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Unless you’re one of the lucky few who owns a few hundred acres in the country, you probably have to “settle” for one of the commercial gun ranges in your area. Gun ranges, due to excessive litigation and pressure from liberal city and county governments, have implemented numerous rules over the last decade that essentially restrict shooters to simple aim, shoot, count to two, aim, shoot, repeat exercises.

At any given gun range in the DFW metroplex you are likely to hear complaints from patrons about the no double-tap rule, the two seconds between each shot rule, the no draw and fire practice rule, and the list goes on. I’ve even been to one range where they checked my ammo and sent me packing because they don’t allow reloaded ammunition.

If you want to train for self defense, you have to join a law enforcement organization or get involved in competition matches (at considerable personal expense).

With all those limitations and rules there’s not much to distinguish one public range from another any more except for price and lane set-up. So, in reviewing DFW area gun ranges, there is little point in downgrading them for these restrictions. After all, they don’t have a lot of choice as long as their patrons fail to elect common-sense minded and freedom loving politicians.

With that stipulation, let’s take a look at Elm Fork Shooting Sports range located at 10751 Luna Road Dallas, Texas.

This range has undergone a couple of ownership changes over the last decade, and the current owners have done an outstanding job of rebuilding the site from the ground up. Sitting in a flood plan for one of the Trinity River tributaries, Elm Fork used to suffer frequent closings due to high water.

That’s all changed, now. The lanes have been built from scratch and raised, levies constructed, and now the place turns into dry islands with connecting elevated concrete walkways and drives during high water conditions.

The massive reconstruction project finished last year left Elm Fork with one of the nicest outdoor gun ranges in the United States, let alone Texas. Range masters there are friendly and helpful, and while they’re not all gun smiths, they know the basics to help beginners get started right and avoid the formation of bad habits. Folks who are just starting get a different colored wrist band so range masters can tell who is and isn’t an experienced shooter.

Elm Fork has an outstanding skeet range for the shotgun lovers, as well as ample room on their rifle range.

There’s always room regardless of whether you’re there to shoot pistol, rifle, shotgun, or have fun on their too cool reactive pistol ranges. Steel targets set on various pivots and gizmos make it a blast (no pun intended) for competitions with your shooting partner.

Elm Fork has remade itself into an outstanding facility, and one of the few outdoor ranges left in the DFW metro area. Please give them a try if you’re looking for a place to shoot near Irving, Texas. It’s only a mile or so from the old Texas Stadium site.

Photos coming soon.

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I returned to Hope Fellowship today for another dose of biker friendly worship.

This time I got there in time to fill my cup with some piping hot coffee before the service. That was good, since I didn’t bother to bundle up much knowing the ride home would be considerably warmer. Not the smartest of moves, since Doctor LeCroy had diagnosed me with pneumonia just Friday.

But I warmed up fast. Pastor King flagged me down at the door and we had a short chat. I apologized for missing the last two weeks, and explained that I had been sick one Sunday and the following I had a crisis at work. It’s funny how we always feel we need to explain to the pastor why we missed church. I didn’t tell him I’d missed a couple of years prior to that because I was too lazy and rotten to continue my search for a new church home all that time. Pastor King chuckled and said, “You know, when I have a crisis at work I have no choice but to come to church.”

I was also greeted by several folks who somehow remembered my name from a couple of weeks back when I first visited. I’m always slightly embarrassed when folks remember my name and I can’t remember theirs. Back when I was a cop I could keep names and faces matched up in my head with no problem. When it came time for testimony I always knew which guy to point at when the prosecutor asked, “Is the person you arrested that night almost two years ago in this courtroom?” These days I can barely remember my own name. Maybe I just had more incentive to remember a face back when I was dealing with folks who’d just as soon run, fight, or kill me as talk to me on the street.

But I digress. No worries like that at Hope Fellowship. Some of the crowd looks a bit rough round the edges (like yours truly), but the instant you start conversing with them you realize these are some of the friendliest and down-to-earth folks in God’s Kingdom. They’ve got warm smiles and firm handshakes. Most of them remind me of my brother, Mike… rough, tough, and friendly as a Labrador.

It’s amazing that for the past several years I’ve been searching for a church home and all it took was getting back on two wheels and a few motorcycle articles for God to lead me to the perfect place (for me). I think Hope Fellowship is a family that I can grow with and contribute to. The best churches are the ones that need you just as much as you need them, in my humble opinion.

