True Words
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Very true.
Love it ..and so true
This realm isn't limited to bikers... it appears in many circles, and most often, in realms where what we do, challenges us to regularly face forces of reality that we have no control of, and as a result, we willingly submit ourselves to, and in doing so, embrace simple presence of life.
There are many who look at a tattered motorcycle jacket, chaps, worn boots and an old bandanna, and fear what they see. Some wear a colorful, armored leather suit, and a full-face helmet... and there are some who wear a denim jacket and jeans... and there are some that dress up to have that look.
Many, both bikers, and not, predispose judgement to the differences of what people wear, and others do same for WHAT that person rode in on. I've met some bikers that exhibited some pretty exclusive dispositions about others for it, but most bikers don't, because they share a simple appreciation for the psychological respite which an unencumbered view, a cool breeze, and smell of the flowers offers.
There are many things people can find to have differing opinions on, but a day on a smooth stretch of highway with great scenery is something that every biker agrees upon... and when the campfire crackles under a starry night, what we ride, and what we wear, is irrelevant.
Days are getting longer, and while we've got February and March to go, April will be here soon, and I'm ready!!!
There are many who look at a tattered motorcycle jacket, chaps, worn boots and an old bandanna, and fear what they see. Some wear a colorful, armored leather suit, and a full-face helmet... and there are some who wear a denim jacket and jeans... and there are some that dress up to have that look.
Many, both bikers, and not, predispose judgement to the differences of what people wear, and others do same for WHAT that person rode in on. I've met some bikers that exhibited some pretty exclusive dispositions about others for it, but most bikers don't, because they share a simple appreciation for the psychological respite which an unencumbered view, a cool breeze, and smell of the flowers offers.
There are many things people can find to have differing opinions on, but a day on a smooth stretch of highway with great scenery is something that every biker agrees upon... and when the campfire crackles under a starry night, what we ride, and what we wear, is irrelevant.
Days are getting longer, and while we've got February and March to go, April will be here soon, and I'm ready!!!
OP
OP
Now my head hurts. :head bang: Took the emotion right outa the topic. :BigGrin:[url=https://classicgoldwings.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=215309#p215309:16xl6u07 said:
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Yeah no kidding.[url=https://classicgoldwings.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=215310#p215310:23x6e1pq said:
Some things just need to be appreciated for what they are.
Lol Dave just really gives his thoughts to it all ...his motor rather wound up ...
I didn't say it wasn't a special 'biker' thing...
It appears, in different ways, in many places.
We oftentimes don't see it. ;-)
So my daughter was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and a couple rumbled by in the opposite direction on a common V-twin type... there's a 'get back' whip hanging from the clutch, flapping the pavement as they went by...
She said "Dad... what was that???"
I said "Oh... they just lost their dog... didn't you see it running down the sidewalk tryin' to catch up? Man, that Yorkie was FAST..."
But the OP brought back memories of my teenage years, bounding around with my pals... ending above was true.
She was momentarily mortified... until she realized that the only chain getting yanked... was her own. ;-)
It appears, in different ways, in many places.
We oftentimes don't see it. ;-)
So my daughter was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and a couple rumbled by in the opposite direction on a common V-twin type... there's a 'get back' whip hanging from the clutch, flapping the pavement as they went by...
She said "Dad... what was that???"
I said "Oh... they just lost their dog... didn't you see it running down the sidewalk tryin' to catch up? Man, that Yorkie was FAST..."
But the OP brought back memories of my teenage years, bounding around with my pals... ending above was true.
She was momentarily mortified... until she realized that the only chain getting yanked... was her own. ;-)
This whole thead is thought povoking. Dave's comments amplified it for me.
One of the points in the OPs post was that "Biker friends will cry WITH you. Dave mentioned a crackling fire. One of my memories went ding, ding, ding.
In 1993, living in Texas at the time, a good friend and I rendezvoued for a bike trip to Colorado. Along the way back, we crossed the Hopi Indian Reservation in New Mexico and picked up some venison for dinner. And we had whiskey. Camping on top of a large south-facing plateau, we ate, drank and watched the best lightning show I have ever seen pass mercifully to the south. The same storms that had been chasing us for a week. But, our common past came pouring out that night. We laughed. And we cried. Shamelessly.
The food was spectacular. The spot on the planet was magical. The whiskey was whiskey. And that friend is still a friend.
That was an evening I will carry to my grave.
One of the points in the OPs post was that "Biker friends will cry WITH you. Dave mentioned a crackling fire. One of my memories went ding, ding, ding.
