THE MYSTERY OF THE UNEXPLAINED was originally written 2005 and rewritten in November 2012 and revived again in January 2014. .

Have you ever spent time sitting alongside the road because your motorcycle suffered some mysterious mechanical problem which later turned out to be something that should have never happened at all. The malady which stopped your day's riding was a one in million something that normally never happens. It could be a small interruption in a day's ride, or the beginning of an adventure in roadside repair.

You always hear rider remark, "I should have checked that", "I know it was tight, I tightened it!" or "I can't figure out how that could have happened!" I would be willing to bet, you blamed vibration, phases of the moon, poor manufacturing, or some other reason that made more sense.

Have you ever wondered why motorcycles suffer all those little annoying breakdowns, nuts and bolts that come loose, little chrome things falling off, adjustments becoming unadjusted and perfectly good parts like tires, brake pads, batteries, wearing out after you checked them before leaving home?

Who is it that sneaks into the garage and readjusts the settings on everything? I know someone or some terrorists group had snuck into my garage and changed all my preset rock radio stations, to classical and country on my Electra Glide; and that somehow a perfectly good tire became worn out in thirty miles; I know this because I checked it before leaving the house that morning.

Yes and I'd be willing to bet you've known other folks, who've had unexplained things happen to their motorcycles, cars and other stuff, too!

For a long time I thought it was a conspiracy by the manufactures of thread locking chemicals and devices. I figured they had the most to gain with a worldwide plan forcing motorcyclists to buy their products. A special CIA trained black ops team would go out at night and loosen nuts and bolts on any machinery they could find. The covert black ops teams would explain all the loose bolts and parts falling off. But the manufactures of thread locking chemicals and devices don't make tires or brake pads and shoes, or batteries nor do they care about what radio stations you've selected, or gain anything by changing the settings on anything.

A couple of Navy fighter pilots I know told me about Gremlins. Gremlins only stand about a foot high which makes it very easy for them to sneak past sentries and get aboard aircraft so they can damage equipment. Their small size lets them get into places no one can see allowing them to create havoc with anything they can get a hold of. A perfectly good airplane could sit over night, and the next morning it would be down for all kinds of repairs.

Gremlins have been around a very long time, at least since man began to build things. However their exploits were not documented until WWII. For no apparent reason a lot of aircraft during the war, would fail to start, or run so bad it would force the crews to ground the plane. Gremlins attacked both the allies and the axis sides; so it's just the love of creating havoc that they live for. I believe this is the reason behind the Bermuda Triangle anomalies; gremlins would stowaway and then get into the ships navigation equipment causing ships and aircraft to go astray.

This has been documented by the government in a secret study call the Strange Occurrences to Aircraft Report (SOAR). In the report gremlins were described as little green guys about foot tall, with pointed ears. Walt Disney was recruited to compile the descriptions into a single image of what a gremlin looked like. He worked from descriptions given to him by actual observers who were later sworn to secrecy. Most of the descriptions he received were from military and civilian ground crews and pilots.

Typical Gremlin, according to Hollywood.....

Of course Disney later on made them known to the public but having to keep the truth hidden he made them out to be lovable fun little guys, which was far from the truth.

I told my pilot friends about the unexplained things that have happened to my motorcycles while they sat locked in my barn. They all agreed it sounded like the work of Gremlins.

Disney's WWII Gremlins at work.

This gremlin thing really got me bugged. I was explaining the gremlin thing to my boss and he said it sounds like the work of the little blue guys. He said blue guys have plagued the shipyard where we work, for years.

They sneak into the shipyard at night, move tools, and even undo work. He explained how he had heard workers and supervisors discussing how work, which was done, had somehow not been done or it was undone by some mysterious method. My boss went on telling me he learned of them when he was an apprentice. He said that strange things would happen to his home work and test papers; wrong answers would appear on his papers when he knew he had written the correct answers, and homework would just up and disappear. All of this was the work of the little blue guys.

I figured he might be on to something; after all, my tools have disappeared and then suddenly reappeared while I'm working. And I've see work that was done one day mysteriously require that we do it again. Perhaps blue guys and gremlins are the same thing.

Well, I decided that this Blue Guy/Gremlin phenomenon required further investigation. I also figured that I needed get some expert help. I called the FBI, and asked to speak with Agent Fox Moulder of the X Files. I knew this gremlin problem would qualify as an X File and that he, and the very good-looking Agent Dana Scully would come here and investigate this phenomenon.

The existence of the X Files section is a special government super top secret. The agent I spoke with on the phone denied knowing anything about the X Files section, or agents Moulder and Scully. When I demanded to speak with anyone in the X Files section, there was a long pause, which ended with the person on the phone laughing. I hung up. What's the matter with the FBI? Aren't they at all concerned about finding out the truth, or are they only worrying about looking good on TV?

FBI Agents Dana Scully and Fox Moulder from the X- Files Section

If the federal government wasn't going to help I would have to do this myself. Lack of professional help wasn't going to stop me. I thought, with a video camera I could document this phenomenon. I could give or sell it to the Daily Press, or the Virginia Pilot, and then the whole world would know the truth. Maybe I'd get rich or at least famous; I could see a Noble Prize in my future or at least a guest spot on the Jay Leno Show or maybe Jerry Springer.

There was only one flaw in my plan; at the time I didn't own a video camera. I went to the local photo shop to rent one. When I told the clerk what I had in mind he began to act funny; he smiled more than before and snickered allot. At first I thought he was suffering from some form of flu or cold thing, because he kept retching and grabbing his face covering his mouth and nose. He seemed a bit hesitant about renting me the video camera.