Today the worship service started with an admonishment from the worship leader (talented gal who has a great voice) to get our running around and restroom breaks done before the pastor got up to deliver his message. Something like that could be delivered in a patronizing way, but this reminder was well received. It’s one of those things that just has to be done once in awhile to remind us that we are in God’s house, even if it is a converted saloon. Folks tend to get a little forgetful of where they are in causal worship environments, I think.

I remember one church I attended for a while that was worse than a movie theater with folks moving in and out of the sanctuary all during the sermon. I always wondered if there was a concession stand set up outside just after the sermon started and removed just before it ended. I mean, how many times does a person need to go pee during one sermon?

Part of the reason the admonishment was so inoffensive was the delivery, done with just the right touch of humor; but primarily it was well received because the folks sitting in that room were a big family, and family doesn’t mind telling each other how to behave when necessary. It was good to know there are limits to the casual worship atmosphere, and that the lines of sanctity and respect shouldn’t be crossed. It’s also good to know nobody was going to frown at me for taking a sip of that awesome hot coffee halfway through the first song to soothe my sore throat. I feel kinda like Goldilocks…this place is just right. The great thing is some hunter shot the three bears so I get to keep coming back any time I want.

Pastor King preached from Matthew 14, specifically on the parable of the sower. He expounded upon the story Jesus told of how seeds, scattered about by the sower, grew or withered depending upon the area in which they fell. I found myself convicted of being “rocky ground” as I reflected on my Christian walk and how often I have allowed the word of God to wither away after a brief time of growth.

Another hearty spiritual meal at Hope Fellowship.

It’s not always about just feeling good and soaking up the joy. Sometimes it’s about accepting the painful truth about yourself and determining to do better. That’s the broccoli of a ministry that delivers well balanced spiritual meals.

At Hope Fellowship you don’t get cookies and milk unless you eat your vegetables, too.

I walked out of that building into paradise. No gold paved streets, but the parking area out front was chock-full of motorcycles. Okay, that may not be everyone’s version of heaven, but if you don’t ride, you don’t know. There was a Honda Gold Wing, several Harleys, a Suzuki, several more Harleys, a beautiful Triumph Rocket III Classic (oops, there went my humility again!)…some more Harleys.

A few months ago I posted a rant here about Harley Davidson riders and how I felt that a lot of them were too hung up on their special brand of motorcycle. Hope Fellowship is one place I’ve found (aside from my days with the Blue Nights) where the Harley riders don’t lord it over metric bikers. I love Harley Davidsons and would like to see that classic American marque always succeed. The Fellowship Riders which happen to ride Harleys are doing a great service to The Motor Company by displaying a friendliness and welcoming attitude to any and all, regardless of the bike, car, or sandals you blow in on.

Hope Fellowship is an amazing story of how God brings His children together. It’s a living example that Christ’s kingdom is open to all who are willing to receive the free gift of salvation, not just the clean-shaven “proper” people of the world (and kudos to the clean shaven “proper” people of the world…you’re just as good as anyone else!). Whether you’re a white collar type of guy or a wrench-twister, a doctor or a carpenter, and whether you drive a Buick or ride a Kawasaki, everyone is welcome at Hope Fellowship.

They’ve welcomed me with open arms…and I don’t have a single tattoo (I swear it’s the truth, Mom).

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For all you Dallas area fans of Orange County Choppers, we have a pretty amazing custom chopper guru right here in Texas.

Featured in numerous chopper rags over the last couple of decades, Rick Fairless has been building some of the most creative and high quality custom fabricated choppers on the planet since 1996. I won’t go into the full Rick Fairless bio, you can read it direct from him (careful, lots of bikini babes on the site; it ISN’T “NSFW”, but don’t blame me if you’re accused of surfing bikini model pics when you should be working) by clicking here.

Fairless’ showroom, which is situated right next to his restaurant and bar, is a mixture of new Victory dealership, custom chopper shop, and a museum displaying artifacts of Fairless’ motorcycle fabrication genius. I’ve wandered through the store numerous times browsing accessories and drooling over the fantastic rides. Any given day you’re likely to see some famous art bikes both inside and out of his building.

