Not Nice

After a few beers, Jake headed to the bathroom, and while there, something caught his ear. Little Jimmie and another club member who Jake recognized but didn’t know by name, were talking in almost hushed tones over in one corner.

            “Yeah, we found her. The bitch was sittin’ in the same bar last night as she had been the day she hit Woody.”

“No way?”  Jimmie replied, amazed at the girl’s stupidity.

           “Sitting there pounding them down like she didn’t have a care in the world. But we fixed her; she won’t be drivin’ again for a long time.”

“What happened?”

“We waited until she got up to take a leak. I got my ol’ lady to watch the door, and then me and Moose went in and pulled her from the can. You should have heard the bitch scream when we tossed her ass out the second story window into the dumpster below. Good thing the music in the place was loud. From what I heard from a friend who works the emergency room over at Baltimore General, she’s got a broken leg, a few broken ribs and one hell of a headache.”

“Did she know why she flew out the window?”

“Oh yeah. Just before I let her go, I told her that this was for Woody.”

“Well, I guess that takes care of that for now. Good work,” Jimmie said, as the man he was talking to left the room.

Realizing that their conversation had been overheard, Jimmie approached Jake.

“Just like I told you—we always take care of our own,” Jimmie said seriously.

Chapter 21 / Page 148 from One Light Coming:  A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series published by Blockhead City Press released on 1 October 2011.
Available through Amazon.com and B&N.com  iTunes Library and bookstores everywhere.

We are not nice.

In case you hadn’t heard, a couple of months ago, a bunch of NYC riders attacked the driver of an SUV for both violating their space on the road, and running into one of their own in the process. It made national headlines. There are opinions on both sides of the story of how the riders were hooligans taking over the roadway and terrorizing the general populace. There are stories that the driver of the SUV felt threatened and reacted improperly.

Of course in the process, everyone who thinks they have half a brain weighed in. I was sent a copy of a letter to the editor via some family who still lives in NY.  In this letter the writer talks about how motorcycle riders aren’t bad people. Her husband and his friends ride all around the Tri-State area, how they do charity rides for Toys for Tots, MDA, Breast Cancer, etc etc etc…and she ends the rant with the line, something to the effect of how everyone can feel safe around Harley riders.

I am reminded of a saying one of my Brothers uses  all the time: Bikers Are A Rare Breed; Harley Riders Are A Dime A Dozen.

Don’t kid yourself.

We are not nice people.

Harley riders participate in charity runs because they are wanna-be’s. Charity rides were created to emulate a Club Run. Some wanna be was going along the road when a patch club rode past and he was impressed with the power of 20 or more machines, riding in formation, as a unit, and wanted to be part of that. But, he didn’t have the guts to hang-around, prospect and earn the right to wear the colors of a club. So, a charity ride was created to get that same feeling of lots of bikes on the road at the same time.
Charity rides have their purpose, it does bring money in for a charity. But it’s usually a bunch of posers out on a Sunday.

They are riders, not Bikers.

Back in July of 2011, I made a mistake. I wore my vest in Red&White territory, without informing the local chapter. My journey from Point A to Point B was short; just 50 miles. But as luck would have it, during that time, as I was going along the route, from the highway adjacent, three Red&White patchholders saw me. I saw them too, but figured since they were going 60mph on a different road they wouldn’t do anything.

I was wrong. Within 10 minutes, there was one of them next to me at a traffic light.

“What the f*ck are you doing here!” he screamed. “You know the rules….” as he reached under his vest.

As he pulled a blade to cut me, I took off. He was ready, willing and wanting to cut me. I was in the wrong and I knew it.

We are not nice.

In the past, one of my Brother’s wife was robbed by someone she knows. When confronted by the cops he denied it and the cops dropped the matter. We didn’t. My Brother went to where he worked and took care of the matter in a most physical way. And this guy will never walk the same way again.

We are not nice.

Bikers Are A Rare Breed; Harley Riders Are A Dime A Dozen.

