Back about 5 years ago we were living in Fulton, a sweltering South Texas town on the Gulf Coast. I had recently lost my business and had a family to feed. So I got a job washing dishes at a local waterfront restaurant and watering hole popular with the tourists.
Riding the Sportster I had at the time to work, I arrived early for my shift one day. I often did this so I could do some fishing off the dock or just sit and take in the somewhat cooler gulf breeze before washing what seemed like a million dishes.
While looking around in my saddlebags for a pack of smokes the roar of aftermarket pipes broke the silence of the otherwise quiet parking lot. Pulling up next to my Sportster was a shiny new Harley Road King and a new Harley Softail Classic.
Both the riders had obviously new black leather jackets, leather chaps, beanie helmets and sunglasses. If the bikes and gear had been aged a couple of years I might have mistaken these guys for hard core bikers especially by the way they talked.
"What's up Bro?" Said the guy on the Road King as he dismounted and carefully removed his hundred dollar sunglasses. "That's a nice little bike there Bro" said the guy on the Softail Classic, looking at my Sportster. So I got to talking with them for awhile since I had some time before my shift started.
"Let's get a f***en beer Bro!" Said the the taller of the two. I told him I couldn't because I had to work in a few minutes. "F***" said the short fat Road King guy. "Come on, f*** the job, let's have a f***en beer dude!" Looking at me as if I might change my mind the tall guy said in a more subdued tone of voice "come on, I'm buying."
Standing there in the parking lot, I asked where they were from. The sweating fat guy replied, "were down from Houston on a f***en three day road trip." The other one said "We haven't passed a single f***en bar the whole way!"
I asked them what they did for a living. They could have lied but they didn't. The tall one on the Softail Classic was an accounting manager and the short one on the Road King a tax attorney. Then the conversation suddenly died down. No more f*** this and f*** that from those two. I think they were sobering up a little.
Then we parted ways with a friendly hand shake. They went in the front door to the bar to drink themselves into believing they were hard core bikers. I went in the back kitchen door to wash about a million friggen dishes.
©2007 N.(Kano)Miles, Kano's eCoffee House
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6 comments:
Every once in awhile I come across some newbies that have adopted the same swagger. They would be far more convincing if they just dropped the act and spoke normally. The bikers that I know, and have known have never talked the way that the weekend warriors do.
I once watched a guy roll into a rally in a car, walk over to a vendor booth, and buy a jacket and chaps. He then went over to a gal sewing on patches and had her sew up some skull patches onto the back of his jacket. He then bought a do-rag and some shades, then put on the whole get-up and proceed to stroll around the event area as though he had just ridden in. This guy topped them all. What a dillhole.
Have fun,
Bill
Great post.
There must be a huge, deep need to be outlaws for a lot of people. Not real ones that might go to jail, but the kind we used to play as a kid.
I suppose paintball, first person shooter games, war re-enactments, and on and on are variations of the bad biker style.
If you stood the bad biker next to the goth kid or punk kid I suppose they might all be the same right?
Bill-Those 2 were clowns for sure but maybe just maybe now 5 years later they havn't sold their bikes or left them to collect dust in the garage. Maybe it started out as a desperate whim to escape an unsatisfying life. Maybe their not posers anymore and maybe their real riders now.
Judging by the over abundance of used motorcycles on the market, I think there are plenty more guys like them. I think it's gotta be in the blood to keep on riding. Pretenders get bored with the fantasy pretty quick.
Steve W.- Yep, human nature, it's kind of funny the things people do. Especially trying to copy (the looks of anyway) outlaw motorcyle gang members. I don't think a lot of the pretenders would want the Hell's Angels living next door to them!
The fact that their first beer in three days was at a restaurant popular with tourists, says it all.
As for the Harley owners, they always have topic to say no matter where they are. I meet many friends on a site called bikerkiss. They are Harley owners. Though we have the different pattern of Harley, but we have the same topic - Harley.
ada-Thanks for your comment and welcome to my blog!
Yep, I've found that Harley riders are a friendly bunch to talk with. I often get someone come up to me to ask about my bike.
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