Role Model

Role Model

“Our reality is right here, being real people, doing real things. We can’t be bought, sold, or traded like a commodity. We like to be free, not slaves to the system. There’s nothing like being out on the road, where we can spend days riding just to be someplace we haven’t been or seen before.”

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. We’re Brothers and Sisters for each other, we’re each other’s family. By choice, not by birth and that’s the difference. Some folks have brothers and sisters ‘cause that’s what was given to them. We’re here, for each other, because we chose to be. There’s a difference.”

From Draft #3 of the manuscript:

Chapter 17 Page 155 : One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series).

Published by Blockhead City Press © 2011

Available through Amazon.com, Barnes &Noble.com, iTunes or through your favorite local bookstore. 

Who am I?

There are many mantels I wear.

Like most of us, we often wear different hats:

Son, Brother, Father, Important Friend, Spouse, Employer, Employee, Leader, Follower….like many of us, the list goes on.

In the past week or so, I have been reminded all too well of these titles that could be used to describe me. I have had to juggle many of these roles as events that have occurred in each of these realms have forced me to make decisions about which hat is more required than another at any given time in the day, week or month.

And when this choice is made, when that hat is put on, to be the best person I can be in that role at that time, the other roles that are important parts of my life end up getting the short end of the stick.

And some people get let down.

It’s impossible to be in three places at one time.

That’s a fact; a reality.

But choices are made. For better or worse.

Years ago, my son gave me a new patch for my riding vest.

It simply said: Role Model.

I put in on my chest, proudly, in the same place where others would display: “President”, or “Sergeant-At-Arms”.  And I wear it, not only because he gave it to me. I wear it because for years I told him not to do what I have done. My path is not his path. He needed to choose his own way, not follow mine.

“I am not a role model” was the phrase repeated over and over in the kitchen, sitting on the stoop, walking to the mailbox…..over and over.

So, when He gave me the patch and he said: “Yes Dad, you are…in your own way” , I was touched.

I wear this patch with pride.

And so, these past week or so,  I made choices that brought tears to those who are the important people in my life, all for different reasons; some because I was ‘there’ , and some because I wasn’t, some because I reminded them of their role of responsibility, some because I reminded them of this mantel of Role Model.

I hope that when I lay on the pavement, lying up at the sky above, about to take my last breath in this world, I can honestly say that my actions gave honor to the words: Role Model; as a Son, Father, Brother, Friend, of being someone who was Important to others in this world.

Who are You?

Ride Hard,

Ride Safe,

Ride Often.

Weather or Not

Weather or Not to Ride

“And everything would have been fine…if the rain didn’t start coming down. It’s not that it was coming down hard, I mean we’ve all ridden in rain before. No one likes it, but we’ve all done it. And we know how to do in while riding in a pack; spacing is key, staying far enough behind from the brother in front of you and switch to a staggered formation. But it was the trucks that screwed us up. They don’t slow down for anything. They hydroplane like there is no tomorrow. While no one would ever admit, but it was just a matter of time before something went wrong. At a gas up just outside of Mount Laurel, Prez suggested that we not try to make Gettysburg and just get to the other side of Philly and hang it up for the night. It was about another hour of riding and we’d pull in. Mike the MapMan and Bucky huddled and found us a place. It was decided that Pennsville NJ was going to be about as far as we’d go that day. So, after filling up, off we went. And sure as god made little green apples it happened. Jonesy was last in line and I guess that the spray was just too much for him and as we were pulling out of the gas stop, his rear wheel lost traction and the bike just slid out from underneath him. Larry was just a bit surprised to see Jonesy pulling ahead of him, not because he was pulling ahead, but because he was doing it  lying down on his back as his scooter was sliding too! When the front wheel of Jonesy’s ride tapped the back of Irishman’s bike, he nearly went down too. Don’t ask me how Moose, and Little Jimmie in the front knew it, but they pulled us all over to the side and we jumped off our machines and ran to help pull Jonesy and his sled off to the side of the road. A guy in a pickup truck pulled off to help too. And within 15 mins, there was an ambulance, a fire truck and NJ State cop to keep us company. The side of Jonesy’s tanks was pushed in, he was missing his left rearview mirror and the clutch lever was bent up. His gear lever was destroyed and his front fender was history. We all decided that the hydroplaning is what saved the bike from going head over heels and sustaining more damage. The same can be said of Jonesy. His leather jacket was scuffed up and he had a fat lip. We thought that was all; until he tried to stand. The paramedics confirmed that his right ankle wasn’t broken, but had a hairline fracture. Of course being the tough guy, Jonesy wasn’t going to the hospital. “I’ll heal just fine” says he. In the meantime, we’re all getting soaked. Prez tells Big Keith and Larry to take the pack to the motel that Mike and Buck have secured and he, Little Jimmie and I stayed with Jonesy and would catch up in a couple of hours.