In 1993, living in Texas at the time, a good friend and I rendezvoued for a bike trip to Colorado. Along the way back, we crossed the Hopi Indian Reservation in New Mexico and picked up some venison for dinner. And we had whiskey. Camping on top of a large south-facing plateau, we ate, drank and watched the best lightning show I have ever seen pass mercifully to the south. The same storms that had been chasing us for a week. But, our common past came pouring out that night. We laughed. And we cried. Shamelessly.
The food was spectacular. The spot on the planet was magical. The whiskey was whiskey. And that friend is still a friend.
That was an evening I will carry to my grave.
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I had a friend like that.
Just ask, and he was there for me.
There were good times, and there were bad times. But we could always depend on each other no matter what came up.....but....then he got married and it was all over.
Just ask, and he was there for me.
There were good times, and there were bad times. But we could always depend on each other no matter what came up.....but....then he got married and it was all over.
Great story, DR!!!
Dan... that's a common theme... something happens that changes it all. Being married is one we can all laugh about, but we cannot escape. :smilie_happy:
Here's my 'odd' biker stories for the day... they're casually intertwined, so they gotta go together:
I was on a ride in the summer of my twenties, on my Sportster... basically factory stock.. but fortunately, had tubeless tires. I was about 180 miles from home, and it started feeling 'squishy' in the rear. Not that it didn't feel 'squisy' to start with, after all, it had handling and balance rivaling most antique farm implements... but it started feeling 'spooky'... so I pulled off to the side, and realized there was a rather large nail stuck in the tread... and the tire was getting rather low. I hopped back on, and blasted to the gas station at the next exit, so I'd have an air supply. When I got there, I added air, and hopped back on. There was no motorcycle shops along the way, and no repair or transport options to be found, I hoped that the presence of the nail would slow the leak enough for me to limp home, but I'd have to make regular stops to pump it up. I knew the path well, and the first few stops were about 18 miles apart... rough calculation said that was possible.
I made the first two stops okay... after the third, I headed down the ramp... and as I did, a bunch of bikers came rumbling by... LOTS of them... and they were moving along, but not quite quick enough for me to make my next stop... so I merged in, changed to left lane, and poured on the coals.
And there I was, a kid in denim and a T-shirt, with a full-face helmet, tennis shoes, passing half a hundred Hell's Angels.
I'm not certain what made me more uncomfortable... having a limited time before that tire was flat, or going fast... or having that crew looking at my rear-view mirror... as I'm thinkin' they might've felt somewhat insulted by my departure... but as soon as I was past them, I gave that four-speed hell. I covered that 20 mile stretch in about 14 minutes, and when I got to the ramp, I could tell that centrifugal force was helping make up for what air pressure I'd lost.
I pulled straight up to the air pump, and started filling the tire, but to my chagrin, it was loosing air too fast to limp home as-is.
So I walked into the gas station, bought a pack of gum, a can of orange drink, and walked back out to the bike... and started digging out that nail with my swiss army knife. And thunder rumbled in the distance... coming closer, it only rained fear. Within about three minutes, I was surrounded by a hundred of the scariest mfkrs I'd ever seen, and just like the movies, they pulled right up, and boxed me in.
I thought about it, and realized several things... first, is that while I was an incredibly good fighter, I had absolutely NO advantages, no route of escape, and no where near the type of weaponry on hand to even make a dent in what I was faced with. I figured that I would probably die there, and my motorcycle would be taken away in small pieces.
So as they pulled up, I just stayed sitting on the ground, picking away at that damned nail, with my swiss army knife.
After the closest of the straight-pipes all silenced, a scarred-up hairy ogre stood over me, directly behind the sun, and said "You got a problem here, slug?"
I rolled my head to the side (I knew he left sun on my face intentionally) put my pocketknife down, raised my hand up to block the sunshine, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet like I was a 170lb feather.
"Yeah. I picked up a nail, and it's leaking too fast to get me home."
Another guy to my right said "At the speed YOU were goin', you didn't need tires, kid- you just needed tower clearance to take off..."
I'm certain at that age, my smile was a little sheepish, but that WAS funny, and I did...
I said "Well, I didn't mean to be rude by blasting by... but I knew my time was really limited, so my apologies"...
and when I did, that big guy put his meathook on my shoulder and pushed me to the side, got down on one knee, and looked at that nail.
He said "Yep... you ain't makin it home like that..."
