Eternal Summers Glow: Sprite and Bikers

There are life changing events that happen to you as you are going about living. Some when they happen seem trivial, forgettable. Others are felt upon impact, an epiphany or moment of clarity. Initially the following is an event of the first kind but later I think it was an epiphany kind of event. I looked back on it some 25 year later and realized I was altered somehow, altered by the distractions of a little boy, the loving hand of a mother and the roar of a pack of 1%ers!

I was young not sure how old I’m guessing around 6 or 7. My mom and me were out shopping, must been summer, at K-Mart, (back when K-Mart was the Wal-mart of the world) the one on Montana Blvd. I loved this place, toys galore, hot wheels and model airplanes, blue light specials, man they had it all. We parked on the right side of the building ( logistics are important) as we got out of the car I hear the dull roar of engines, we were close to the Airport so I initially didn’t think much about it probably look to the sky as I was trained. But this roar was different and the ground began to pulse. As we walked down the covered walkway towards the entrance the roar became ear splitting, the ground shook and the metal cover echoed with the sound! I turned my head to the left to see what could make such a beautiful, scary sound and I saw them, must have been 20 bikers ( as we called ‘em) blasting down Montana headed west, long hair, beards, ape hangers, sissy bars, and vests with patches all over them and riding big loud choppers. I began to run like a dog chasing a car or when the ice cream truck was rolling by the park!! As I ran wide eyed and awestruck to take in every ounce of this parade of leather and steel I turned my head back to the right to tell my mom ( as if see was blind to all this noise and awesomeness) what a bunch of kick ass dudes on kick ass machines I was witnessing… when BAM! I ran smack into one of the big steel columns that support the metal walkway roof!!! Oh Shit! I mean I hit that thing at full sprint! I literally saw stars, hell I might even have blacked out, I was on the ground with the roar of Harleys fading into the distance and out of my life…my mom a quick thinker and all around saint ran to my side and surveyed the damage and diagnosed that I would live. She quickly bought a Sprite (from the row of Coke/riding/gum/plastic jewelry/ NFL sticker machines that stood out side every store back then begging for a penny, nickel, dime or quarter) gave me a sip and placed the freezing cold can on my forehead where a golf ball size bump was starting to grow, I remember it was a Sprite like it was yesterday! So there you go my live was drastically changed by these events, the end.

O.k., not quite, I do like Sprite and would shop at K-Mart if we had any in Central Texas, but obviously that is not what this is about. No I didn’t get all tatted up and become a biker. I went about a fairly normal life but never quite got over that initial impression of a pack of 1%er flying down the busiest street in town like they owned it. As I got older I turned jock, freak, head-banger and whatever else people who don’t know you try to classify you as, but never biker. I knew dudes with bikes, hell we used to tear ass through the alleys on Mark’s 50cc Indian and this same Mark later went on to become a real life 1%er outlaw, (more on that later). But me it was cars, cars, cars.

As years went by I always had an outsiders affinity for bikes and what they represent, freedom machines, the open road, I bought Easyrider with cool dudes building bikes and scoring hot chicks. The reality is/was much different of course there is a romanticized version of the 1%er and let me clarify I’m taking club member or outlaw clubs, not toy run lawyers and accountant playing dress up on weekends. Were I come from you know the difference; everybody knows someone associated with the club ( I had a girl friend...) and we are schooled early on how to tell the difference. We all knew “real” gang members too (cholos, not bikers) and there is a certain way to be around them, same with the club guys. Just like when I saw that pack rolling down Montana I just knew.

I still have a boyish soft spot for the real bikers, as a fairly responsible adult I understand most of what they are is bad, I’ve read all the books, met real bikers along the way, got an old Harley myself and ride for me... not with anyone or for any reason other then I love machines that are fast and loud and who knows as I ride by Wal-Mart I just maybe blowing some little kid’s mind. I was indeed changed that day, it just took 25 years to realize it and another few to get a bike of my own.

No one captured it like David Mann.