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be A Weatherman –

Pages 34 – 38  “Ride To The Wall”

Unpublished manuscript © 2009 Marc Teatum

It snowed today.

They said it would.

But I stopped believing ‘them’ a lifetime ago.

I learned to trust only in myself.

Maybe I should check myself every once in a while.

When I woke this morning, I looked at weather.com; checked wind direction, temps to the west, water temp to the east, tracked the storm coming, but after yesterday and seeing two or three other riders out on the pavement, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I went to the garage, and holy shit, the beast started.

It rumbled a bit, (maybe I should have put stabilizer in) before it settled into that familiar throaty sound all Bikers recognize.

And yes it was a bit chilly, but what the hell, I hadn’t been on two wheels in nearly 60 days. It was killing me.

No one at work would believe me, so I never said a word about riding. But they sure as hell saw the stupid-ass grin I wore all day. I was a happy camper.

Around 2:30, I looked up and saw it starting to come down.

Little puffy white flakes.

Floating, lightly falling; it’s not like there was a blanket of white out there.

Weather.com here I come.

The winds had picked up, the barometer was falling as was the temps, but dew points were rising.

Not a good sign.

I didn’t panic and run for the door thinking that I would beat it the hell back to the town where I lived.

Looking at the time, I knew that every school bus and Mommy-Mobile would be clogging the roads in the three towns between here and there anyway, so what’s the point?

So I worked on and on and on. Not really ignoring the precipitation from my fourth floor window, but not sweating it either. It was what it was.

I opted to wait. The snow wasn’t sticking to the pavement yet. Thank god for asphalt holding heat and being within 2 miles of the warming effect of the Atlantic Ocean. (Did I really just say that? Since when has anyone referred to the Atlantic and the words ‘warming’ in the same sentence?)

I waited until 6:30 or so to let whatever commuter traffic there might be, was done, before I shut down and headed to the machine.

I’ve ridden in the rain before and it’s not fun, but it’s doable.
I’ve ridden in the dark before and it’s certainly doable

I’ve ridden in the dark and the rain before and it sucks.

But tonight……tonight was magical.

The air wasn’t too cold, nor too damp.

Riding while snow is falling is not like riding when rain is falling.

Rain pelts you and it’s sort of like having sewing needles thrown at your face.

It stings.

Snow melts when it hits you and you just get wet.

I can handle wet.
In fact, there are times when I love wet.

Riding in the dark when it’s snowing is like living in a Star Wars movie.

When Han Solo says they are going to make the jump to hyperspace and all those stars turn into little streaks of light is exactly what it’s like to ride on a country road at night when it’s snowing.

The single beam of light that is thrown in front of a bike and the pool of illumination that is created makes this little world all your own.

It’s amazing. And for the next 17 miles, I was Han Solo.

As my eyes adjusted to the semi dark around me, I caught glimpses of large houses, the warm glow of inside lights illuminating the snow that sat ever gently on the lawns nearby.

The larger farm fields were covered in a thin blanket of white, the trees and rock walls looked like someone had come by with powdered sugar and sprinkled them.

Then I hit my town.

I had to deal with cagers who couldn’t really see beyond the streaks that their wipers made across their windshields. The metal wire surface of the bridge leading into town was a lot more slick as was the brick crosswalks in downtown. Add brick crosswalks at intersections to right hand turns and the back wheel felt like it really did want to catch up to my handlebars.  