Today I cruised into Strokers to see what eye candy had been recently added. Out front was the Stroker’s standard fare (which is by no means typical of motorcycle shops in general) of custom choppers and used stock bikes. Price tags from 50k to 15k. Monster v-twins dominate the lot, of course. On the generic letter sign out front was an informal and possibly dangerous message to the Almighty: “Hey, God, we are sick of this stinking weather”. It’s a sentiment felt by the majority of us who enjoy warm sunny days on two wheels…although I chose to be a little more respectful when I’m pleading with the all-powerful Creator of heaven and hell for nicer riding elements.

Preparations are being made well in advance for a little “board racing” evidently, as there is a large temporary board-racing arena in the parking lot out front of Fairless’ saloon next door to the shop advertising the coming exploits of one Rhett Rotten in March.

One of these days I’m going to pop into Strokers Ice House (bar and restaurant) for lunch. I don’t know if the food will be anything to write about, but judging from Rick Fairless’ shop, custom choppers, and the Strokers Dallas web site I bet the atmosphere is off da hook. Just looking at the crazy stuff on top of the buildings gives you an idea of the guy’s sense of humor and style. Frankenstein’s monster looms overhead, and inside the front showroom a life size wizard holds a crystal orb aloft next to a pair of new Victory CrossRoads. Stop in sometime and take a look around before Fairless realizes that people would actually pay money just to see his stuff and starts charging admission.

Even if you’re not particularly interested in American brand bikes like Victory and HD, this shop is worth a visit just for standard accessories like gloves, vest, helmets, and doo-rags. They have their own line of custom parts in case you want to try your own hand at some customization, along with a broad range of access to Arlen Ness and other famous design bits and pieces. T-shirts, patches, stickers, DVDs, calendars, heck, some of us could probably do our annual Christmas shopping for the entire family in Rick Fairless’ shop.

It’s not unusual to see the celebrity himself hanging out in the showroom. I’ve met him there twice, and he isn’t one of those guys who marches up and informs you he’s the world famous chopper fabricator featured in industry rags and magazines like “Iron Horse” and “Easy Rider” over the last two decades or so. If I hadn’t seen his photo on the web site I wouldn’t have known he was Rick Fairless when he walked up and asked me if he could help me find anything like a regular Joe just making sure the customer knew help was available if needed.

It’s a low pressure joint, too. If you’re looking to buy you’ll probably want to tell them, they don’t pounce on you like buzzards on fresh meat the instant you walk through the doors like some shops.

Strokers Dallas is located at 9304 Harry Hines Blvd, Dallas, Texas.

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If I could have a theme song for my web sight it would be Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “That Ain’t My America” from their latest album (yeah, I still call ‘em that, even if it’s only available on CD) “God + Guns”.

Deep down I guess I’m just one of those east Texas rebels and always will be. I may be able to make sense in a corporate IT strategy meeting but it’s a constant struggle for me to keep my mind from straying to the east Texas piney woods. I’d rather be walking under the trees in Lone Oak with a shotgun in my hands and a pit bull at my side.

Or rollin’ on two wheels into the hills and valleys of the Arkansas Ozarks.

Lynyrd Skynyrd made it especially hard for me to keep my mind on those HPUX and IBM squatty boxes today as I played “Guns + Guns” in the background, enjoying a little music while most of the folks in my little cubicledom are working from home.

The kings of swampland derived southern rock have compiled a manifesto for us right wing good-ol-boys in this collection, and matched the level of Don William’s “Good Ol’ Boys Like Me” and Hank Jr’s classics “Long Haired Country Boy” and “A Country Boy Will Survive”.

It really makes me want to go to church, read my Bible, do some target practice with my 1911, and vote against the progressives all at the same time. I even got a twinge of guilt for buying a British bike…but hopefully there’s enough Red, White, and Blue about me everywhere else for my brothers to forgive me that one.

“God + Guns” is a great mix of southern rock and modern country styles. Go buy a copy and play it loud and proud.

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You don’t typically see patches that say “Satan Sucks” in motorcycle apparel and accessory shops. Or decals of choppers that have Christian fish symbols for frames.

But step into the modest confines of “It’s a Leather Ministry” at 116 South Jefferson Street in Irving, Texas, and you’ll find plenty of novelty Christian biker patches, pins, and even framed artworks. You’ll also find lots of cowhide in the form of chaps, jackets, vests and gloves.

