DynaMike, Jesse James, and Me

As stories often start, once upon a time in Hawaii, Street Bikers United was a serious organization that worked hard for all club member bikers, independent motorcycle riders, and those that thought they were. It sponsored runs, parties, get togethers, and fund raisers that kept bad motorcycle insurance laws, and helmets, from weighing down the riders. It was the organization that got Hawaii’s full-time, all riders mandatory helmet law repealed.

Along with meetings, parties, and speeches, there was “Kicking Back”, the monthly newsletter. It was originally mailed to members, but it changed with the times and became an on-line read but still provided the needed and unneeded information for the membership. Its editorial staff was two to four volunteers, the SBU officers, and it ostensibly answered to the membership.

“DynaMike” was one of those volunteers. He did photography, stories, and such drivel. As a club president I had stepped out of the KB staff, so I didn’t write a column or reviews.

It was after our club threw a party that DynaMike wrote a review and referred to the patch holders as “the clowns of Hawaii biking”.  He thought he was funny by making a reference to the club, the “JESTERS” as “clowns”.  I took offense.

I called Mike leaving a voice message, asking that he consider changing the wording of his review. He casually waited 2 or 3 days before he called and answered “Naw,” he thought it read pretty good the way it was.

The second time I contacted him I told him the statement was disrespectful and he needed to change it, now. This was not a request. This time he responded he would not violate his “journalistic integrity” by changing something already “in print”.  He actually said “journalistic integrity”.

I told him there would be no more calls but there would be consequences to calling my patch holders “clowns”. He replied, so be it.

By the end of that week, the club let everyone in the SBU community know there would be a reckoning, just not when or what. It said something when nobody came to DynaMike’s defense.

Two weeks later one of the Harley Dealerships was having a big local bike show featuring guest judge, “noted bike builder” Jesse James. Everyone would be there for the cheap beer, beautiful bikes, and of course a chance to meet celeb Jesse James. I had another reason. I knew DynaMike would be there to take pictures.

We rolled in as a 16 man group a little after 11 that Sunday morning. The party was well under way and the parking lot full of bikes. There were lots of pretty ladies wandering around, there was real inexpensive beer, and a section roped off for the Bike Show entrants. That’s where I’d find DynaMike.

Several of the already there party goers couldn’t wait to direct me to where “DynaMike” was taking pictures amongst the bikes entered in the show. I walked around a bit, I was in no hurry.

It was just a few minutes short of noon when I walked into the “show’ area and there he was, wearing two camera’s looking like a “real journalist” and looking straight at me. At my entry he turned his back and started taking pictures of bikes further away, and he started walking away as if that had been his plan all along.

“DynaMike !”, my voice was loud and clear. He kept moving away as if he didn’t hear  me. I moved 6 steps to his 2 and I was right up behind him when I announced “DynaMike, we need to talk and it needs to be NOW.”

He turned to face me and had that “what cha gonna do” smirk on his face. So, I did something.

My bitch slap sounded like a rifle shot that was much louder than the music, which had just stopped. Turns out I had the attention of every biker and wantabe there, and that meant several hundred pairs of eyes saw the club P bitch slap the “SBU photographer”. And seems most of them smiled.

Mike stepped backwards 3 or 4 steps, and slowly took off the first camera. Slowly he took off the second camera and by then several of his “friends” were holding him back. Nobody got close to me, patch holders were circling behind me, facing outward, and showing their teeth to anybody approaching.  Finally I simply said, “I told you. Consequences.” And I turned my back on him and simply walked away.

That’s when I realized everyone was watching me and DynaMike, and nobody was watching Jesse James who had just walked on stage to no applause. Oops.

There’s more to this story,  another time I’ll talk about the police report, they couldn’t find any witness’; Jesse James blacklisting the club form his events here and in Cali, Tramp fixed that  little hissy fit; the restraining order hearing, during which, again, he could not produce any witness’ and  the judge opinionated I must be a very dangerous man; and some other stuff. But that’s a story for another telling.

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