I said "I'm gonna try to plug it.". One of the guys threw a spent cigarette butt on the ground nearby... I bent over, picked it up, rubbed the burnt end against the ground, and tore half of my bubble-gum off, flattened, and wrapped it around the butt, then shoved it into the tread with the remains of the nail. As I messed with it, we exchanged names, they asked where I was heading, etc... Two of the guys helped, and after jockeying it around for a few minutes, it was ready for a pressure test. I shot air in it, and by some miracle, it actually held. I filled the (peanut) tank, and checked it again, it seemed to be doing fine, and as I hopped on, four of the guys mounted up, and said "You head on, we'll be right behind you... if you see a cop, just go...
They stayed a quarter mile behind me 'till I was about 15 miles from home. I made two quick ramp-stops to check the pressure, it was only loosing a few pounds every 20, so I was gonna make it the rest of the way. I gave them a thank you wave, and turned out.
---------------------------
That wasn't the first time I'd be surrounded by scary gangs. Years later, I was riding the foothills of gold country with my Dad's
Cousin Bob (I referred to him as 'uncle'), who had a real-estate business in Stockton. We met several of his friends in some small town coffee house, where I was introduced to all of them, one was named "Bud", which stood out to me at the time only because my dad, and his cousins always referred to Bob as "Bud", hence, I called him 'uncle Bud'... but Bob made it clear, that when in Bud's presence, I was not to refer to my dad's cousin as anything other than "Bob".
After a nice day's ride with his friends, uncle Bob mentioned that many of his friends had been in larger 'clubs', and that most of them, like him, were military pilots... the elder from WW2, but some Korea and later Vietnam... and took to motorcycling for it's theraputic value. While he said he never was a 'member' of any of the major groups, he was socially accepted and respected by them all, as he flew cold-war bombers out of England during the Missle Crisis. He noted that he'd met Bud while riding in the 60's, and that Bud was a celebrety amidst the guys, and had a nice motorcycle shop in the area...
In October of 2008, I happened to be on company assignment in Modesto, and went out to my 'uncle Bud's' house... and we fired up the motorcycles (he had a collection... over 20 in his garage... the cars parked outside ;-) ) and went for a Sunday morning ride to somewhere unknown. We stopped about an hour into the ride for fuel and bathroom, and uncle Bob opened up his saddlebag and pulled out a tattered leather vest bearing the SAC wing'd star emblem. It'd been made from a flight jacket... the sleeves cut off at the seams, and the liner cut out. He put it on over his wind jacket, and we continued on for about 30 minutes, pulled into a coffee house packed full of guys in old leather, with patches of every club, every color. I would've considered them scary at one point, but few of them were less than twice my age. Many were on trikes, or with sidecars. I helped bud climb off the K1200's high saddle (I was on his new R1200RT), and threaded both bikes into parking spaces, while he went in to 'get us a seat'.
As I wandered in, everyone looked at me like they knew me, and pointed me through the maze of tables and old leather. We sat down for coffee, and one of the oldest got up, and said a prayer while everyone listened. It was October 6th, and they all gathered on the anniversary of the death of Bud Ekins, and somehow, I'd had a rare opportunity to MEET him, and never realized it until after.
---------------
These two seemingly unrelated circumstances had two things in common... one was that I was motorcycling, and second, was that nothing around me was what it appeared to be. Although the characters in the first story probably weren't the best guys around, they certainly were better than others who probably got away with looking a whole lot better, for no real reason. It taught me not to predispose my judgement upon their decency, even IF I KNEW for a fact, that they'd been in some way involved in some very bad stuff... and furthermore, that while I may be predisposed to something about THEM, they might just-as-well be predisposed about ME, but getting past that, though initially uncomfortable, is actually very rewarding.
The second, was that people grow old, and with it, their world, and their circumstances change. My uncle Bud, by virtue of the circumstances of his service, was involved in some very, very, very scary things. The guys he rode with, were equally challenged each in their own way, and even when their lives changed, even if they weren't able to maintain the kind of lifestyle and activity, they still stayed together in spirit... and as those live circumstances changed how they had to look, it never changed how they maintained their comraderie. They went from being physically and psychologically mutilated, to businessmen, tradesmen, police, firemen, lawyers, accountants, surgeons, engineers, and teachers... and when one of them was lost, they all met, wearing their tattered old jackets and vests.
Dan... that's a common theme... something happens that changes it all. Being married is one we can all laugh about, but we cannot escape. :smilie_happy:
Here's my 'odd' biker stories for the day... they're casually intertwined, so they gotta go together:
I was on a ride in the summer of my twenties, on my Sportster... basically factory stock.. but fortunately, had tubeless tires. I was about 180 miles from home, and it started feeling 'squishy' in the rear. Not that it didn't feel 'squisy' to start with, after all, it had handling and balance rivaling most antique farm implements... but it started feeling 'spooky'... so I pulled off to the side, and realized there was a rather large nail stuck in the tread... and the tire was getting rather low. I hopped back on, and blasted to the gas station at the next exit, so I'd have an air supply. When I got there, I added air, and hopped back on. There was no motorcycle shops along the way, and no repair or transport options to be found, I hoped that the presence of the nail would slow the leak enough for me to limp home, but I'd have to make regular stops to pump it up. I knew the path well, and the first few stops were about 18 miles apart... rough calculation said that was possible.
