Motorcycle Riders Women - Men - Myth
Sponsored by California Harley Davidson
In the mid- 80s, Marvel Comics popularized the story of a group of motorcycle stunt men with an eerie ability to conjure up a supernatural motorcyclist named Ghost Rider. Disguised as an all-American group of Boy Scout types with a propensity for stumbling into difficulties, they toured the US staging motorcycle circus for audience's young and old. When trouble found the apparently innocent stuntmen, they would all lapse into a coma of sorts, and from their collective dream the figure of the Ghost Rider would emerge.
Dressed in a black-leather jacket with matching pants, and seated on an incredibly powerful black classic motorcycle, the Ghost Rider kills the bad guys and saves the day. Ghost Rider is a mere flaming skeleton. Death of life? Good or evil? Creative or destructive? What spirit haunts this blazing skull and bones?
A man on a Harley is giving his young son a ride through the streets of downtown. The playful child lets go of his father and raises his skinny arms to form a cross. As the motorcycle roars down city streets, the father follows the boys lead and lets go of the handlebars. With no hands steering the bike, the machine is guided by their joint balancing act.
Driving through a deserted, postindustrial neighborhood, a man in a car detects a motorcycle behind him. Noticing that the bike is a black-and-white cruiser and the motorcyclist, dressed in black pants and black leather jacket, is wearing a white helmet with dark sunglasses, the driver suspects he is being followed by a Highway Patrol officer. Fearful of committing a moving violation, he slows down just as the motorcyclist revs his engine and passes him on the left. Only then does the driver of the car realize that the rider is just masquerading as a motorcycle cop and is heading to one of the area's leather club. Befuddled, the driver picks up his pace and focuses on the next stoplight.
There is little traffic during the week on the tree-lined, two-lane road that passes by the county general store. When the red sports bike arrives with rider and passenger, the clerk reacts warily: "One more crotch rocker," he thinks to himself. The passenger gets off the bike and walks into the store. Removing her helmet, she asks to use the bathroom. "Round the side," the clerk answers, waiting to see if the rider will buy some gas. Sure enough, the rider walks into the store, takes off her helmet, and asks for ten dollars of unleaded.
As motorcycle clubs go, the chapter that meets by the loading docks is a tame out-fit. The riders are in their forties and fifties, with enough white beards among them to mark their years clearly. Though in recent years, the presence of a growing number of Japanese cruisers has begun to put a damper on their DIY spirit, the art of motorcycle maintenance is still the main draw of the club. There is plenty of good cheer in this fraternity of African-American riders. After all, theirs is the only club in the state formed by and for the brothers who live to ride.
Around the corner from the motorcycle repair shop is a dingy, smelly bar frequented mostly by motorcyclists. The bikes outside range from grasshopper-styled dirt bikes to gargantuan touring machines. It just so happens that customers of the repair shop like to stand outside and look at the bikes parked by the bar. Their reactions range from admiration and envy to condescension and scorn. On this particular day, two young men are engaged in the usual motorcycle talk outside the repair shop, when they spy a classic Italian sports bike parked in front of the bar, Filled with interest and desire, they begin speculating about how much mechanical know-how it takes to keep such a classic bike in running order. Having just concluded that "the owner must be a master mechanic," a man in a neatly tailored two-piece suit and tie walks out of the bar. "Another lawyer," one of the men scoffs. "Probably getting on that black K bike." But, of course, the man in the suit jumps on his classic Italian sports bike, kick starts it, and takes off without ever looking back.
So you see, there are all kinds of individuals who live this dream we do... to own and ride a custom motorcycle. At times, impossibly to tell just who they are. Doctors, Lawyers, Business Professionals and yes the occasional outlaw Myth. All of us have the same thing in common, our machine's and the ride.
Everyone here in our HOG chapter is different, but, the same. This is true everywhere as the dream to own and live the ride continues just as it did with our for fathers.
If you would like to know know about joining our HOG Chapter, just click here and give us your email address. We would be really glad to get you started.
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