Are days of past glories only the illusions of old men around campfires laughing at common trials and tribulations survived alone yet sought out by some inhabitant craving that searched the comfort of lonely highways on cold nights, rain soaked leathers stitched together with fishing line and duct tape, warm truck stops and earthy women who did not judge the character of a man by the holes in his jeans but by the miles etched in his face and the distance reflected in his eyes of places been and places yet to go with nothing to lose but the next experience, that sound reason would caution against, yet caution was the enemy and the pain of an experience lost was greater than that of the experience itself, for how does one know the feeling of triumph if no enemy has been met and overcome, as more often the enemy was ourselves and the test was, could ourselves we survive. Brotherhood, respect and caution were not words but weapons by which one lived because to forget was to invite defeat in ways that if the combat did not kill you the knowledge that you failed yourself would. When the saddle was worn comfortable by miles of breaking it in to the music of pipes made exclusively for rebellious Angels whose mission was to place gas stations in the middle of nowhere as your tank approached empty that ignored would leave you walking down three miles of dark dirt road in rattlesnake country with only the choice of putting one foot in front of the other or remain in rattlesnake country which might be ok were it not the fantasy of a cold beer waiting at the end of the road with a juke box playing cry in your beer country songs and drunk Bubba looking for a fight or suicide. When sweat was a badge of honor and no one complained because all men sweat and who would think of riding the twisties in a motor home fully equipped with hot shower with a full hook up at the bottom of the mountain where Video tapes of some one actually riding the twisties could be purchased and watched in the comfort of air conditioning with a cell phone connection to the office to which one checks in to see if they might be "Free" enough to take another day off. Freedom not earned or fought for unless of course the 40 year prostitution of a life to buy the freedom social security can afford is in fact considered free.
Somewhere the ashes of those who went before us left a primal urge to be what we always wanted to be but yet not give up what we chose to pursue rather than be what we wanted to be. After all why have it all when you can have it all. When you can cloak yourself in respectable citizenry during the week and play primal warrior on the weekends by choosing safe destinations where a hook up and shower is always close by and we ride our bikes from they're own carriages to the front of the bandstand and blow horns and engines to burnt out legends of yesteryear playing "Born to be Wild" as we get drunk, and throw beads at the models hired to participate in wet t-shirt contests because no self respecting biker bitch has any desire to foster the pre-adolescent fantasies of wanna be's, unless of course they know by doing so it will only emasculate them further, who prove their improved biker image by riding in every doggie run that comes down the pike but wont run on a run for a downed "BROTHER" cause they don't know what a brother is and if they did, it would scare they're Harleys into golf carts. Who wouldn't ride in a biker rights run because after all they have their rights don't they, they worked hard to buy them and deserve them which of course isn't quite the same as those who died or fought or sacrificed to give them the right to buy, But then these are the same people that played demonstrator when 4 died in Kent Ohio, they showed there colors then and they show them now, lets some one else do it I have responsibilities by God, like polishing my chrome and shopping for the same tattoo worn by a hundred others put on by a jaded artist who has sworn suicide should he have to do another rose on a "Barbie" but delighted in the penis he hid in the tatt that will prob forever go unnoticed because the tatt artist knew what he was doing and all the client knew to ask was, "do you use a new needle" just as he carefully reads the handbook of his new Harley to see if the ignition key will unlock the gas cap casting an eye of disdain at his neighbors Yamaha not knowing that Marlon Brando rode a triumph in the Wild Ones and even Fonzi had a triumph before graduating to a Harley just as many of us in our early teens cut our teeth on Honda 90's or 305 dreams that served as cruiser, dirt bike and sport bike in one on which we skipped school and rode our girls to the rope swing, did a hit or two or three of acid, shucked our clothes and hit the cold water on a hot day while Velvet Underground broke their nuts and lost em trying to go commercial and we didn't attend funerals because we were gone or unwanted. We sought spiritual enlightenment through every drug known to man and found many who became spiritually acquainted before their time. Dues were things you paid to stay alive, not something you used to slap a patch on your back to prove you are what you aren't. Step right up brothers and sisters fantasies for sale on the installment plan . The balloon payment can be a bitch though.