Depending on the time of day and who’s hanging around inside you may find some new friends as well. This little biker shop has plenty of friendly customers who will gladly strike up a conversation with you if you’re looking for company. It’s highly probable that you’ll meet members of the Hope Fellowship Church I wrote about in a recent post inside this store as well, as they seem to be some of it’s regular customers.

Merchandise and price are relative, and “It’s a Leather Ministry” has what appears to be some pretty good prices on everything from doo-rags to jewelry (although having worked at a jewelry company for fifteen years I didn’t take much interest in those items…Robin has a treasure chest full of gold and gems accumulated over the years, so I shy away from adding any more to her collection).

I purchased one of those hard to find doo-rags with the built in sweatband for under 6 bucks…an item that typically retails between 12 and 20 bucks at places like Moto Liberty and Bates here in the DFW metroplex..

Regardless of whether you’re a Christian or not, this store is worth a visit for the possibility of some fairly priced goods and friendly conversation. I’d highly recommend you stop in and browse if you’re ever in the area, and make a special trip there first if you’re in the market for leather chaps, vests, or jackets.

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Ed Young, pastor of Fellowship Church in Grapevine, Texas has posted a response on his blog to the recent story by channel 8 raising questions about whether Young is not being transparent enough with his congregation regarding his luxury lifestyle.

One thing that stands out in the response is Ed Young’s assertion that he has not viewed the channel 8 report: “We have not seen the piece that was aired, nor will we give credence to it by watching.”

Now why on earth would anyone think that a person who is the target of an investigative report lends credibility to his accusers by hearing what they had to say about him?

It is a common ploy for those who have done something wrong to avoid hearing the charges others are bringing against them. After all, you don’t have to specifically answer a charge if you can honestly say you haven’t heard the accusation. It’s the closest you’ll ever get to being able to “plead the fifth” with the media other than simply keeping silent. A clever tactic, but just a new twist on the old “that’s so preposterous it doesn’t warrant a response!” routine that miscreants have used for centuries to avoid answering uncomfortable questions.

So, Ed Young says nothing in his post about the 8 million dollar private mystery jet at Alliance Airport. Nothing about claims he has a fabulous 10,000 square foot house on Lake Grapevine, and nothing about the reported million dollar salary.

If all those accusations were totally false, Ed Young would be addressing and refuting each accusation specifically and in detail to clear his name and preserve the reputation of his ministry, for the sake of the church. Instead, there is insinuation that a story presented during sweeps week is automatically suspect.

He says in the blog post that he and his wife have no secrets. He also says “What we do know is that this report was made based on fragments of information gathered out of context and anonymously, and that it disregarded documented information that the Board of Directors for Fellowship Church is privy to and that is known by legal counsel and accounting audits.”

The use of the word “privy” sure sounds secretive to me. “Privy” indicates someone is privileged to know something, and by definition others are excluded from knowing. Maybe we’re all hung up on the definition of the word “secrets”. After all, Bill Clinton taught us that it all depends on what the definition of the word “is” is, so perhaps the term “secrets” should be translated as “insufficient transparency”.

In a terrifically bizarre sentence, Young states: “My life is lived in an aquarium, and I am not ashamed of that fact.”

No, Mr. Young, your life is lived in a beautiful mansion on Lake Grapevine.

But I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a very expensive aquarium inside it.

P.S. Well, here’s Ed Young “Setting things straight and moving on” in his own words, and I will admit that he does directly address many of the things I mentioned above. Now why didn’t he do that in the blog post? It would, of course, be hypocritical of me to go change my words above in light of the video I just discovered, so in fairness I leave you with Ed Young’s much better video rebuttal below, and you can decide for yourself if I’ve been too quick to judge:

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The air was crisp and cold, 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and the sky was overcast in a layer of light grey cloud. The ride from Grapevine to Irving was chilly, but not painfully cold thanks to a warm jacket and heavy winter gloves. Traffic was lite and I was running late, so the ride might have been a bit warmer if I hadn’t been trying to run a hole in the wind.

It’s doubtful many people who saw the big Triumph cruising along highway 183 would guess that the rider, clad in solid black with feet on highway pegs, was en route to church, but tucked into one of the saddlebags was a MacArthur study bible, reading glasses, and a notepad.

