Three Warrants, Two Girls, One Scratch

Some bikers are tough, some can drink for days, some just attract women or trouble, but there’s only one Scratch.

We were on an around the island Sunday ride, just mostly chilling. There were patch wearers from all three charters so it was a pretty large group. We had just come down the Windward coast and just rolled into Kahuku when we see Scratches shovelhead on the side of the road.

Now Scratch was supposed to meet up with us earlier, but he was always late.

So there he was, waiting for us on the side of the road. But, as we approached from one direction, a police officer approached from the other. We would have stopped but his blue light came on and we kept moving. The cop pulled right behind Scratch.

Now, if the truth be known, Scratch has never been one to worry about little things like a driver’s license, vehicle insurance, yearly registration fees, or safety checks. Hell, no one would give him a safety check anyway.

The Kahuku Police sub-station wasn’t far so by the time we reached our next beer stop, the cops had allowed Scratch to call and tell us what his bail was going to cost. He had three outstanding traffic warrants. Thankfully none were for contempt of court or we wouldn’t be able to post bail, that would have been an automatic night in jail.

We all broke out our wallets and covered his bail, gave the money to a prospect, and sent him back to collect Scratch. It wasn’t the first time so we all knew we’d get paid back. The prospect and Scratch would have to figure out how to get the motorcycle back.

So we all ordered drinks, a couple started a game of horseshoe out back, and we waited.

By the time the horseshoe game was finished, the prospect called to say they were on their way to join us. We figured 15 to 20 minutes max. So we ordered another round.

We could hear the 2 bikes when they pulled into the parking lot. I looked out into the parking lot and damn, Scratch had 2 women on his bike. One behind him and the other laying down on the gas tank in front of him. The prospect, who had an actual seat for a rider, had none.

After being bailed out, between the sub-station and the next bar, Scratch had managed to pick up 2 Aussie surf bunnies and they only wanted to ride with Scratch.

They actually tried to refuse to ride with anyone else but we managed to convince them that their both riding with Scratch would draw some really unneeded attention. We did just bail him out.

So for the rest of the ride each one would take turns riding with someone else, but at the end of the day, they both left with Scratch.

Like I said, there’s only one Scratch.

Animal Motes Floating bB

An Australian woman arrived in Scotland and was very surprised to find a snake had made the trip with her. Tucked into one of her shoes, in her bag, was a small Ball Python. Evidently the snake was comfortable as it had already started shedding inside the shoe.

Villagers on the Amazon River were quiet surprised to discover a 26′ whale in the jungle, over 50′ from the riverside. The whale, said to be an immature Humpback, was probably washed up during a “cresting” of the river earlier that month. But it seems jungle critters really like seafood as the carcass had been “mostly consumed”.

In Florida, of course, a man walking his dog was able to fight off a wild coyote with his coffee cup. He really should try some decaf next time.

Finally, more than 8k people have signed a petition to sell Montana to Canada. On further investigation, the petition was started by some guy in Alabama. Now, what the heck has Alabama got against Canada?

Movie Note; Widows, a 2 hour and 5 minute movie that’s at least 45 minutes too long. Other than giving away its own ending about half way, save your time.

‘Cause It Was Right

Bikers are a pretty self centered group. Mostly they want to be left the hell alone so they can party and be with their own.

There’s always some slob that wants to start a fight or argument, that usually ends pretty quickly. Some bikers go out looking for trouble, others try to avoid it, but mostly they don’t back down. They can’t.

The flip side is the majority of them are willing to give of their time and money to help someone in trouble. Even someone they don’t know.

There always seems to be someone getting hurt in an accident, sick, or needing help for one reason or another.

Mugsy was an asshole. And that’s as nice as I can get. Never liked the guy, his old lady or his “more biker than you” attitude. And his wife of the time was a loud mouthed “You gonna let him talk to me that way” kind of girl. If there was trouble started, she probably started it.

It was only because several guys spoke up for him when I took the club Presidency that I agreed to let him “prospect” for a while. They all claimed he had gotten rid of this old lady and he’d changed. So I decided to give him another chance.

That very night, he gets in an accident, eviscerates himself on the handle bar mounted tack/speedo, is kept from dying by a doctor that witnesses the crash, and ends up in the I.C.U. with nobody sure if he was going to live or die that night.

During the next several weeks my wife, myself and other club members spent most of our days sitting in the ICU waiting rooms.

There wasn’t much we could do but wait, hope and pray.

