Big D and Joker Become Real Bikers

Now that I've passed the "crossroads" headed in my new direction, I decided I'd rather not keep the post here as a bad memory. Everyone who needs to know now knows. The other reason was things were starting to get nasty on the part of my thankfully soon-to-be ex brother-in-law and one of my wife's cousins, who each posted nasty, sophomoric comments. It's bad enough to have to tell all of you my wife and I separated, but I'm not looking for a public pissing contest from bitter family members.

There was one thing my brother-in-law mentioned to me that did raise my concerns though, and I thought I'd better take a closer look. According to Rob Zombie (that's my nickname for him because he's about as exciting as watching paint dry and has a vocabulary that doesn't go much farther than "yup, nope, hi, and bye."), I guess I'm not a real biker because I used to wear eyeglasses. I have to tell you I was shocked, shocked! to hear that means I "fit the bill as a nerd, not a biker." What really gets me is that my wife has worn eyeglasses all of her life, so that begs the question of just how does he classify his sister? Zombie's own brother-in-law on his wife's side wears glasses. I always thought Dave was a pretty nice guy, and to hear now that he's a nerd was devastating I have to tell you.

Aside from that and of greater concern the other killer was that I guess I don't qualify because, in his words, "you have had a bike for like what, three years?" Wow. That really makes you think. Just when does it become official? Is it 5 years? 10? 20? When I think back to when I was riding my first bike over 20 years ago when Rob Zombie still didn't know what to do with his morning hardon, it made me realize that maybe I didn't go about it the right way. I guess he didn't know about that, and probably forgot about my 2nd bike which I gave him a ride on back of when his sister and I were first dating, but I digress. This is a serious issue, so I think we all need to draw up a set of parameters here.

Maybe we could have some sort of official "real biker" ceremony, after we decide how many bikes you have to own over how many years. Or, maybe we need to do it by miles ridden or how many rallys attended. Would attending a ride sponsored by an outlaw M/C in the middle of the desert qualify you? Because there are so many variables, I ended up wishing we all had to do it officially from day one, you know, like joining the Army or something. They could have a biker recruitment office, you'd have to sit down in front of a "real biker," sign-up, and then you get shipped off to some sort of biker boot camp. There, we could learn important skills, like biker etiquette at rallys, or how best to remove teeth from punks with big mouths using a ball-peen hammer. Do the time and you hit the parade ground on your motor for graduation.

I don't know why but I try to picture Big D and I doing this, and if you haven't figured it out by now, this mirrors the scene in Stripes where Bill Murray and Harold Ramis join the Army. Big D and I pull up in our old shitbox cage and abandon it in a no-parking zone. Inside, we sit before "the Man," his face tan and weathered from years on the road. We are both a bit nervous and fidgety before this graying old dirty biker, and try hard not to be too obvious as we check out the many faded patches and worn pins adorning his cut. He had no name tag; there was no name plate on his desk either.

With a stern look in our direction, he speaks.

"All I can tell you, is that you'll get out of being a biker whatever you're willing to put into it. Now, there are just a few more questions I have to ask, and then you can sign the papers."

The Man picks up a form from his desk and stares over it in our direction. Avoiding the eye contact, I look at Big D and I can tell by his eyes he's still glad he didn't get a haircut before coming over to this place. I had thought if he looked like he was trying too hard he might catch shit. Big D had said if they made him cut his hair, he'd quit. So much for my advice.

The Man cleared his throat with a hint of annoyance and Big D said to me, "Look at him while he's talking to you."

I wished I had more of Big D's courage and knowledge of biker etiquette, and that was what I was hoping to get more of here. My time riding Hondas and Kawasaki's didn't seem good enough to get me in, compared to a guy who ruined a hard-tail jumping the Braga Bridge in Fall River to get away from the cops. I did what he said though, turning slowly into the burning gaze of the Man as he spoke again.

"Have either of you ever been convicted of a felony?"

Again, Big D and I passed a nervous look between us, not seeming able to come up with an answer.

"I'm talking armed robbery, auto theft, drug trafficking...stuff like that," the Man said.

Big D looked back and said, "You did say convicted, right?"

"That's right...convicted."

"No...no," Big D said over a laugh, "never convicted."

Outside, an airhorn blew and there was a short screech of brakes, followed by someone yelling out, "Asshole!" We were both smiling now, but the Man wasn't amused.

"Are you sure you two want to go through with this?" he said.

We both nodded. The Man rolled his eyes. Next question...

"Do either of you now, or have you ever worn...eyeglasses?"

Big D and I exchanged another uncomfortable glance, and it seemed like the ticking from the Harley-Davidson clock on the wall was getting louder. I don't know what made me answer...

"You mean...like flaming...or..?"

"Well it's a standard question we have to ask," the Man replied curtly.

"No, we don't wear eyeglasses," Big D said, "but we are willing to learn."

"Yeah," I chimed in, "will they send us someplace special??"

"I guess that's "no" on both," said the Man, sliding two sets of papers and a pen toward us. "Now if you could just give The Brothers your autographs..."

The next thing you know we were off to Sturgis for Basic Training. We were finally gonna be REAL BIKERS!!! This was so exciting!

Maybe the next time, I'll tell you all about how Big D and I got caught in the Women's Showers, or about the time we took the Road Captain's bike to get it washed...