Denise hating it so I loved it...Brannon B leading a rollicking a capella rendition of the Shinedown's "I Dare You" which he uses to amuse the muses...Danny whipping out a new tale of how he bought, sold, burned down, built back up, bought back, and then sold the Handle Bar twice for a profit to the Sultan of Brunei just because...and Brent (who was born with a cue-stick for an appendage) beating the ever-loving shit out of the bikers one by one, dollar by dollar. I could choreograph every conversation, activity, and adventure in my mind. Thanks for joining me today gents. You were all there and you didn't even know it!
I admit it, I missed home. It was the first time in roughly 2 months. I opened my phone and looked at the datebook...the 19th never looked so far away. The Handle Bar made me miss home, God love it! Was it the escapism of biker culture, the 1%'er identity, fearless American sense of the bar? Was it the Dallasite, Adair's, Cosmo's, Reno's, and Vickery all wrapped into one that brought a little bit of home to me? Or was it the shear vacancy of close friends in my life thus far that made me miss home? I submit that it was all of these things.
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