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?

It's All About Age

"One Hundred and Nine Years Old"

What a great ice breaker, no? 
That's the line I drop whenever anyone asks me how old I am.

When I was in my teens, I looked 30, when I was in my 30's I looked like I was in my twenties. Now as I hover around the 1/2 century mark, I am still acting like a 20 something and having recently shaved my head, have become sort of ageless. 

I feel ageless, and some people I have worked with for years don't know my real age. Put an age next to something and it immediately becomes categorized, labeled and pigeon-holed.
Well, that ain't me.

I am childish…no wait, I’m child-like.

I love having fun with everything I can. 

I sing in the kitchen.

I run with scissors. 

I fear heights, so I jumped out of plane and learned to pilot a glider, 

I can’t get enough of speed, so I ride my motorcycles really fast on the highway and split lanes when I can; 

I couldn’t hammer a nail straight, so I took a job as a carpenter. 

I was frightfully shy, so I learned to be a bartender. 

If I put down I was 21, there’s an ‘image’ that is created....well, that ain't me.
If I put down I was 31, there’s an ‘image’ that is created...well, that ain’t me.
If I put down I was 61, …well you get the point.
 

Me is me.
I work hard at being true to me, (it ain’t easy in this world.)
 

Age is just a measuring stick used by others.

I felt that when I was 11, when I was 21, when I was….well, you get the point. 

I think about our parent’s generation….not that we would ever really know what they were like when they were the age we are now…

I just can’t picture my Dad (who I totally love and respect) living as hard as I do now…..

I ride with a Brother who is 64. 

Shit, you should see this guy. 
He will out play a lot of 22 year old kids I know. 

That’s ageless. 

That’s what I want to be when I grow up.

It’s just that I am not going to grow up…..ever.
 

How old do you want to be when you die?
I want to be just the right age.



Read more: 
One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series published by Blockhead City Press released in October 2011)
The Moon Upstairs: A Bikers Story (Book 4 in a series published by Blockhead City Press; released in December 2012
Available through bookstores everywhere, and Amazon.com and B&N.com

LARPing Or Lifestyle?

Little Jimmie picked up his patch from the back of the lawn chair

he was sitting on. Treating the vest as if it were a religious icon, he showed

the fire-breathing wolf on the back to Jake.

“This may look like a rag to the walking dead out there, but to us

it’s our flag, the reason we live. It represents our church, our home, and it is

the glue that holds us all together. We’re Skuldmen, we’re one percenters,

outlaws, and we still don’t give the jerk-offs who don’t pull their own

weight the time of day.”

In a rare moment usually reserved only for close associates, Jimmie

proceeded to explain to Jake that the Skuldmen patch was originally

inspired by Viking mythology, and that the Vikings were the greatest warriors

of all time—warriors who took no prisoners.

“The word skuld is a sacred word based in the hidden lore of the

holy runes of the Norsemen. The Skuldmen were the spiritual advisors of

the Viking kings and noblemen. The center patch is the Fenris, which is the

legendary fire-breathing wolf of Norse mythology,” Jimmie explained, as

he respectfully hung his patch on the back of the lawn chair.

“Is this all of you? I mean, are there others?”

“How many members we have is really not any of your business,”

Jimmie retorted.

Although the question seemed innocent enough, Jake had stepped

across the line. You don’t get up close and personal with one percenters

unless you’re one yourself.

“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to prod. The reason I asked, well, this

may sound weird, but I think I ran into a couple of your guys yesterday in

Virginia.”

“Virginia?You get around, don’t you?” Little Jimmie stared at Jake

for a few seconds as if to size him up, then grinned when he noticed Jake

didn’t flinch and wasn’t getting defensive.

“That’s very possible. There are Skuldmen chapters all across the

country and overseas. But we don’t exactly hand out patches like candy at

Halloween like some clubs do. Like the Viking warriors of old, we understand

and respect the meaning of brotherhood, and not one Skuldmen has

ever turned on one of his brothers.”

Jake nodded to let Jimmie know he understood.

Chapter 17 / Page 154  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)

It’s been quite a while since my last posting and there’s been a lot on my mind.

About life, and about this world we call “Lifestyle”.

Part of it comes from the fact that my boy has grown up.

He’s not a toddler anymore; hell, he isn’t even in High School anymore.

And in the time since the beginning until now, something’s happened.

He’s discovered a world that suits him.

He’s always been a voracious reader. And as his tastes have evolved, he’s found a community in the science fiction/fantasy writings of Terry Pratchett, James Patterson and Jim Butcher.

When he got to college, he discovered that there were others like him.

He wasn’t the only one who enjoyed that fiction.

He found a community of people who like to dress up in garb from another era and do battle.

There were Nations, and Quests, and Feasts and Celebrations.

Everyone had a new name; a name that came from the personality of a character they created.

LARPing is what it’s called: Live Action Role Playing.

He spends weekends at campgrounds with scores of others, wearing their costumes, Feasting, Battling with foam covered weapons, referring to each other only by their in-character names.