From other directions even more unlikely churchgoers converged on downtown Irving, Texas, these riding a mixture of old and new Harley Davidsons, from Sportsters to VRods.

I arrived and dropped my kickstand next to a VRod. It’s owner had just dismounted and immediately struck up a conversation with me.

“Hey, nice bike. That thing might even keep up with mine,” he said, gesturing at the Rocket III.

“Yeah,” I chuckled back, “She’ll pass just about anything…except a gas station.”

We were late. Hope Fellowship’s web site said the early service starts at 0845 hours on Sunday morning. I glanced at my watch and realized it was 0855. I followed my new acquaintance into the building.

Entry through the front doors of the PigeonHole points you straight at a bar where soft drinks, coffee, and donuts (solid Texas protestant fare) are served. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee was tempting, but I could see through an open door that folks were seated and someone was making announcements inside the next room. I skipped the coffee and made my way into a moderate seating area filled with square cafe tables and steel framed chairs, a few with torn upholstery, but more comfortable than the average wooden church pew.

I located an empty table near the center of the room, shed my jacket, and plopped down; bible, reading glasses, pen and notebook arranged in front of me.

The speaker was a big guy with a shaved head and unshaven face. He was making announcements about an upcoming prison visit. “Funny thing,” he said, “I spent a lot of years fighting to stay out of prison, now I’m fighting to get in.”

The crowd guffawed and chuckled, then Gary went on with his announcements. He is the Hope Fellowship prison ministry pastor. Gary concluded a short question and answer session with a prayer, and turned the mic over to the worship leader. As lyrics appeared on the screen at the front of the room, the worship team kicked off a loud and long series of contemporary praise songs. The band, featuring acoustic and electric guitars, a keyboard, and the inevitable drummer, played well, and I found myself able to sing robustly, the volume of the instruments and amplified voices of those on the stage sufficient to drown out the discord of my tone-deaf contribution.

As the worship continued, I soaked up the details of those around me. Tattoos were visible, but not abundant. Most of the congregation wore jeans, t-shirts, and many wore leather or denim vests and jackets. Some wore “do-rags” and there were a number of pony tails…including the pastor’s. I felt slightly overdressed in my black jeans and polo shirt.

Everyone had risen to their feet as the first musical notes were struck, and that is how we stayed until the songs came to an end. Some raised their hands as they sang, a couple of the ladies swayed back and forth and clapped like they were at a rock concert. Most, like me, just stood and sang and just let the music and words wash over them.

It was a far cry from what you’d see at the average Baptist church, but nowhere near the spastic dancing and convulsions you might experience in a pentecostal service.

As the music wound down the pastor began his announcements. Today, he informed us, was “Scout Sunday”. That explained the large number of adults and kids in the crowd wearing scout uniforms. A large group of children and teenagers filed to the front and the congregation clapped and cheered for them.

After that, the pastor launched into a solid, biblically sound sermon on John 16:32. It turns out the man has been preaching from a series he started with chapter 14 of the book of John in August. To me, that’s a great sign. If you can preach that many sermons on two chapters you’re probably doing one of two things: studying hard and getting every bit of nutrition you can from God’s word, or just making stuff up. This guy wasn’t making stuff up.

Near the end of the sermon a man in the congregation raised his hand. When the pastor acknowledged him, the man punctuated a scripture that had just been read (1 John 5:3) with a short comment about how he had found living as a Christian to be less of a burden than his old life, in which he had constant trouble. Amongst the affirmative “Amen’s” from the rest of the group the pastor closed out the sermon with a poignant and thought provoking video projected on the screen (“Inconvenient Jesus” embedded below) followed by an alter call.

At the very end, he told the crowd that they do not pass an offering plate at Hope Fellowship. Instead, there is a donation box at the front. “Give if you feel compelled by God, but by no means give if you do not feel compelled by God. Do it only because God tells you to, not me.” said the pastor. That was the full extent of the church’s request for financial support.

The closing prayer was said, and we all filed out. I dropped a few bucks in the plastic coffee can on my way out, and decided I would definitely be back next Sunday.

Exiting the building was a strategic event, as members arriving for the second service were entering at the same time and filling up the front of the building as they conversed over coffee, donuts, and soft drinks. I squeezed past and made my way into the parking lot, intent on taking a few photos to post with this article.