Two Brothers

   In the dead of night and with a light drizzle falling on the city of Albany, Blues and Skip, wearing their Skuldmen colors, wove in and out of traffic on their Harleys, side by side. They were oblivious to the people they passed in the cars around them. When they pulled to a stop at the traffic lights, they were equally oblivious of the pedestrians, who cheated glances at the men as they crossed the intersection under the protection of their umbrellas. The two bikers were in a world of their own, they were men on a mission.

   Sitting on the far corner, was their destination. Misty’s Sunshine Bar & Grill was a sleazy bar that had seen better days.  The standard neon beer signs glowed behind the window in front of  faded and stained curtains. A black delivery van and six Harleys were parked out front, and a number of cars occupied space in the parking lot next to the bar. Standing at the door to the bar, trying to stay dry were two prospects paying their dues keeping watch over the machines at the curb.

“You know that this is fucking suicide, Blues.” 

“This is fucking personal. You didn't have to come,” Blues responded.

“I’m with you, Brother. Always have been, always will be” Skip said.

Chapter 3 / Page 27 from The Moon Upstairs : A Biker's Story (Book 4 in a series published by Blockhead City Press released on 12December 2012.
Available through bookstores everywhere, and Amazon.com and B&N.com

    “Woody was one hell of a brother. One of the righteous few, and a good man,” Big Keith said, before leaving Jake to rejoin the other Skuldmen . 

    The title of righteous was not one that was tossed around lightly. This was something Jake had learned early on in his riding days. Righteous was a mantle that was earned over time, awarded through action, made by honor and held in high esteem by 'brothers' who followed the silent code of a secret society. To be considered righteous, you earned it by being there for others at a time when no one else could be found. It meant that you gave your last dollar to someone who needed it for food, gas, or drink; or you took a part off your bike for a brother who was stranded on the side of the road and then you both limped home together. A righteous brother would be the first to come to your side in a bar fight and be the last man standing next to you. 

Chapter 21 / Page 140 from The Moon Upstairs : A Biker's Story (Book 4 in a series published by Blockhead City Press released on 12December 2012.
Available through bookstores everywhere, and Amazon.com and B&N.com 

Back in the summer of 2012, I wrote about the Brotherhood of our lifestyle, and how I was getting a little disillusioned by it all. And that's still true today. 

But there's a difference between Brothers and Brotherhood. And I have two of the best examples in the world. Sure I have two brotherhoods, the riding one and the writing one. In the writing one, I have the best brother in the world in Ed Winterhalder. No one could ask for a more supportive and collaborative writing partner.

Having said that, I have two Brothers that make my world, make this journey, better. So much better, because I know I can rely on them, that they are there 24/7/365, but are not in my face 24/7/365. 

And there is a difference.

One Brother I have been riding with for just over 25 years. He came to this lifestyle a bit later than I did. But once he did, we bonded early and we bonded strong. On the road, we're known as Butch and Sundance. When we ride it's like ballet. There is only one other that I ride with, besides Sundance, that I can spend hours on the blacktop from Boston to Vermont to New York State, side by side, at 70+ mph and have it feel like it's a walk in the woods. 

Sundance knows me through and through. He knows my secrets; both good and bad. I know that he's got my back at the drop of a dime. I trust him, completely. At one time, we rode identical scooters. Whether we were side by side, or one in front of the other, we were a pair. We've helped each other out of several jams more than once. He also knows that I have his back. No matter when, no matter what. I am there for him. I help him, I counsel him, I protect him. In turn, and not for any reason other than it's what brothers do, he helps me, he counsels me and he protects me. I wouldn't be 'Butch', if it weren't for him. He knows it, and he knows how much that means to me.

