I think all motorcyclists are asked (by regular citizens), about the ‘fear factor’ of riding. Actually, to a seasoned biker, there is NO fear factor . . . it’s therapy to their soul.
Motorcyclists that prefer riding quiet cruisers enjoy a peaceful open road to clear their heads, think through problems and settle anxieties. They can leave urban traffic, find little roads out in the boon-docks that few people travel and breathe clean air. If they’re small, twisty roads . . . that’s even better.
They enjoy leaning back in their saddles and letting their bikes rock them back and forth with each gentle turn in the road. Their subconscious picks up that peaceful feeling they got from their mothers when they were tiny. She did the same rocking; giving them needed comfort and an ‘all is well’ feeling. I must confess I’ve even fallen asleep while riding passenger on the back seat of this kind of ride.
Then there’s another motorcycle breed that are called ‘Bikers’. They enjoy wrapping their legs around loud, throbbing, powerful engines that can be called upon with a slight twist of the throttle. These ‘twists’ relax; boost testosterone levels and energy surges throughout their entire body. Yes . . . it’s almost orgasmic.
Many bikers are ex-military that are dealing with PTSD and their riding experience is therapy. Loud pipes and thrust of the fierce engine (that obeys his bidding) costs less than a visit to the psychiatrist. Add the camaraderie of men with like experiences completes the therapy since they all have the ‘No man left behind’ mindset.
I’ve had the experience of riding from East coast to West coast and up into Canada, visiting majestic sites like Bamff, Canada. Seeing these sites from an open saddle is much different than seeing them from a closed in cage (auto). It’s like the difference between seeing fish from a glass bottom boat and actually swimming among them.
So when I’m in the midst of a large gathering of motorcycles as their engines kick off; I literally feel the air molecules begin to dance . . . I can’t help but lean my head back, throw my arms wide open and suck in huge gulps of those molecules. That’s when my soul becomes part of the dance. Add the fact that Jesus and I are tight; one might hear me whoop “Yahoo Jesus!” But giving the fact of all the motorcycle revving, you probably wouldn’t notice.
I guess that’s another reason I enjoyed helping Country with his first book. His spun yarns of these experiences, weave word pictures that reveal the essence of an era gone by. Here’s a snippet from Volume One of “Evolution of an Outlaw Biker”.
In this particular story, we find Country hanging out with clubs in Nevada and California:
One big run we went on was in Kennedy Meadows, 57 Miles East of Sonora. There was at a big park nestled in the high mountains. Some of the men from California had killed some wild burros and had trash cans lined with a plastic bags full of burro steaks.
I found a big sheet of aluminum in the cold mountain stream. I scrubbed it with sand and put it on the hot coals of the camp fire. The steaks were put on it and marinated with wine we were drinking, while they cooked. They were delicious. If you put one next to a cow steak you would pick the burro steak every time.
We ate our steaks while our watermelons floated in the cold melted snow that pooled up close by. All in all – everything was mighty tasty.
There were 1500 Hells Angels on one side of a small volcanic mountain and 900 Hessians on the other. The park personnel were nervous but everything went off well.
Another run we went on was to Mount Shasta on the Oregon border. The Vegas chapter rode north across the desert and cut through Reno to Sacramento, CA. We waited on a levy outside of the city to hook up with the people coming up the center of the state, picking up chapters as they came. It was dusky dark when we began to hear the thunder of their Harley’s.
I had heard about pioneers saying you could hear buffalo coming hours before you could see them . . . well, that's the way this was.
The bikes kept getting louder and louder. It sounded as if they would show any moment, but they just kept roaring louder. It was completely dark when the first headlight came into view . . . then the flood of lights came twisting around the mountains and kept on coming! What a powerful and invigorating sight for a biker to see!
We spent the night there and went on to Mount Shasta the next day. The campsite was way back in the forest and mountains, finally on gravel roads . . . a very beautiful place to be. Worth the trouble getting there and free of outsiders. We posted guards anyway. The leaders and many members were Vietnam veterans and knew their stuff.
To purchase Country's books, www.EvolutionOfAnOutlawBiker.com. Go to Amazon and Ebay or Amazon/Kindle for signed copies. Take a little time to read the comments of other readers. I like this comment the best:
Evolution of An Outlaw Bikers is a brilliant read for any Harley owner or biker. It’s a hardcore story about life on the road as biker and member of various MC’s (Motorcycle Clubs). However, this is not just about violence, booze, sex and drugs. It is a fascinating story about one man's life that that explains his thought process in making the decisions he made.
Country lived a latter day wild-west life . . . and his books are real page turners. He’ll make you laugh one minute, then leave your mouth agape the next . . . and it’s all the REAL deal.
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