As the days would pass, different members would come and go as their off time and jobs would allow. Being “between jobs”, I was there pretty much full time.

While there I met and talked with another family that was doing pretty much the same thing, waiting.

Their daughter, 14, had been in as accident the same night as Mugsy. She was also in a coma from being thrown out an over turning truck. They also didn’t give her much of a chance to survive.

As for Mugsy, there was a lot of shit going down around his accident. Mugsy’s ex-wife (a world class bitch full of $ signs), her brother (a practicing asshole), lawyers and cops all involved but again this isn’t about them.

As we spent time together, we got to know the girls family. We all sympathized with each other, shared small meals, and held group prayers, watched for updates when someone else went out for a smoke or whatever.

The family pretty much stayed in the waiting room. They brought food, slept on the floors, and only seemed to leave in shifts to cleanup, go to school or work. They were there for their child, just like we were there for our brother.

I don’t remember just what caused it, but we all found ourselves sharing prayers and caring for the other groups hurts.

We, the club, began to care about the injured girl.

Mugsy woke up and it appeared he was going to make it, but several of us stayed in the ICU waiting room, for her.

The day the hospital moved Mugsy out of the ICU, the club bought massive pans of Chinese food and brought it to the hospital.

We were allowed to use a small meeting room where we presented dinner to the girl’s friends and family and all the nurses and orderly’s that were so attentive.

But it didn’t seem enough. Mugsy was military so as soon as it was feasible he was moved to Tripler Army Medical Center. The little girl and her family stayed at Queen’s. Mugsy’s bill was covered by the Army. Theirs kept building.

So somewhere along the way I decided to talk everyone in the club into doing a one day fund raiser for the family. Surprise, most everyone agreed immediately, so we started putting it together.

Much of the preliminary work was all word of mouth, a band that some of the club members followed volunteered their time and music. The bar, Anna’s, gifted the use of upstairs, a percentage on the beer charges and the bartender, Mike , volunteered his time.

Flyers were printed up during the work day and then, passed out, hung up and distributed during the nights and weekend before.

She was not “family”, that is, these were no bikers, but for some reason we all, well most of us, cared.  We served foot long hot dogs cooked in beer, beer to drink, and music. On that Sunday the bikes came, stayed a while, listened to the band, then they’d roll out to their next stop and others would roll in and stay awhile.

The band was fronted by one of the guys we knew from work, they were pretty well known here in town and they brought their own followers out in the daytime. A good trick because some of those followers stayed damn near all day, spent lots of money.

By the end of the day, the parents, aunts and uncles came to the bar. We sat with them, talked awhile, and then handed them some $1,600 in cash. Ok, not much when you consider how huge the medical bills probably were.

But it was $1,600 they didn’t have that morning. It was $1,600 that a bunch of “bad ass bikers” had raised for a little girl and her family. For a family those bikers didn’t even know.

Over a year later I was on the side of the road having a smoke with 6 or 8 other members when a van pulled over and parked. A very large local guy got out and walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and helped a young woman get out, set up her crutches and then they started walking toward us.

It was her and her uncle. She had never met us. He had, and she had been told the story of the biker club that threw a party for her. She had seen the patch and told her uncle to stop. She wanted to meet us, and show us how well she was doing.

It was a warm spot that grew in my heart. We had made a difference in the girl and her family’s life. We, a bunch of long haired, blue jean and leather jacket wearing bikers had made a difference.

I eventually lost track of her and her family. I didn’t do what I did for credit I could keep bringing up.

I did it ‘cause it was a good thing to do. ‘Cause it was the right thing to do.

 

 

SCREAMING RANT (you’ve been warned)

In 1984 I broke my back in 2 places. I’ve had 3 major surgeries, spent years walking with a cane, and have taken daily pain medication since then.

For the last 25 years I’ve gotten my medication 3 months at a time. In the first week of February HMAA advised I can now only get 1 week at a time. So instead of 1 visit and 1 co-pay; I’m supposed to make 12 visits with 12 co-pays. No warning to my personal medical provider, or me.

I contact customer “service” and the nice young man says have my doctor fill out this form, (he will send it to my doctor for me) and all will be well. Yeah, right.

Three weeks later HMAA wants doctor patient counseling, 3 other forms filled out and everything submitted before they will “consider” a larger prescription. One of these forms has never been seen by my doctors office and when questioned about it, the physicians assistant was told, “just make one up”.

“JUST MAKE ONE UP ?????” 