He was a Newbie for a year before he was completely accepted into his Nation.

I listen to stories about The King of this nation, the Shamen of that nation, the Magi who is his sponsor, of how this other nation wants to take over their Realm and how they need to protect and defend their territory.

There are newsletters and websites devoted to the strategy and communication.

And he goes on about it, I get lost trying to follow the names, the nations, the rules, the battles…

At first, I thought it was all a bit weird.

And then, the other day, I realized, his world is no different from our world.

Sort of.

Think about it.

There are those who live for the HD brand. They talk about it like it was the Holy Grail. They revere the name.

There is the uniform of leather and denim.

There are the patches of clubs.

There’s a process to be accepted.

There are the rules of respect.

There’s a hierarchy; within each group and within the community.

There are road names (sometimes you never really learn the legal name of some of the people you ride with, right?)
We have Rally's and Church

We all refer to our path as “the lifestyle”.

We take it seriously.

Perhaps too much.

But for a lot of people, they don’t.
The don't take their bikes out in the rain.

They spend more time polishing than they do riding.

They wear suits during the week.

They ride only on Sundays.

But when they do….they are all decked out....

So I have to ask myself these days:

Isn’t that LARPing?

I'm not into that.
I’d like to think I live the lifestyle.

Ride Hard
Ride Safe
Ride Often

Love & Respect.

Where's the Brotherhood these days?

Brotherhood.

Cameraderie, Group, Club, Gang, MC,

From time to time we toss those phrases around to describe some of the reasons we ride.

We join up to be with others who are supposed to be like us.

We ride because we think differently than the rest of society.

At least that is what we tell ourselves.

Brotherhood?

I’m beginning to think not.

I just  came back from  a week on the road to Canada and Northern Vermont.

Along the way there were tons of riders.

I don’t want to call them Bikers because I don’t know them and I don’t want to reward them with that mantle.

Granted during this trip, I was in a cage.

Granted during this trip, I didn’t look like I do when I ride.

Sneakers and shorts, not boots and jeans were the uniform of the day.

And when I approached riders as I normally would, with the question: “So, how are the  roads?”, my question was met with either silence (take that as being ignored) or just a single word of “fine”.

At some point, I figured that if I was wearing the whole boots, jeans and leather thing, I would have gotten a whole different reply.

Then I tried it the other way.

And you know what?
Nothing changed.

I still got the silent treatment or a one word answer.

That’s when I started to really consider this concept of Biker community, and thought more about if it’s  real or not.

I know a dozen or so people who live on bikes 95% of the time.

And that seems to have been good for two decades or so now. But as I reach out more and more to other Bikers to introduce them to my work, it is meant with a stone wall.

I wonder if they are just shy and don’t want to be bothered.

But then when talking to them at a bar or event or party, there is also this whole issue about what type of bike someone  rides. It used to be Harley or nothing. If you rode a import crusier, or even a Victory, you were looked down on.

Now, it’s come down to what kind of Harley you ride. 

What kind? 

What the fuck do you mean what kind?

Oh, now to be anointed as acceptable, someone has to ride a certain kind of Harley or they are not part of the brotherhood.

This does come from the years and years of posers buying the bikes that Milwaukee presents  to them, dressing like us, going to corporate sponsored and vendored “rallys” around the country, created solely for the purpose of selling them more shit that makes them look like  us.

They are not us.

But now, I’m finding we’re not us either.

And that’s distressing.

I’m getting disenchanted with this notion of Brotherhood.

I fear it’s doesn’t exist anymore.

It did once, but I don’t feel it out on the road anymore.

Riding a Harley once meant that you were part of a sub-section of society.

Now, there are sub-sections within the sub-section and it’s getting tougher and tougher to experience that feeling of belonging.

In Canada, there is high reverence paid to the HD brand. I don’t  think I’ve ever seen more people wearing the words Harley Davisdson emblazoned on nearly every and any article of clothing.

Their bikes were bigger and shinier than any I’ve ever seen in the lower 48. Big Baggers, these were.

Definitely posers. Probably got off their jobs as Nurses, Dentists, Lawyers, Accountants, Media Salespeople and ran home to pull on their HD branded underwear and pull the cover off their 2011 Heritage Softail and head down to the local four star restaurant for dinner.

They are not Bikers.
They are consumers.

They do not get the concept of brotherhood; that is, unless Milwaukee can brand it HD.

Of course, which they do with dealer centered HOGs.

I don’t belong to a HOG.

I never will.

That’s not brotherhood; that’s  manufacturer manipulated behavior under the  guise of brotherhood.

That’s a corporation working to insure future growth selling the concept of being different.

But not too different, otherwise you won’t buy HD brand embossed toilet paper.

And if you do buy it, well that’s  great, because then you belong.

                                                

It’s time to focus on being real again.

It’s time to be the identity that you want to be again.

Is it part of the brotherhood?
I’m not so sure.

Ride Hard

Ride Safe

Ride Often