When I pulled the machine into the garage, the lady who owns the house came out on the back steps and even though we’ve known each other for come on twenty years now, she couldn’t resist; “Are you fucking crazy?”

Maybe.

But today I’m also happy.

Ride Hard,

Ride Safe,

Ride Often.

Mid Winter Blues

"It was midnight, and the almost full moon guided Jake down a road that was as smooth as the eighty cubic inches of pulsating motor that hummed beneath him. He was glad to be back on his Harley, for the vibration that ran through the handlebars and into his hands gave him the same comfort that a baby gets from a mouthful of mother’s milk.

After settling with the one percenters and parting company with Marty, Jake zigzagged back and forth. Sometimes he went north and other times south—sometimes east and other times west. He didn’t really know where he was, but he didn’t really care and didn’t even know where he was going next. The only thing he knew for sure was that eventually he needed to head back to Massachusetts. Still thinking about what Marty had said in the coffee shop, he knew that he had to undo the mess he was in. He owed it to himself as well as Karen, but he had no intention of paying the piper to do so.

The wind ran through his hair as he cruised east on the narrow two lane roads of northern Virginia. The sound of the engine and the smell of the road intoxicated him. Comfortable, relaxed, and secure, the smooth asphalt made for a perfect night. Small, quaint villages appeared ahead and disappeared behind like pages in a fairytale book, and before he knew it Jake was countless miles from the beginning of his ride.

The hamlets he passed through sported a mixture of older stores, pre-depression era homes, and the inevitable newer fast food joints. Their lights burned in the night’s darkness as they blended together one after another. The few cars he encountered made for a solo journey that seemed at times to be more like a dream than reality.

Jake’s well worn leathers kept the coolness of the evening air from chilling him to the bone. His feet were glued to the pegs of his big twin, a few scant inches from the blacktop, as he turned north on Highway 301, heading for the Maryland border. As he rumbled down the road lost in thought, his encounter with the patch holders earlier that afternoon was front and center on his mind."

Chapter 12 Page 73 : One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series).

Published by Blockhead City Press. 

Available through Amazon.com, Barnes &Noble.com, iTunes or through your favorite local bookstore. 



This hasn't been the worst winter at all. In fact it hasn't been any winter at all. So little snow and everyone is jumping up and down.

Everyone for different reasons though.
Bikers can't wait to ride so they can feel alive again.
Ski folks can't wait to ski so they can have fun.
Snow plow drivers can't wait to plow so they can make some money.

Of course, no one realizes that come June, we'll be banned from flushing toilets due to the low levels in our resevoirs.

That'll give 'em something to complain about. People need something to complain about. For most, living in some hum-drum little world, working in some hum-drum little job, complaining reminds them they are alive. And that's too bad.

For New England Bikers, mid winter is the toughest time of all. We can't ride yet. And for some our re-building, modifying, customizing projects are either done, or we've run out of money and we're just jonesin' to be out on the road.

You know what I mean.

To feel the power of your machine under you, the vibrations through the handlebars, the wind just pushing at your face. Close your eyes and you can almost remember what it feels like.

I saw two bikes out on the road today. It was warm enough.
I got jealous.
And then I got happy for them.
'Cause I know what they were feeling; what they were enjoying.
And then I got jealous again.

Mental masterbation comes in the form of Bike Expos.
We can't ride, but we can go to some convention center the size of a small town and jam down the aisles with thousands of fellow bikers and occasional riders as we gawk and stare at the latest designs from just about every manufacturer under the sun.
We sit on machines we have no money to buy.
We stare at the hired scantily clad Babes (that always look better half way down the hall then they do up close. Ever notice that? Thier makeup applied heavier than three layers of clear coat on that cool gas tank over there!)
We talk carbs and tires with sales guys like our lives depended on it.
And in some cases it does.
Our mental lives, anyway.

I've got a new machine this year.
I 1989 FXR, with a '99 motor and an '03 tranny.
Standard 12" apes on 4inch risers, and staggered dual exhaust.
It's sort of become my trademark at this point.

I bought it, wrote out the check and haven't even ridden it yet.
It's stored in a garage in a nearby town...I don't even know where really.
I trust the guy who built it.
I know I'll love it.

