Real Biker Or Not?

Okay folks, I am going to be incognito for a while after tomorrow. I am going in to have my right hand operated on to repair the carpal tunnel syndrome that has plagued me for more than 10 years now. I am finally tired of living with the pain, phantom itching, numbness and all the other good good feelings that come with CTS. That's not what I am writing about in this post though, friends. Nope, I want to go back to an earlier posting of mine concerning "poser" bikers. Why do I want to re-hash this, you ask? Well, it's not because I want to beat a dead horse; no, I want to talk about an experience I had tonight.

Okay, it starts like this; this week I have had to stay away from certain painkillers and anti-inflammatories for seven days because of the procedure I am undergoing tomorrow. Those of you who know me personally know that I am rated at 70% disabled by the VA; a direct result of that is I take a mini-pharmacy of pills twice daily to keep the pain at bay. So, I have not been in the best of moods this week and neither has my wife because on top of my sunny disposition, she has been dealing with a cold this week. Yeah, it has not been pleasant in our household this past week. One thing we have not done a lot of this week is cook dinner, mainly because we have been both feeling so bad that cooking was out of the question and tonight was no exception.

Down here in the bucolic town that is Brandon, Mississippi, restaurants are not something we have a lot of. There is one little place here that makes pretty good sandwiches and things so we called them and ordered our dinner. I drove to this little place and, being a biker myself, was kind of surprised to see two brand stinkin-new Harleys parked in front...especially when the low tonight is supposed to go down to the 20's. I walked into the place and saw about two dozen people sitting around, swilling beer and eating crawfish in biker leathers. Now...wait a minute...there were only two bikes out front so how do we have 20 or more in here dressed like they've been riding in cold weather? Well, remember what we talked about the other day about the difference between a poser and a biker? Yeah, most of these "bikers" had driven their cages (cars, to the non-biker) for their "bike night". I noticed on the back of a couple of vests a patch that said "Spirit Riders" and an indian dream-catcher. Shaking my head to myself, I chuckled a bit at just how pathetic this scene actually was.

So, I walked up to the counter and it was easy to see they were slammed, so I did a "Helllooooo?" a couple of times to try and get someone's attention. It was at this point that one of these "bikers" must have decided I needed a talking-to and suggested to me that I try a little patience. I am pretty sure you guys out there know the look I gave this person...you know it; I gave him the "what business is it of yours?" looks. I finally got one of the girls' attention and asked about the order we had phoned in. Just a couple of minutes and it'll be ready, we promise. No problem, I said...hell as long as they know I'm here and they're doing their best, I have nothing to complain about, right? So I stood there at the counter, quietly waiting for my order and being alone inside myself.

Then I heard something...I wasn't sure I heard correctly but now my ears were perked up and it came again. Mister "bad-ass biker" who drove his pickup truck to "bike night" was speaking loud enough about the "asshole at the counter". Seeing as I was the only one actually AT the counter, it wasn't hard to deduce he was talking about me. Maybe, I thought, he doesn't realize that I am a biker too. I mean, I drove my truck and I was wearing my gray fleece and was totally devoid of any type of clothing or accessory that would have advertised me as a biker. I tuned my ears to the loudmouth and, sure as hell, he was talking about me and singling me out, trying to bait me into a fight.

Well, you know, I am just old enough to know that the worst thing I could do would be to acknowledge this guy and then have to take on him and 15 of his poser buddies, so, I stood quietly at the counter and decided on my plan of action. See, I am not normally the one who starts the fight now; rather, I am the one who usually ends the fight. So, I listened to him talking a little bit louder each time he said something and mentally prepared myself to knock this idiot out of his boots if he so much as touches me. Finally, my order came, I paid for it, and turned to leave. I did shake my head and smile a little smile as I walked past...I couldn't help it, I tried to resist but I couldn't help it; right when he was looking directly at me, I very clearly mouthed, "ignorant f***s". Then I walked outside to my truck.

I didn't sit and actually wait for anybody to come out but I did move just a wee bit slower than normal, just to see. Nobody came out, I got in my truck and left. Driving home, I laughed out loud as I thought about the absurdity of the situation. A bunch of guys, dressed out in leathers, chaps and bandannas, acting like bad-asses and only TWO actually rode their bikes out...and ONE of them that rode was a woman. You know, I think Trey Parker and Matt Stone got it right on their SouthPark episode. "Bikers" like those guys...yep, they're fags...or posers...or ignorant redneck hillbilly pretenders...take your pick...they're pathetic little posers.