After wiping the tears from his eyes he suggested that I use one of the new disposable, one-time use cameras. You've seen them; they're made out of a cardboard box, with a lens and loaded with film inside. Once you've taken all the pictures you just take the whole thing back to where ever you bought it and they rip open the flimsy box, remove the film and develop it. I thought this over and because the box is sealed at the factory, no one could claim that I doctored the film and the pictures are a hoax. I left with a neat bright yellow little box with a plastic lens and some flashcubes.

I felt pretty good about my plan and I was sure that I was on the right track to make history.

The "Barn" where my motorcycles are kept is not that large; it's a 10' by 12' metal building. The "Barn" has no heat, no insulation and importantly no place for me to hide. In Africa, hunters build blinds and wait for hours for big game. In America, Plains Indians would pull a buffalo hide over themselves and sneak into the herd of buffalo where they could get close and make their arrows count. I figured I needed some deception like the African big game hunters and the Plains Indians; I would pull a motorcycle cover over me. I would pretend to be a motorcycle and lure a blue guy or green gremlin in close so I could photograph one in the act of sabotaging one of my motorcycles.

The weekend was coming and I would execute my plan then. After all it shouldn't take more than an hour or so.

After two nights standing bent over, with the motorcycle cover pulled over me, and peering out through the tiny little air vent holes, I was rewarded with nothing; no sightings, no noises, except for the cracking sound from my back when I tried to stand upright.

It was time to revise the plan.

My wife, who after many years of marriage, was convinced I needed some help, (although she was never specific what kind of help she thought I needed). I agreed with her, and decided to call some friends in to help. She said that wasn't the kind of help she was thinking of.

What else could she be thinking; I don't think she grasped the importance of this research; this was going to make history.

It's amazing how many friends are willing to do a small thing like staying up all night without heat in 20-degree temperatures. Their responses to my plea for help and a promise of becoming famous where mostly all the same, "Are you for real?"

The barn, a 10 X 12 steel shed, my Sportster and Electra Glide both come in at night.

Using language that would make the most harden outlaw biker or sailor blush my friends questioned my intelligence, and not to mention the condition of my sanity.

Well it has to be done.

With "Plan A"s failure to produce results it was now time for "Plan B".

Plan B called for me to clear the workbench creating a place I could lie down and then pull the motorcycle cover over me. I always cover parts when I leave them on the bench over night. So now I would be camouflaged to look like covered parts. At least my back wouldn't hurt from standing bent over all night.

Friday night it was time to put my plan B into action. I crawled up on the workbench pulled the cover over me and waited. I had very carefully locked the Barn's doors and I was sure I was alone as I got comfortable on the bench and laid my head down on the vise with the cardboard camera nearby and ready…

Sometime around 2 am I was awakened by a loud noise and a searing pain. The noise woke me with a jolt; and without thinking I quickly sat up pulling my ear which had become frozen to the metal vice I was using for a pillow. The pain of my ear being pulled free from the vise caused me to fall off the workbench; I was still clutching my camera when I felt the sudden stop when I hit the floor. My impact with the floor triggered the cardboard camera's shutter. The camera was backwards in my hand and the flash fired directly into my eyes, blinding me.

I stood up and began staggering around the barn blinded by the camera flash; I fell over my motorcycle jack hitting my head on the compressor tank. The pain from the impact with the compressor tank triggered my cat like reflexes causing me to jump straight up. My rapid ascent to the heavens was cut short when I the back of my head slammed into the underside of the workbench which covered over the compressor.

As my eyes readjusted from the flash and the throbbing pains all blended together, I looked around through my tear filled eyes. I inspected the Barn for some sign of blue guys or gremlins but found nothing. After some time the pain subsided and became more tolerable; after my eyes adjusted to the light and were free from the floods of moisture I checked the Barn's doors making sure nothing had made its way in or out. The door was still locked I was sure nothing had come in or got out.

Actually, the Barn's sliding doors were frozen shut. I discovered the frozen doors when I needed to answer the call of nature and couldn't get out. My attempts to remove the C-clamp with my head throbbing in pain and all the while doing the two step pee-pee dance where to no avail. Worst of all I couldn't find an old coke can or coffee can to use as a make shift urinal. I also discovered that I was out of matches, and had no way to light the kerosene heater.

Hours later my wife in company with my friend Lyle showed up. They managed to push some matches through the crack in the door. With the matches I was able to light my propane torch and free the frozen clamp from the door. And melt the ice keeping the door shut. After thirty minutes or so I managed to get the Barn doors open.

After seeing the red impression on the side of my face, the bruises on my forehead and shin, and the lump on the back of my head and the frozen wet stain on my trouser leg, though tears of laughter they were both sure I needed more than a camera.

My wife remarked that it was hard to believe anything green or blue a foot tall could pull me off the workbench, when she couldn't get me to roll over at night to stop snoring!

I looked like twenty miles of bad road, or I just survived a bad night at Wrestlemaina getting my ass kicked by everyone. I now had an impression from the bench vice on the side of my face where I rested on it the all night. My ear, which had frozen to the vice during the night and was then pulled free when the gremlin pulled me off the work bench, was hurting like hell. Forced me to reconsider my scientific research; I decided to wait until summer or at least warmer weather to continue my investigations.

I just couldn't quit now; I had come too far and I knew I was on to something and sooner or later I would have the proof I needed. I still think if I was a tad faster that night I would have gotten the photograph of one of those gremlins.

Despite my presence and constant vigilance some strange things did happen, my bike's rear axle nut had come loose and the battery was dead. The bikes taillight lens was lying on the floor next to my crushed disposable camera with the burnt flash cube.

Sneaky those Blue Guys... or was it Gremlins?

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