I just have to sell my other two machines.
Three is just too many.
I can't believe I said that, but it's true.
Especially since they are all sort of the same.
Sort of.

But for now, they're predicting snow tomorrow.
They say it will come down straight into the day after.
But they've been wrong before this year.

And besides, it's getting too close to full on riding season.

Aren't you jonesin' yourself?

Ride Hard
Ride Safe
Ride Often


 

Beginnings and Endings

             “Whatever is going on, you gotta man up. You gotta take care of your business. If I’ve learned anything in this godforsaken world it’s that it’s never done anyone any good to run from responsibility. You obviously are running from something and you need to go back and fix it. Whether it’s face to face or with some help. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. I don’t care if you do it yourself or if you enlist a thousand others. But you need to fix it.”

Jake just nodded his head in agreement, for he knew Marty was right. It was time to face the music; he wasn’t going to solve his problems by being on the lam for the rest of his days.

Chapter 11 / Page 70- One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series).

Published by Blockhead City Press. 

Available through Amazon.com, Barnes &Noble.com, iTunes or through your favorite local bookstore. 

This time of year always brings out the philosophical nature in all of us. We wax nostalgically about just about everything.

Holidays bring families together, traveling sometimes great distances, sometimes just a few miles, to share  meals, exchange gifts to show appreciation, and to just spend time together.
It is also a time to review the last 12 months and take into account all of one's actions and measure them up against what was intended. Did you succeed? Did you get close to what you wanted?

Oh, don't worry...there's always next year...the one that is about to start in six days.
On the last day of the year, that ritual of making a list of resolutions of what you intend to do, what you intend to accomplish begins again.

The pressure we put on ourselves is crazy!

No one likes to fail to measure up to thier own list of expectations, much less the expectations that others, much less, society puts on us.

What's a person suppose to do?

Screw it all. Who needs that pressure. I certainly don't.

If you make daily decisions with a modecome of thought and reason, if you take the stairs instead of the elevator, if you cut back just a little and don't eat 3 deserts, if you skip that 4th drink when  you're out with your buds at the local biker bar...you can be happier with yourself.

So, don't toast the new year thinking that it will be better just because the calendar company taught you to turn the page.

Turn your own page. Be your own person.
Start your own begining and you'll control your own ending.

Ride Hard, Ride Safe and Ride Often.

Respect

           “Jake and Karen spend the next few days enjoying each other’s company, doing all the things they once liked doing together. Long rides along the coast on his bike, stopping at a rustic restaurant for lunch, or riding up to the mountains of New Hampshire filled the hours they were together.

And, of course, there was the sweet excitement of rediscovering how good they were with each other. In some ways it was as if her time away had never happened. The thoughts in their heads about what to do and how to do it seemed to run as smoothly as a well tuned motor. There were no big issues to deal with. Each deferred to the other rather than seek to dominate. Jake had never been the possessive type, but he was protective of the women he had loved. He figured it all came down to respect. Respect for the other person. Respect for their wants, needs, and desires—and respect for the other person’s mind. Respect is one of the foundations of  life. In the grand scheme of relationships, this ability was rare, and they both knew it.”

Chapter 2 / Page 19- One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series).

Published by Blockhead City Press. 

Available through Amazon.com, Barnes &Noble.com, iTunes or through your favorite local bookstore. 

On a recent episode of a TV show that glorifies the Outlaw Biker community, there was a scene where a husband, one of the lead characters, brutally beats his wife.

The first episode of Season 4 was violent with 7 killings in 58 minutes.

I had no trouble with that. Our biker community is not the life of Ward and June Cleaver. It’s not the Mary Tyler Moore Show.  We all know that.

But this scene  was unconscionable. It was the last episode I'll ever watch of that show.

Real men don't hit women.

Real bikers, especially the Prez of a three patch club, wouldn't beat his Ol' Lady like that. An Ol’ Lady can make or break a club. Women have that power. A good woman knows how to balance that power.

But more importantly, it has to do with Respect.

I’m a big fan of Respect.

In our world, the phrase “Love and Respect” is not tossed around like used napkins.

They have meaning; and well they should.

Respect is earned daily and given to those who show it to others.

