Road Name: Biff, Fudgie Boy

Origin of Road Name:

A biker Road Name is normally something that is bestowed upon you rather than something you choose yourself. New maggots often ask “when do I get my road name?”. The answer is: “When you EARN it.” A Road Name should happen naturally, after some kind of incident or event which defines the person’s place in the maggot world.

Trying to choose your own Road Name hardly ever works. Usually it’s the result of a new maggot either wanting to rush the process or wanting to select a “cool” Road Name before they get handed a stupid one. This fails because A) it usually doesn’t connect with anything truly emotional about the rider, B) the rider usually tries for something too obvious, and C) it just rings false.

In the case of Biff/Fudgie Boy, he had come with a ready-made nickname. Biff. Good, solid, American, monosyllabic. He was Biff in High School before any of us ever met him. He was Biff in college where the maggots spawned. Biff he would stay, because it’s dumb enough and cliche enough to flip over into irony in this case.

Then one day, at a Bingcade on the edge of West Virginia, in the middle of the afternoon after the day’s riding was over and the beers had just been cracked open he stands up out of nowhere and announces “I am now Fudgie Boy… Call me Fudgie Boy!”


Everyone already knew that naming yourself was rarely successful. But naming yourself something THIS stupid and, frankly deprecating? It was… jarring. What Iain M. Banks called an “OOC” for “Out Of Context” event. It was never done before, nor has it been done since. The maggots tried to dissuade him. “Dude, we WILL call you Fudgie Boy so you might want to stop this now before it sticks.” Biff was undeterred. “Call me Fudgie Boy! I INSIST.” It went on like this for quite a while, and he started referring to himself as Fudgie Boy. It should be noted that Fudgie Boy is pretty heavy. Not morbidly obese, but in that range of American Male who carries way too much body fat for his own good. “Husky” might apply. “Chubby” too. Maybe “Big Boned” if you were trying to be polite.

In other words, a fatass (yours truly the author here is guilty of the same).

So we have a fat guy called Fudgie Boy now. Why did he do this? The conjecture is that it’s a case of crazy-like-a-fox. Some maggots suggest that the idea of dubbing himself Fudgie Boy was actually an attempt at heading off just such an obnoxious Road Name. Knowing that self-inflicted Road Names rarely take, he was actually attempting to head off the bestowal of just such a negative name.  It partially worked, because unlike most maggots people do not use the Fudgie name that frequently.

Current Ride: (if you can call it that) 1988 FLHTC Electra Glide in a two-tone cream-and-brown color, with matching brown seat that has got to be the most inexplicable color scheme ever to be delivered by Harley Davidson. What were they THINKING? This color combo is so bad that Biff was able to buy this bike used for $9,500 in 1996 when everyone else was waiting on line and paying a huge premium for any piece of shit with the bar and shield logo on it (the Motor Company’s salad days, the feculator days).

Previous Rides:

Some 1970’s Kawasaki KZ1000, bought used with poorly done “Native American”-style custom pinstriping and a set of fookin’ STEER HORNS attached to the handlebars. This bike was a PoS when he bought it, and didn’t get any better. Nowadays it would probably be coveted by some fan of 1970’s UJMs or turned into a killer cafe racer. Then it was just weird. It finally bit the dust on one Americade in the late ’90’s. All the way up to Americade Biff was stopping to shake the bike from side to side and peer in the gas tank. He thought that the rust sealant he had put in the tank was coming loose in chunks and clogging the fuel pickup, because the engine was bucking. Oh how wrong he was. After 4 days, on the way home with Bota leading at about 90 mph on the NY Thruway, I watched Biff’s bike throw it’s chain. The rear wheel locked up and through a miracle and luck and the intervention of Biff’s guardian angel he was able to get the bike safely to the shoulder. The chain was wedged tight between the rear sprocket and the spring/shock assembly. It took two Leatherman tools, some wood scrounged by the side of the road and about an hour of cursing and kicking to free the chain. The chain was stretched beyond recognition, the rear sprocket was chewed to hell. The bike should have been flat-bedded away. Instead, we looped the insanely loose chain around the sprocket and adjusted the wheel as far back as it would go and Biff rode home to Bucks County PA with the loose chain flapping wildly and jumping teeth whenever the slightest accelleration was called for. We did not exceed 50 mph for the rest of the trip.

Some OTHER 1970’s PoS Suzuki UJM in the 400cc range: This was Biff’s first bike, which he had for only a short time. It was abandoned there/thereabouts of York PA at yet another Harley event –  utterly dead. Biff asked to park it at a Jap bike dealer, and the owner clearly knew what was coming next. “NO!” he said. “You are not abandoning that thing on my property.” He abandoned it anyway, yanking the plate and popping the VIN number off before riding bitch with BOTA into the York hotel area. Biff was so fucking fat – that the BOTA Low-Rider was continually bottoming out – thus – Stork – the third member to appear later had to give Biff his bike, and ride bitch on the Low-Rider.

To be fair – York claims victims – more that simply Jap bikes. BOTA hit the ground twice – unassisted. Once in a a pitch black night driving rain while calling it quits to pull over literally in the middle of nowhere  (black ice) – that was a real wreck. The second time in broad daylight pulling up to a light on an oil spill on the Red Baron (with minimal damage) – which fucking hurt like a Biff – rather bitch (same thing).

Location: Montgomery County, PA

In Real Life: Biff is a house-husband. No shit. He raises the three kids while his wife supports the family financially with her job as a partner in a law firm.  Previously he was a Mechanical Engineer who maintained a maxipad production line for a personal care products company. I kid you not.


“I can’t ride until I have proper life insurance and my wife gives me my dick back. Can I follow in the minivan?”

“I know I’m not gay.  All the times I’ve sucked dick I’ve never enjoyed it.”



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