Daily Journal

Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

100+ Choppers Lined Up At The Front Door, And A Pop Band Pisses It’s Pants – In Unison.

Riding a Harley, dressed in leather does not make you a biker.  My understanding of bikers came from hanging out with them in the places they like to howl.  Acting like a biker became popular in the 90’s by balding, waist-expanded dudes suffering mid-life crises with enough dough to look the part.  So let’s clear up some biker myths:

Not all bikers have done time, just the real ones.

Not all bikers are drug addicts, some of them are alcoholics too.

Not all bikers will kick your ass if you look at them funny, just don’t look at their wives or girlfriends, ever.

If a biker doesn’t like you, he’ll probably just leave you alone.  Unless he’s in a bad mood, a good mood or drunk, then you’re dead.

Not all bikers carry weapons.  That’s my official statement.

If a biker likes you, you have life long protection.

If you make friends with a biker, he’ll demand that you ride with him and use his bike.  If you’ve never done it, you’ll be forever grateful.

If the pressures of life have you wound up tighter than a virgin at a prison rodeo, than a night out with a biker can blow out your exhaust pipes and return you to the peaceful, calm, gentle person you never were.  After the hangover wears off, of course.

Once, I was speaking with a gentleman who administered loans.  He told me he never denied a loan to a biker for his bike.  Not because he was afraid, but because bikers always made good on loans for their bikes.  Payments were always on time or early and loans usually were paid off before the term ended.

The Silhouette was one of the first true biker bars we played as a band and we learned from it.  Miko, Jim the owner’s girlfriend, was this freaky, flamboyant,  lasciviously dressed asian girl who knew everything.  She followed us out into the parking lot and started tearing into us about the crap we were playing.  “It’s too fast, you can’t dance to it”.  “Nobody likes you, play something good!”

Fortunately Mike, the guitar player, and I knew a bunch of 70’s rock songs and even a few country numbers.  Tina, the singer, couldn’t contribute that much vocally to that gig, but she could bang a tambourine and smile with the best of them.  Between that and  playing “Born to be Wild” four times a night, it seemed to be working.

Miko bounced up to the stage 7 or 8 times a set to tell us whether or not the song was any good.  Oddly enough, other than Steppenwolf and the Charlie Daniels Band, the Tempations were a big hit.  The doorman would also offer his objective point of view throughout the night, from time to time we’d hear, “the singer sucks” coming from his general direction.

All in all it was alot fun.  As long as you don’t make eye contact with the guy selling heroin in the bathroom, everything works out great.

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