Over the past few weeks I have read a number of books about motorcycling. Most, like the Boozefighters book that I mention in my last post, talk about the history of bikers. They tell the story of how motorcycling began, how the “Outlaw Clubs” were formed. I’ve read a variety of accounts of the “incident in Hollister”, of guys gathering together to race, of bikers travelling across America on machines that should never have made it across a city, let alone a Country.
I hate the term Old School. It’s overused. Anytime anyone wants something to sound cool, they call it Old School. “I wanted to build a bike that was Old School.” When someone is trying to sound really cool, they call themselves Old School. Whatever.
Having said that, when I read these accounts of what it was like to be a biker in the 40’s and 50’s, I can’t help but think, “Wow, that is Old School.” And, I yearn for it.
Now, I realize that it’s easy to look back at the “Good old days” and describe them as we imagine they were more than how they truly were. I have no doubt that it’s easier to look back with fondness at the idea of riding across America on a ’45 Harley than it was to actually do it. I’m sure there were many days when those guys just thought, “This sucks.”
But, I still think there was something there … something that we seem to be losing today. Maybe it’s because there are too many people riding today. And yet, I welcome every person who decides to take up riding. Perhaps we should mandate a “history lesson” as part of the motorcycle safety courses many take. Where we teach new riders the value of being part of something special.
I’m just not sure a history lesson can do it. I’m not sure the “biker mentality” can be taught. It’s something that is in you.
I read about the deep connection these men and women had for each other. They were family. They fought together, partied as one, rode as a group, laughed and mourned as those who deeply cared. Other things were put aside when one needed help. I read stories of all-nighters spent in a garage trying to get a bro’s bike road ready.
I think of my own past. As a teenager, coming home to find thirty Harley’s parked outside my house. Bikers all over the place, enjoying food, beer, and friends. They stood together. As the child of one of these guys, I was family to all of them. If someone messed with me, they had the wrath of all these guys to deal with. It was never said, it was simply understood.
I believe I still have that. I ride with an amazing bunch, and many would fall into the same category as those I describe above. I love that. And yet, is there more?
I know I’m rambling with this post, and I’m struggling to find the words to say what I want to say. I guess as I prepare for my trip, I find myself thinking more and more about what I want to discover while on the open road. Near the top of the list is a desire to rediscover what it truly means to be a biker. I want to connect with people along the way — people I meet at a gas stop, people who roll in at the campsite next to mine, people who, like me, want to experience a little of what it once was like.
I’d love to hear from some of you. What does it mean when you say, “I’m a biker …”?
