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.”
“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, 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.