I made the first two stops okay... after the third, I headed down the ramp... and as I did, a bunch of bikers came rumbling by... LOTS of them... and they were moving along, but not quite quick enough for me to make my next stop... so I merged in, changed to left lane, and poured on the coals.
And there I was, a kid in denim and a T-shirt, with a full-face helmet, tennis shoes, passing half a hundred Hell's Angels.
I'm not certain what made me more uncomfortable... having a limited time before that tire was flat, or going fast... or having that crew looking at my rear-view mirror... as I'm thinkin' they might've felt somewhat insulted by my departure... but as soon as I was past them, I gave that four-speed hell. I covered that 20 mile stretch in about 14 minutes, and when I got to the ramp, I could tell that centrifugal force was helping make up for what air pressure I'd lost.
I pulled straight up to the air pump, and started filling the tire, but to my chagrin, it was loosing air too fast to limp home as-is.
So I walked into the gas station, bought a pack of gum, a can of orange drink, and walked back out to the bike... and started digging out that nail with my swiss army knife. And thunder rumbled in the distance... coming closer, it only rained fear. Within about three minutes, I was surrounded by a hundred of the scariest mfkrs I'd ever seen, and just like the movies, they pulled right up, and boxed me in.
I thought about it, and realized several things... first, is that while I was an incredibly good fighter, I had absolutely NO advantages, no route of escape, and no where near the type of weaponry on hand to even make a dent in what I was faced with. I figured that I would probably die there, and my motorcycle would be taken away in small pieces.
So as they pulled up, I just stayed sitting on the ground, picking away at that damned nail, with my swiss army knife.
After the closest of the straight-pipes all silenced, a scarred-up hairy ogre stood over me, directly behind the sun, and said "You got a problem here, slug?"
I rolled my head to the side (I knew he left sun on my face intentionally) put my pocketknife down, raised my hand up to block the sunshine, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet like I was a 170lb feather.
"Yeah. I picked up a nail, and it's leaking too fast to get me home."
Another guy to my right said "At the speed YOU were goin', you didn't need tires, kid- you just needed tower clearance to take off..."
I'm certain at that age, my smile was a little sheepish, but that WAS funny, and I did...
I said "Well, I didn't mean to be rude by blasting by... but I knew my time was really limited, so my apologies"...
and when I did, that big guy put his meathook on my shoulder and pushed me to the side, got down on one knee, and looked at that nail.
He said "Yep... you ain't makin it home like that..."
I said "I'm gonna try to plug it.". One of the guys threw a spent cigarette butt on the ground nearby... I bent over, picked it up, rubbed the burnt end against the ground, and tore half of my bubble-gum off, flattened, and wrapped it around the butt, then shoved it into the tread with the remains of the nail. As I messed with it, we exchanged names, they asked where I was heading, etc... Two of the guys helped, and after jockeying it around for a few minutes, it was ready for a pressure test. I shot air in it, and by some miracle, it actually held. I filled the (peanut) tank, and checked it again, it seemed to be doing fine, and as I hopped on, four of the guys mounted up, and said "You head on, we'll be right behind you... if you see a cop, just go...
They stayed a quarter mile behind me 'till I was about 15 miles from home. I made two quick ramp-stops to check the pressure, it was only loosing a few pounds every 20, so I was gonna make it the rest of the way. I gave them a thank you wave, and turned out.
---------------------------
That wasn't the first time I'd be surrounded by scary gangs. Years later, I was riding the foothills of gold country with my Dad's
Cousin Bob (I referred to him as 'uncle'), who had a real-estate business in Stockton. We met several of his friends in some small town coffee house, where I was introduced to all of them, one was named "Bud", which stood out to me at the time only because my dad, and his cousins always referred to Bob as "Bud", hence, I called him 'uncle Bud'... but Bob made it clear, that when in Bud's presence, I was not to refer to my dad's cousin as anything other than "Bob".
