“So do you ride in a gang?”
“Are you in the Hell’s Angels?”
“Do you have a clubhouse?”
Those are the questions I get asked from new acquaintances most often these days. I reckon because I have long hair and ride a motorcycle, some folks assume I might be in a “motorcycle club”. Today I got an email from someone who stumbled across this blog asking me if I’m in an “outlaw motorcycle gang”.
Number one: If I was, I wouldn’t tell a stranger via email.
Number two: I ain’t. The values and morals don’t match up on enough levels (not saying they’re necessarily wrong, they just don’t match).
And nobody but God and Family gets my undying loyalty. Another reason I guess I got out of law enforcement.
Not even church.
I remember when I was a cop, there was always one person in every new crowd I became acquainted with who would ask, “have you ever shot anyone?”
The answer (with the qualification that my former membership in the “Blue Knights” is about as far from being in a one-percent-er club as one can get) is: No. To all the above.
I’m a long-haired guy who rides a motorcycle.
Sometimes I drive a Dodge station wagon with a Hemi V8 under the hood. For some reason that doesn’t prompt people to ask me if I’m a Nascar pit crew member.
I might be a biker. Depends on your definition of “biker”. If riding every chance I get when the pavement is dry makes me one. But when it rains I drive my car, and I imagine that disqualifies me from being a “biker” in the eyes of a guy who rides even in the rain. I don’t aspire to be a “biker”, and I don’t get all bent out of shape if someone refers to me as a “biker”. Nobody knows what the criteria for being a “biker” is, although I’m sure the government is spending lots of our money trying to find out, along with studying the mating habits of the Guatemalan Insanity Grub.
But what I am for sure is a father, husband, grandpa, brother, and son.
So in some folks’ opinion I may look like a Son of Anarchy from TV minus the tattoos when I’m riding down the road with my hair flapping in the wind, but I’m just a regular blue-collar joe trying to survive in a white-collar world.
I stay away from one-percent-ers because I don’t want to tangle with guys who think I owe them respect when I don’t, and I don’t go looking for trouble.
If you read this post and you happen to be a one-percent-er don’t take it personal. You did what your culture demands to earn your patch, and I never asked you to do it. You don’t get my respect, but you don’t get any disrespect from me unless you give me reason to. I’m not interested in picking a fight with you and your bros.
Live and let live, I say, but just to be clear, I’m not a “lone wolf”; I’m not in a motorcycle group, club, motorcycle gang, or motorcycle knitting circle. I own a motorcycle and I like to ride it. I like to read Cycle World, Ride Texas, and Thunder Roads Texas magazines.
If that makes me a “biker” in your eyes than feel free to refer to me as a “biker”. If that isn’t enough to meet your qualifications for the title then call me a motorcyclist. “Biker” is neither a title of honor or an insult to me. Call me a poser if you want. I’m not claiming to be anything other than a guy who loves riding motorcycles, talking about motorcycles, reading about motorcycles, and writing about motorcycles.
I’m perfectly happy with folks referring to me as Tim.
You can decide whether I’m not in a “club” because I’m not man enough or because I’m too much of a man to be in one. The important thing is that I’m not in a club and I’m in the “other 99%”.
Period.
and the