Reaching my bike, I was distracted from retrieving my camera by one of those Harley Davidson riders and his wife, who struck up a friendly conversation with me about my motorcycle. I found myself telling them how I had come across Hope Fellowship’s web site while researching for one of my motorcycle articles. I also ended up telling them about my recent crash and being Care-Flighted to a trauma center. There was no pity or comment about how I was crazy to be back on a bike after all that. There was congratulations on my survival and I think I even detected a tiny bit of envy over getting a helicopter ride.

I concluded my conversation and suited up, then mounted my ride and headed back to Grapevine. Halfway home I realized I’d gotten so caught up in fellowship I’d forgotten to take any pictures other than one covertly snapped image with my Droid during the worship service.

Friendly folks. Everyone I made eye contact with smiled, and I wasn’t “swarmed” with designated greeters. There was no awkwardness, and no one asked any prying questions of the stranger who had turned up in their midst today.

So far, it seems more like a church full of sincere Christians, many of whom happen to be bikers, than a church full of bikers.

I like that. And I like the fact that the name of Jesus Christ was mentioned more than the name of the pastor. As a matter of fact, I didn’t hear the name “Dennis King” mentioned the whole time I was there. I think that says a lot for the humility and true motives of the man who shepherds this modest flock.

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A Foxnews.com story says that two women facing 14 counts of Animal Cruelty died of self inflicted gun shot wounds. Evidently they were ashamed of what they had done.

Too bad, they might have had great careers ahead with the NFL, which is proven to be very supportive in hiring people who abuse animals.

Enjoy the Super bowl. I’m still boycotting the NFL.

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A pastor gets a tattoo while members of his congregation watch. I don’t know of any specific prohibition against tattoos in the Bible, but…REALLY??? Okay, so I’m one of those old fogies who keeps repeating the adage, “I never met anyone who regretted NOT getting a tattoo.” I don’t know what this guy’s tattoo is or says, but I may find out.

Guys dismount from Harley Davidsons and assorted other V-Twins in leather vests to climb the steps of an old banquet hall to worship.

Old, young, rags to riches, hundreds mingle in a borrowed “sanctuary” to hear a Bible lesson and sing praises. Roughly half of the attendees are wearing jeans and sporting tattoos on bare arms.

Cowboy Churches, Nascar Churches, and now: Biker Churches. An agnostic in my family (who I love dearly) responded to my initial description of this church and my intent to check it out with the words: “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

He may be right, it may be ridiculous, but if it turns out to be legit and genuine, who knows where it might lead me?

Is this inclusiveness, or exclusiveness? Is it a gimmick to attract a typically un-churched, and therefore relatively financially untapped segment of society?

Or is this truly what Jesus Christ is leading some of his apostles to do: reach out to the outlaw and outcast, gather in his flock of those rejected by American society and show them the path to His everlasting love?

I’ve been a critic of mega churches, especially Fellowship Church of Grapevine, Texas, for a while now. I’ve no beef with having fun while you worship, but the extravagant stage shows and “creative” (i.e. gimmick hook) sermons I witnessed at Fellowship Church in Grapevine left me with a sense of unease, not one of having participated in communal worship of the Creator of the Universe.

For some time now I’ve bumbled around, visiting churches now and then, seeking a true church home. I’ve found some very sound churches that preached firm foundational messages. I’ve found one church whose pastor I admire for his in depth sermons that made me think, challenged my intellect, and always fell in line with God’s Word. But in my heart I’ve always left with the feeling that it just wasn’t home.

Fellowship is what has been missing most of all. The few places where the fellowship seemed genuine have also been a bit outside the pale of orthodoxy.

Lately I’ve been reading up on Hope Fellowship in Irving, Texas. It didn’t start as a “biker” church, but not long after its founding a massive crew of bikers attended one Sunday and became regulars. Their influence brought in others, and it simply became a biker dominated crowd. Looking at others of this ilk, I am intrigued.

I will likely attend the Hope Fellowship service this Sunday, as a seeker for a new church home and as a journalist. If they’re anywhere as genuine as the folks at Freedom Biker Church seem to be in the video below, I may just find a pastor and group of Christian siblings that I can settle down with.