The other Brother I've known for just 15 years. PC is a major force in motorcycle rights in the Boston area. He gets shit done. When we were on the Board of the Massachusetts Motorcycle Association he could ride up to the State House, and walk in and see any number of politicians and talk to them about legislative matters intelligently, and effectively.  14 years ago when he was organizing a fund-raising ride for the family of a fallen rider, he reached for help. Studly called and I said yes, because of what he has done for the community. In the meantime, his commitment to our community has inspired me to get involved in our Motorcyclists Survivors Fund, a charity that helps. I joined in because he stepped up. He's a Brother in the global sense to all of us that ride in New England. The whole MC community is better because of him. And in the ensuing 15 years, we too, have bonded, like Sundance and I, only different. Sure, we go out, we drink until we are just shy of silly, and include anyone that wants to partake of our journey. But he and I have connected in ways, intellectually, that is amazing. When Studly has a plan to organize something, we frequently talk about it. And in many cases, I am "Consigliere" to his "Godfather", and neither of us are Italian. I support him, I respect him; and when it comes to my writing, he does the same for me. The funny thing is, in those 15 years, we've never ridden together. Not once. But we each know how the other feels when you're sitting on a machine clearing the cobwebs out of your brain at 65mph on a winding mountain road in the middle of New England.

Two Brothers.

Completely different.

So much the same in my life.

Ride Hard,

Ride Safe,

Ride Often.

  

Who Wants White Bread?

"Sitting together with Jimmie during a beer break later that day, Jake seized the opportunity to see if he could pick the one percenter’s brain a bit.

“Interesting crew you have here.”

“Nothing but the best. We’re one big family. We don’t exactly fit the image and standards the rest of society seems to consider everybody should live by. We live just a little off the grid, on the fringe.”

Jake gave Jimmie a questioning glance.

“We aren’t interested in the average cookie cutter house dropped on a fifty by one hundred lot right next to dozens of other cookie cutter houses. We don’t generally shop at the mall and you won’t see us drive a minivan to shuttle the kids back and forth to school, soccer practice, music lessons, ball games, play dates, or homework clubs. Anything that conditions them to become nice, brainwashed little citizens like the chicken shit role models who ram all that politically correct crap down their throats. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not against our kids getting an education and being active, but it’s something we encourage them to do on their own terms—to think for themselves.”   

Chapter 17 / Page 109  One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series published by Blockhead City Press released on 1Oct2011.
Available through bookstores everywhere, and Amazon.com and B&N.com)

Who wants white bread? 
Sure we probably all grew up with having peanut butter and jelly school lunches made on white bread. It was cheap and it was filling and it was suppose to be good for us. I remember standing in line in the school cafeteria, tray in hand, as it slid along that stainless steel rack and one cafeteria lady would drop a container of white whole milk on my tray, another would give me a plate with the pb&j sandwich and another would give me an apple and a cookie. And off I’d go to try to find an empty seat to wolf it down. 

Now we know that the white bread was bleached, whole milk isn’t good for you and recently there’s been that whole peanut butter scare. I don’t even want to go down the road about how schools now can’t give out cookies, what with the wheat, milk, chocolate allergies that abound in our kids!

And so, I was thinking.

It’s the same with Life, you know.

I don’t want any white bread in my life either. 

My musical tastes run the gamut from American Folk to Traditional Celtic, to Hard Core Rock&Roll, to Alternative to Punk, to African Tribal to Brazilian tangos to Opera to Electronica to West Coast Jazz to Fusion to Pop.

My friends are the same way. I have, of course, my brothers; My friends are truckers, lawyers, writers, musicians, artists, witches, judges, cooks, strippers, office workers, construction crew, cops. I live in a suburb and have both a car and my motorcycles. I can be equally comfortable in a tuxedo or jeans and a tee-shirt, work in a shirt and tie and carry a .45 or put on a suit and make presentations.

I have been lucky enough to have jobs as varied as a creative type and office type, a bartender, a carpenter, and a teacher. I have lived in the biggest city in the world and one of the smallest town in New England.

I absolutely thrive when there is diversity in Life. 
The more experiences the better. 
I want everyday to be different. 
Different tastes, smells, sounds, people, places.

I would be bored eating white bread everyday.

Wouldn’t you?