Hey HMAA, since you claim this is about the “opioid epidemic” how about looking at the unemployed 24 year old kid and not this 71 year old grandfather that still works 40 to 50 hours a week.  At least I do when my back isn’t hurting so bad I can barely walk.

Predicted Motes

Kavanaugh has not overturned Roe -V- Wade.

States with “open carry” are not reporting gunfights in the streets.

Racial incident hoaxes far outnumber actual incidents.

It is now obvious America has a 2 tier legal system. There is them, then the rest of us.

There is no such thing as Attorney-Client privilege. (Remember this one.)

Let the stoning begin.

I’m Always Chasing Brain Motes

Recently I posted that one of the problems with women’s equality was that until they HAD to register for the draft, it wasn’t equal. Well, a recent court ruling says the “men only” draft is unconstitutional and must be changed.  Gimme a “Hell YA”.

Heard a story of a special kind of love. (No, not that kind.) A woman lost her father last year.. Since she couldn’t buy him a birthday present she went to her local box store and purchased a cart full of dog and cat toys, leashes, and treats and took it all to her local animal shelter. She did this in her fathers name. I am pretty sure Dad would approve. I know mine would have.

Movie to see : “Bad Times At The El Royale”. Great fun movie. Jeff Bridges just gets better with the years. See “Hell Or High Water” if you don’t agree. “Bad Times” surprised me, blew me away, and had a great ending. Must See.

They are now called “Private Military Contractors”  or PMC‘s. Throughout Africa, Asia, and South America they were called “mercenary”, or Soldiers of Fortune.  Now it pays better, has a nicer image, and isn’t spit upon when the name is spoken. The more things change, the more they repeat themselves. Mike Hoare   Robert Denard Col. Callan      Google them.

Sad to say Good-bye to Beverley Owen, 81, the original “Marilyn Munster”.  She gave us many happy afternoons.

Spent a great day just hanging out with my friend Ken Onion and his wife Noel. More on that later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mongo and Napoleon

I promised more stories from my 3-patch days. Here’ one now;

Mongo and Napoleon

I’ve seen a few guys that have padded the gas tanks of their bike so their dog can ride with them. Even a few riders that have gotten WW1 type pilot helmets and goggles that are made specifically for dogs.

Now these dogs have to be pretty brave to trust their owner and ride on a motorcycle at any speed.

However the bravest animal I ever met was Spiders dog, Napoleon.

Napoleon wasn’t a very big dog, but he was fearless, and had a long memory.

The first time we had a party at Spider’s house, Napoleon was a bit confused with all the bikes and strange people around but he tried to cope. One member just wouldn’t let him alone, and that was Mongo. Mongo messed with that poor dog all night. Every time his attention wavered, Mongo’d go look for Napoleon and wake him up, startle him, or just mess with him.

Mongo was named after the character played by Alex Karras in Blazing Saddles, you know, the guy that punches out the horse. Our Mongo was that big. He had huge arms and was a career Navy fireman. Basically a very gentle guy but he could be a little less than tolerant.

It was another party at Spiders that Napoleon showed his mettle. The usual suspects were there; Sideshow Rob, Socrates, Bisket, Joker, Mikey, and of course Mongo.

We were all standing in the driveway, smoking and joking and Mongo was telling a joke. Mongo could not tell a joke, he was horrible at it, but he was our brother so we stood and listened. It was when I looked down I really started to smile. As Mongo was concentrating on his joke, I started nudging the other guys and looking downward got them to look also.

Mongo always wore engineer type boots, and always tucked his trouser legs into the boots. There was Napoleon, standing next to Mongo, with his little left hind doggy leg raised as he pissed into Mongo’s boot. While Mongo was wearing it.

We’re all trying not to break up and hoping Mongo gets to the punch line real soon. And as soon as he does we all start laughing our butts off. Mongo thinks he has finally told a good joke when he looks down to see Nappy just finishing his business.

Mongo went bananas. Hopping around on one leg, trying to pull his boot off without stepping down, and trying to kick Napoleon all the same time. He failed all three and ended on his butt in the middle of the driveway and Napoleon had disappeared.

As we were all laughing our butts off, Spider reminded Mongo of how he had tormented Napoleon that first night. He also reminded Mongo “payback is a bitch”. Even Mongo had to admit it was a good payback, besides nobody would ever believe a little “mutt” like Napoleon would piss on the mighty Mongo.

Yeah Mongo, you keep on believing that.