Then again, it may be a big fad, or worse, an exploitation of society’s outlaws who simply want to start anew.

We’ll see. It’ll really all depend on the money trail…that’s always the best indicator between truth and deception.

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Those who don’t ride, don’t know

That pretty much sums it up. It felt so good to be on two wheels again today. I rolled with my new Speed and Strength black jacket and heavy winter gloves. The weather was perfect, the jacket was just enough insulation to make the ride perfect. The sun was only occasionally blocked by clouds, and the traffic was lite.

I left the house around 1300 hours, promising Robin I’d be back in plenty of time to take our American Mastiff to the vet at 1630.

I wasn’t interested in a lot of curves and twists today, so I ventured down SH 121 south with the intention of maybe strolling through the Ft. Worth stockyards where my sis and bro-in-law were spending some time today. That didn’t work out since I burned all my time window shopping, but I did get in about 50 miles of riding, so I’m happy.

My first stop, as always when I roll down 121, was Cycle Gear on SH 121 in Euless. They have a nice selection of fairly priced merchandise, and plenty of helmets to choose from. I’m still trying to decide on a replacement for the Caberg Justissimo I busted up in the crash, and I’m currently making do with Robins full face IIcon. I’m leaning toward the Shark modular.

The budget is limited with recent surgeries for me, the wife, and a thousand vet bills (you’d think that we’d all been on my bike when I crashed instead of me riding solo, the way all the medical bills coincided!) so I left empty-handed, but having tried on a few lids just to see how the fitting was.

I motored on down 121 nearly to down town Fort Worth and made my second stop at Eurosport Cycle. I took a stroll around the used bikes out front, spotting quite a few additions since my last visit before my November crash. I saw the old turbo-charged black R3 was still on the lot, and still sporting the $19,500.00 price tag. I really don’t think whoever owns that one is too interested in selling it.

Inside, Tony was tied up with a customer, so I strolled around and drooled on the two new Thunderbirds in the showroom for a bit.

It was just as well Tony was tied up, I didn’t want to explain how I’d taken my wrecked bike to those bozos in Plano for repairs instead of Eurosport on the advice of my insurance guy just because Les had recently retired. I haven’t given Eurosport’s mechanics a fair shake yet.

After looking over the various accessories in the display case for my Rocket III, I remounted and headed south a couple more blocks to the Iron Horse Bar and Grill. I motored into a parking space and sat there for a few minutes, trying to decide if I really wanted to go in or not. I’m tempted every time I go by the place. Looking at the bikes parked next to me, I decided there was a pretty good chance some one per-centers might be inside, so I decided to move on for this time. Not that I have anything against one per centers or that I’m afraid of them (beyond a healthy respect for a group of guys who will all pile on and not stop till you’re dead if one of their brothers is in a fight, right or wrong).

I’d like to do a review on the Iron Horse Bar and Grill one of these days, but not knowing what to expect I’d rather walk in with a couple of buddies – especially since they’re probably a 51/49 establishment and I can’t tote my .45 in there. The place looks like a motorcycle club house from the outside, but it may be just a great, friendly biker hangout on the inside. One of these days I’ll find out.

I did a big u turn via a city block on the edge of down town and jumped back on 121 north. Reaching the south side of Grapevine I stopped in at the DFW Honda shop to check out used bikes for Robin. Turns out they have just what I’m looking for as a starter bike for her: a 2006 Star 650 Classic. I think the Custom sits a little lower, and of course the asking price is a little high, but this baby looks pretty darn clean. I may go test ride it tomorrow. Not that we have any money right now, but maybe they’ll still have this one in a month or two.

I rolled back into the driveway around 1545 hours. Kelli was visiting Robin and picking up a few spare items we had for her new apartment. Sounds like she’s coming over tomorrow morning to help Robin with a few chores around the house, which will be very nice.

An hour and a half later we returned from Bella’s vet visit and I finally logged onto the web server for today. Wow! This Ed Young / Fellowship Church thing has really driven some traffic to my obscure little site.

That reminds me, I need to go check out that biker church in Irving this Sunday. Maybe it’s just a gimmick…then again, maybe it’s the real deal and will be a good church home. I can pretty much guarantee myself the pastor isn’t jetting around on a private plane, at least.

Guess I shouldn’t be too hard on Ed; after all, I have my own personal Rocket.

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