Motogrady
Motogrady
So, last Summer I found myself fueling up
at a popular restaurant/gas station/nick nac store here in the back hills of West Virginia.
With all the twisties, mountains, rivers and lack of law enforcement, it’s a kind of haven for bikes and cars of all kinds.
A group of the orange and black pull in,
maybe half a dozen guys, and park at the curb of the restaurant.
Primary chains for belts, choker chains holding wallets, flat black pudding bowls, and German WW2 helmets are the order of the day.
Maybe half look my way as they are getting off their bikes, which by the way were a mix of some really, really beautiful choppers.
Momentary, nonchalant glances of “whatever dude”, speak words without being spoken between myself and them.
I think to myself, as the pump is pumping,
“yeah that’s right, whatever.”
I mean, they are some bad looking dudes,
and they know it.
Just then another guy pulls in, he’s on a pretty stock looking 883, all decked out in what looks like brand new HD biker wanna be gear.
Right down to the orange bandana around his neck.
As the rest of his buddies are kind of gathering around each other to head into the restaurant, he jumps off his bike, and walks over to me.
In his defense, I was wearing a black t shirt and blue jeans.
But damn man, the white tennis shoes, the green dirt bike helmet, with a duck bill visor for Gods sake, along with the $9.99 gardening gloves from tractor supply should have told him what tribe I was in.
“Hey man! Good lookin……..ah……..bike.”
He had gotten half way thru his greeting, before he saw past the OEM black paint, with orange pinstripes, and noticed the Honda emblem.
I tell you guys, his mouth dropped half open when his eyes took in the motor, verifying that unimaginable mistake he was making,
the worst of it, in front of his buddies.
He was actually admiring a f$;@&:g Honda!
As I was throwing my leg over the seat he glanced at me, with a quick half smile,
turned and started walking back to his friends.
“Thanks” I replied, noticing all his friends had stopped and were looking straight at him, half of them shaking their heads.
I think it was about 2 miles down the road before I could stop laughing to myself.
at a popular restaurant/gas station/nick nac store here in the back hills of West Virginia.
With all the twisties, mountains, rivers and lack of law enforcement, it’s a kind of haven for bikes and cars of all kinds.
A group of the orange and black pull in,
maybe half a dozen guys, and park at the curb of the restaurant.
Primary chains for belts, choker chains holding wallets, flat black pudding bowls, and German WW2 helmets are the order of the day.
Maybe half look my way as they are getting off their bikes, which by the way were a mix of some really, really beautiful choppers.
Momentary, nonchalant glances of “whatever dude”, speak words without being spoken between myself and them.
I think to myself, as the pump is pumping,
“yeah that’s right, whatever.”
I mean, they are some bad looking dudes,
and they know it.
Just then another guy pulls in, he’s on a pretty stock looking 883, all decked out in what looks like brand new HD biker wanna be gear.
Right down to the orange bandana around his neck.
As the rest of his buddies are kind of gathering around each other to head into the restaurant, he jumps off his bike, and walks over to me.
In his defense, I was wearing a black t shirt and blue jeans.
But damn man, the white tennis shoes, the green dirt bike helmet, with a duck bill visor for Gods sake, along with the $9.99 gardening gloves from tractor supply should have told him what tribe I was in.
“Hey man! Good lookin……..ah……..bike.”
He had gotten half way thru his greeting, before he saw past the OEM black paint, with orange pinstripes, and noticed the Honda emblem.
I tell you guys, his mouth dropped half open when his eyes took in the motor, verifying that unimaginable mistake he was making,
the worst of it, in front of his buddies.
He was actually admiring a f$;@&:g Honda!
As I was throwing my leg over the seat he glanced at me, with a quick half smile,
turned and started walking back to his friends.
“Thanks” I replied, noticing all his friends had stopped and were looking straight at him, half of them shaking their heads.
I think it was about 2 miles down the road before I could stop laughing to myself.
