Davis, CA, is a small town that blows up with university students during the year but gets slow and hometown when they're gone. It's a great place to ride bicycles where we could leave in the morning and not come back until the sun came down. There was nothing unusual as this is how life was before everyone was a sexual predator, serial killer or a terrorist from another world.
At sixteen, I was starting to drive and that means family errands. You look forward to your mother needing a quick trip to the supermarket as then she may send you and that means The Car. Any trip to the supermarket meant Doc would be copilot as he was a year younger and wanted to size up this driving business.
We were crossing an interstate overpass when we saw two columns of Harleys approaching, heading north out of San Francisco. As we learned later, they were Hell's Angels on their way to pay their respect at the funeral of Mother Miles, a Hell's Angel who died at the hand of whatever kills Hell's Angels.
Mile after mile of the most beautiful California choppers ever made, before or since, and all of them with a sound more characteristically American than perhaps anything else, the sound of a big twin Harley motor through exhaust pipes which are not clogged with lawyers.
There's stylin' in America and then stylin' like the Angels and I've never seen anything to top them. To this day, there is no other group of people who more exemplify being free. The rules are simple and they seem about as rigid as the Mafia as you don't screw with them and they won't screw with you. Bikers are always like that as they only want to be left alone. There's a farmhouse outside just about any big city and that will be the headquarters for the local outlaw bikers. Everyone knows it's there and they also know you don't go there unless you have direct and immediate business as you take your life in your hands otherwise.
All they want is to be left alone. Sure they do bad things but what skin is it off you. They get drugs and sell them to each other. So what.
There are some really big scary bikers but they make it very clear. I can kill you. In fact, I can do it easily. Just don't screw with me as I have no interest in doing it. But don't mistake my words, if you push it, I will put you in the ground. What else should a big guy do as there will always be some hayseed who thinks he's a tough guy and wants to fight. Most bikers only want to roast pigs and party and, pro tip, they don't need you.
I never bet bikers while they were outlaws but I met plenty who had aged out and decided maybe partying forever was not the best choice. It was still the same as they were big and dangerous but the rules are the same. Don't get in his face and he won't get in yours. If you follow that rule then you'll hear some great stories.
Bikers may believe more in America and freedom within it than anyone else as they know this is the only place they can get away with what they do. If some shavetail cop thinks he can bring Jesus to them there's a good chance the cop will get much more out of it than his dimwitted mind anticipated.
Do keep in mind, Officer Flatfoot, a good many of the bikers are ex-military too. Trying to bully them like you do everyone else is not a good idea. They will fight and there's a very high probability they're tougher fighters than you.
Yes, in fact, I would like to see it as it's about time someone stood up to these punk ass cops shooting everyone they see. They don't only shoot once as these days they will unload the entire clip. They aren't shooting to stop but shooting to kill. Someone turned a bunch of dime-store Judge Dredds out onto the street.
At sixteen, I was starting to drive and that means family errands. You look forward to your mother needing a quick trip to the supermarket as then she may send you and that means The Car. Any trip to the supermarket meant Doc would be copilot as he was a year younger and wanted to size up this driving business.
We were crossing an interstate overpass when we saw two columns of Harleys approaching, heading north out of San Francisco. As we learned later, they were Hell's Angels on their way to pay their respect at the funeral of Mother Miles, a Hell's Angel who died at the hand of whatever kills Hell's Angels.
Mile after mile of the most beautiful California choppers ever made, before or since, and all of them with a sound more characteristically American than perhaps anything else, the sound of a big twin Harley motor through exhaust pipes which are not clogged with lawyers.
There's stylin' in America and then stylin' like the Angels and I've never seen anything to top them. To this day, there is no other group of people who more exemplify being free. The rules are simple and they seem about as rigid as the Mafia as you don't screw with them and they won't screw with you. Bikers are always like that as they only want to be left alone. There's a farmhouse outside just about any big city and that will be the headquarters for the local outlaw bikers. Everyone knows it's there and they also know you don't go there unless you have direct and immediate business as you take your life in your hands otherwise.
All they want is to be left alone. Sure they do bad things but what skin is it off you. They get drugs and sell them to each other. So what.
There are some really big scary bikers but they make it very clear. I can kill you. In fact, I can do it easily. Just don't screw with me as I have no interest in doing it. But don't mistake my words, if you push it, I will put you in the ground. What else should a big guy do as there will always be some hayseed who thinks he's a tough guy and wants to fight. Most bikers only want to roast pigs and party and, pro tip, they don't need you.
I never bet bikers while they were outlaws but I met plenty who had aged out and decided maybe partying forever was not the best choice. It was still the same as they were big and dangerous but the rules are the same. Don't get in his face and he won't get in yours. If you follow that rule then you'll hear some great stories.
Bikers may believe more in America and freedom within it than anyone else as they know this is the only place they can get away with what they do. If some shavetail cop thinks he can bring Jesus to them there's a good chance the cop will get much more out of it than his dimwitted mind anticipated.
Do keep in mind, Officer Flatfoot, a good many of the bikers are ex-military too. Trying to bully them like you do everyone else is not a good idea. They will fight and there's a very high probability they're tougher fighters than you.
Yes, in fact, I would like to see it as it's about time someone stood up to these punk ass cops shooting everyone they see. They don't only shoot once as these days they will unload the entire clip. They aren't shooting to stop but shooting to kill. Someone turned a bunch of dime-store Judge Dredds out onto the street.
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