You have to show respect towards other people’s thoughts and ideals and actions because you want them to respect your thoughts and ideals and actions.

I have a design for a tattoo that has star points that signify six principles that I live my life by:
Truth Honor Strength Love Loyalty and Respect.

Respect is all about not having an ego to think that only your ideas are the best.

Respect is all about not having the attitude that you are the only one who knows how to do something.

Having respect and showing respect is the only way to make this world a better place.

And now, there comes a point where you have to say ‘NO’ to the media; just like the beating was unacceptable, so is promoting it the way this show did.

It's just wrong.

I will not watch the rest of this season.

I will also lobby all those that I know who watch to quit it too.

I hope that this show doesn’t get picked up for next season.

But it probably will.

Nothing sells on TV like violence. Except maybe sex.

Ride Safe,  Ride Hard   Ride Often.

Alone

Little Jimmie had taken the night off from hanging out with his brothers in the Skuldmen motorcycle club just to be by himself to think and ride—other than someplace in his mind, he had no real destination.

Riding with the half-moon and scattered stars that decorated the cloudless sky above, Jimmie was in the middle of a therapy session. Although he liked riding in groups, like most bikers, Jimmie Johnson that cruising alone was the perfect antidote to the trials and tribulations of daily life. There was nothing like the thrill of flicking gears, twisting the throttle, leaning into curves, and having the bike respond the way a Thoroughbred does to the sting of a quirt. Well, maybe sex was just as good, but for Jimmie it would be a difficult decision to make if given the choice of either one or the other.

It had been a good ride for the president of the Maryland chapter of the Skuldmen—a late Saturday night filled with the sights, smells, and sounds that make for a great solo ride. When Jimmie arrived back home on his blood red 1965 Panhead, it was almost 2 AM…”

Chapter 5, Page 37- One Light Coming: A Biker's Story

“I’m an independent, Jimmie. I live alone and ride by my own rulebook, which I believe to be honorable. And I never turn my back on someone in need. I learned a long time ago that you meet the same     people going up that you do coming back down. I believe in doing unto others as I would have them do unto me”, Jake says.

Little Jimmie smiled. The brevity with which Jake had answered his question, and what he had said, struck a chord with the president. He smiled briefly, almost admiringly.

“Nothing wrong with that, Jake.”

Chapter 16, Page 157- One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series) published by Blockhead City Press.  Available now through Amazon.com, Barnes &Noble.com,  iTunes.com or through your favorite local bookstore.  

The whole premise for my book, as evidenced by the title, is the concept of being alone. When you see a single rider cruising along some roadway, most of the cagers out there don't get it. They think that the rider has no one to count on. No one to be there for them. But for those of us who ride, and who understand, being alone isn't a bad thing.

But for some, being alone isn’t easy.

Whether you stand alone or live alone, you have to be strong. You have to be comfortable and happy with yourself, sometimes by yourself. You have to know that you can be your own best friend. Sometimes, you have to be your own best friend. Sometimes it means being your only friend.

And that takes strength.

Some people are cut out for it. Some people carve it out for themselves. Others struggle with it.

They connect being alone to loneliness.
I prefer to think of it as Independence; not needing anyone one else to rely on to have a good time.

That's not to say that I don't like being around people. I do.

By the same token, being around people isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. Personalities, on top of issues, on top of egos….it can make for one tough ride. That’s when being alone sounds about as good as a riding down a smooth highway winding through the mountains on a clear summer’s day.

Sometimes you can be the world to just one person, even though to the rest of the world, you’re just one person. I’ll bet that most of us have someone who falls into the first part of that sentence.
I’ll bet that to most of us, we are the world to at least one person.

And that’s a good thing.

No one should ever feel that they are all alone.

Because chances are, they’re not.

Be there for someone, knowing that someone would be there for you.

Ride Hard, Ride Safe, Ride Often.

Originals

Jake just nodded his head as Jimmie sunk the ten ball into a corner pocket, because he knew that what Little Jimmie was saying, was true.