After a nice day's ride with his friends, uncle Bob mentioned that many of his friends had been in larger 'clubs', and that most of them, like him, were military pilots... the elder from WW2, but some Korea and later Vietnam... and took to motorcycling for it's theraputic value. While he said he never was a 'member' of any of the major groups, he was socially accepted and respected by them all, as he flew cold-war bombers out of England during the Missle Crisis. He noted that he'd met Bud while riding in the 60's, and that Bud was a celebrety amidst the guys, and had a nice motorcycle shop in the area...
In October of 2008, I happened to be on company assignment in Modesto, and went out to my 'uncle Bud's' house... and we fired up the motorcycles (he had a collection... over 20 in his garage... the cars parked outside ;-) ) and went for a Sunday morning ride to somewhere unknown. We stopped about an hour into the ride for fuel and bathroom, and uncle Bob opened up his saddlebag and pulled out a tattered leather vest bearing the SAC wing'd star emblem. It'd been made from a flight jacket... the sleeves cut off at the seams, and the liner cut out. He put it on over his wind jacket, and we continued on for about 30 minutes, pulled into a coffee house packed full of guys in old leather, with patches of every club, every color. I would've considered them scary at one point, but few of them were less than twice my age. Many were on trikes, or with sidecars. I helped bud climb off the K1200's high saddle (I was on his new R1200RT), and threaded both bikes into parking spaces, while he went in to 'get us a seat'.
As I wandered in, everyone looked at me like they knew me, and pointed me through the maze of tables and old leather. We sat down for coffee, and one of the oldest got up, and said a prayer while everyone listened. It was October 6th, and they all gathered on the anniversary of the death of Bud Ekins, and somehow, I'd had a rare opportunity to MEET him, and never realized it until after.
---------------
These two seemingly unrelated circumstances had two things in common... one was that I was motorcycling, and second, was that nothing around me was what it appeared to be. Although the characters in the first story probably weren't the best guys around, they certainly were better than others who probably got away with looking a whole lot better, for no real reason. It taught me not to predispose my judgement upon their decency, even IF I KNEW for a fact, that they'd been in some way involved in some very bad stuff... and furthermore, that while I may be predisposed to something about THEM, they might just-as-well be predisposed about ME, but getting past that, though initially uncomfortable, is actually very rewarding.
The second, was that people grow old, and with it, their world, and their circumstances change. My uncle Bud, by virtue of the circumstances of his service, was involved in some very, very, very scary things. The guys he rode with, were equally challenged each in their own way, and even when their lives changed, even if they weren't able to maintain the kind of lifestyle and activity, they still stayed together in spirit... and as those live circumstances changed how they had to look, it never changed how they maintained their comraderie. They went from being physically and psychologically mutilated, to businessmen, tradesmen, police, firemen, lawyers, accountants, surgeons, engineers, and teachers... and when one of them was lost, they all met, wearing their tattered old jackets and vests.
- Joined
- Dec 3, 2009
- Messages
- 22,403
- Reaction score
- 239
- Location
- Van Nuys Ca.
- My Bike Models
- 1983 Interstate
2018 KLR 650
2018 BMW S1000 RR
- My Bike Logs forum link
- https://classicgoldwings.com/forums/dan-filipi.122/
I’m very happily married with 3 great kids. 28 years this May. We both have old time marriage values, all too uncommon these days.
Yep ... the absolutely tragic results of my attempts of life long relationships...is laughable in a sick way ...people almost died ...people did die ..attempted to save people from tragic circumstances...myself included ...all with negative worldly out comes ...I have found many things are out of reach for smart hands like I have ....
My oldest just registered for Selective Service, my youngest is looking forward to having a 'real' driver's license this summer, and celebrated 23 years on Friday. A friend of mine... a Silent Service Sailor, said once: "relationships are fragile"... but I don't think that's entirely correct. Weak relationships may be fragile... but well maintained relationships are strong, and as a result, can be incredibly durable.
I mirror Dan almost exactly; 28 years last October.[url=https://classicgoldwings.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=215340#p215340:l673ju6v said:
- Joined
- Dec 3, 2009
- Messages
- 22,403
- Reaction score
- 239
- Location
- Van Nuys Ca.
- My Bike Models
- 1983 Interstate
2018 KLR 650
2018 BMW S1000 RR
- My Bike Logs forum link
- https://classicgoldwings.com/forums/dan-filipi.122/
:salute:[url=https://classicgoldwings.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=215346#p215346:3f3tt42f said:
My now 2nd wife goes anywhere with me on a bike. Cooks better over fire than anyone I've ever known. She grew up where motorbikes were essentially the de facto mode of transportation. Rides so well I truly dont know she's back there. The fact tbat she's 105 pounds soaking wet doesn't hurt. Perfect travelling companion - on "both" roads.