“Don’t even get me started on the materialism this society has created.  Man, if you don’t have the newest, brightest, latest, electronic doodad, well then you are an antiquated idiot. If you are not wearing the latest clothes in the latest color, you are less than perfect. I never understood how people believed that. The average citizen’s mailbox is clogged with four or five catalogs a week trying to sell them shit that they really don’t need. But no, they’re told that they must have this or gotta have that. And if you don’t, well, you aren’t really part of society. Hell, even the concept of alternative lifestyles is a falsehood. By the time a lifestyle has developed and emerged, it’s homogenized, cleaned up and spat back to us by magazines, promoted on TV, hyped by the news, then licensed and sold by Wal-Mart so that some poor dork in Iowa City can feel that they fit in.”

As Jimmie sunk the nine ball with authority, Jake continued the conversation by asking, “So where do you think all this started?”

“The problem with this society began with too much media driven, celebrity worshipping mindless brainwashing trash that masquerades as information. Who really cares what Britney Spears, Paris Hilton or Lindsey Lohan is wearing, or not wearing, to some industry created and anointed televised award show. The real issue is how that behavior, those fashions, that attitude, gets filtered down to the average citizen, spoon fed to us in every department store, sanctified by music videos and bad cinema, and glorified by the mindless middle class,” Jimmie continued.

“Next time you see a guy in a motorcycle encrusted T-shirt, ask him what he rides. Chances are he’s never been on a bike. He’s just buying up what is fed to him. The concept that Andy Warhol preached in the early seventies that every person getting fifteen minutes of fame is dead. With the electronic revolution came the acceleration of society. A stepped up version of the Polaroid principle where anything could happen within thirty seconds, and you didn’t have to wait for anything. Now every action is expected to happen in nano seconds. I’ve seen a counter person at a Dunkin Donuts shop scream at a fucking microwave to hurry up! If someone doesn’t answer an e-mail within four hours, the sender thinks something is wrong. No one waits for anything anymore. Life is too fast. In truth, Warhol’s fifteen minutes has been compressed to fifteen seconds, played out on a reality game show where everyone chases after some grand prize all because America’s attention span has diminished to that of a two year old child.”

Clack, plunk, clack, plunk and two more striped billiard balls find their way to a pocket on the table.

Chapter 19 / Page 116  One Light Coming: A Biker's Story (Book 3 in a series published by Blockhead City Press to be released 1Oct2011. Available through bookstores everywhere, and Amazon.com and B&N.com)

It’s tough to be original these days. It seems that there’s no such thing as original thought. Everything is just a variation on what’s been done before. New music isn’t new; it’s just a twist on something that we’ve heard. Movies are being released in terms of Big Disaster Movie Part 7. Commercial radio plays the same 25 songs over and over and over. And most of TV is just junk. Recycling is great for newspapers and beer bottles, but not for enlightenment, education or entertainment.  

It’s even tougher to be your own person. Everyone wants to be considered as an individual.  But being an individual is difficult, because either you’re too insecure to stand up and be who you are, afraid of rocking the boat, or being ostracized by the rest of society. No one likes to be made fun of. It goes back to the days of playing in the schoolyard. If you were different, you were picked on; bullying is what they call it these days. And it sucks. 

Most people want to be part of something; a group, a company, a family. They want to be identified with some cause, some effort, some brand. Why else would the logo craze of twenty or thirty years ago bring us to where guys have some other guy’s name on his underwear? Remember that great scene in the movie, Back to the Future, where Lea Thompson keeps calling the Michael J. Fox: ‘Calvin’ because that was the name on his underwear? Funny, huh? Not really. Try buying something that doesn’t have a logo on it. It isn’t easy. It can be done, but it isn’t easy.

Belonging to a group, or a club, doesn’t mean you lose your individuality. You just have to make sure that you don’t disappear. Take from them what they offer, and contribute your best back.

Individuality takes strength. Strength of character; a backbone. It takes strength to be who you want to be; not who everyone else wants you to be, not what the rest of society wants you to be, not what retailers want you to be.

Individuals can make a difference; in small ways first and then in big ways. All it takes is one person to say: ‘What if?’ All it takes is one person to start to take action. You may be one person to the rest of the world, but you could be the world to one person.

Make choices that make you an individual.

Ride Hard, Ride Safe, Ride Often.