Just Another Weekend

It was early 1970s most of us were young vets trying to get back in a society that didn’t want us. It was the bikes we rode that brought us together. A brotherhood was formed.

We rode like there was no tomorrow. Each new day brought a breath of life of unknown territory. Which we were used to. No worldly cares to hold us back including work or family.

Just open roads and our bikes. The bikes were built to function, not for show. High bars, drag bars, low to the ground with enough clearance to haul around those S-turns and splitting lanes when need be. Our weekends sometimes were weeks on end, they never ended.

Saturday morning blue skies with the smell of salt in the air and hung over like a Sweat Hogdog, six bikes were just cruising down to the local pool hall for a couple of games and a beer and meet up with the rest of the guys. In your mind you are thinking this is going to be a mellow weekend. Wrong……..

So, we pulled into the parking lot and the rest of the guys bikes in front were parked in a row against the curb. Then people were coming out of the pool hall like cattle running wild. As I looked up, I saw Big Craig “The Jaws” with pool stick in hand, yelling “I told them not to fuck with us”.

I knew right then no mellow weekend. As the rest of us rushed to the entrance, inside was bar stools and beer bottles flying. Big Craig “The Jaws” comes over to me still laughing. “I think his eye fell out.” This was it, Hell was breaking out all over again.

Then as I looked up, I could see the barmaid on the phone. I rushed over and pulled the phone from the wall. I was too late. In the back ground of all the noise you could hear were the sounds of police cars getting louder. That was trouble for us, because this whole episode would be on us, even though we did not start anything just fixing an argument that started over a bad game of pool…

As we walked out into the blinding sunlight, the parking lot was filling up with curious bystanders. It was time to hit the road. This wasn’t a safe place for us. Our bikes were built for speed and maneuverability in and out of traffic. Loud pipes help a lot in the beach traffic.

By now we are hauling ass towards the beach where we could out run the Law Dogs. Even better, maneuvering small roads and alleys in the cramped seaside area, helped.

Looking in my rear-view mirror all I saw was yellow pursuit lights flashing, and then the time came for us to split off in different directions at once. This would add more confusion to this whole game. All at once all you saw was 12 bikes peeling in different directions. We were all laughing out loud, “Yea it was just a normal weekend.”

I turned right with Lil` Dennis, both bikes heading through beach alleys. As luck would have it, we headed down a dead-end street, now what? We looked around and listened. The sirens got louder.

Saw an open garage, and we blasted inside.
There stood this old guy in his makeshift wood shop. With his, “What the Fuck look on his face.” We looked at him and said to be stay quiet. He just stood there looking at us like we were from a different planet.

We told him the story with some lies sprinkled in, and stayed for a few hours till things cooled off. He turned out alright. We drank a few beers and had to listen to his stories of his crazy days, but that was cool.

Finally, had enough, we went back into the blinding sun; my head was still hammering from the night before. Everything looked plausible to make our next escape into the crowded streets of summer. Both of us pulled our bikes out into the alley and thanked the old woodworker.

As we kicked our bikes over, it was the first time I wished those upsweep fishtails were not so loud. I knew right then I was bringing attention to us, but nothing happened. We eased into traffic wondering the whole time, did everyone make it out?

We headed south to Redondo Beach, thinking the rest of the guys were down at a local bar, we hung out sometimes. Sure enough, there were ten bikes in front of “The Four Aces.” Everyone made it. By now the Sun was slipping into the Pacific Ocean.

As we walked in to the dark and dingy bar the smell of cheap beer filled our dry nostrils, just the way we liked it. All we heard was laughter. The whole crew was at the bar drinking pitchers of beer. Roger told his tale of how he outran a Hermosa Beach motor cop. He was turning left on that old Knucklehead sliding on the sandy street corner, on the high side of the road. He looked back at the motor cop and went down when he hit the soft beach sand. Roger got off his bike and was laughing at the downed officer as he lifted the bike off., than took off like a bullet to avoid any retaliation due.

We all sat in wonderment of the crazy day. Just when we thought it was over, it started again. As I looked around, I saw we were the only ones there. Just us grubby bikers, the bartender, and a not so good-looking barmaid.

Suddenly, one of the guys was putting the make on this homely barmaid. Before you knew it, she took all of us into the Men’s head. This was all too much for one day. Then we yelled over to the bartender and told him it was his turn, he says cool.

It was time to split, but not without leaving with a few bucks. Old Joe reached into the till and took a couple of bucks, knowing that we might need some spending money for a few brews down the road.

Off we went down the road again, over “Hell No.” Blasting down Highway 101, we were in our glory. No one to report to, just the road. Then I spotted the red lights in my mirror again. Now we’re cooked for sure. We pulled over. The Men in Blue shouted, “Turn those bikes off and stay seated.”

We did. A lot of things were going thru my clouded head. We sat as they called for backup, then they lined us up, asked if there were any weapons.

Of course, Roger yells out, “Yes.”

“Oh Shit,” the brothers muttered under their breath. We are fucked now. They rush over to him like they got the FBI`s number one.

They frisked him and found nothing; they were now more pissed. “Where’s the weapon, one of them shouted. Then it happened, Racist Roger pulls out of his shirt pocket and a GI Joe toy gun size of a half dollar popped out. We all laughed out loud. They didn’t think that was at all funny.

Then the big one came over and asked if we were involved in the trouble at the pool hall earlier, and of course, we had no idea what they were taking about. So, they did the usual of ticketing us for High bars and loud pipes. Now the topper, the famous Suspect Cards were taken. I had so many suspect cards taken, I thought of making my own and carrying them with me to give them out when I got pulled over.

Saturday night was finally over…….

Passed out, God only knows where, wakening by the sound of motorcycle pipes and yelling, “Let’s go, found a great new bar.”

It’s Sunday, Gods day…Wrong again. Off we went in the cool morning beach air in our faces. It felt good and helped the hangover. I could use a cold Bloody Mary or Bloody Beer.

Here we go, together again. No cares just the roar of our V-Twins. All 12 motors sound like one. Doesn’t get any better than this. So, one would think. But this crazy weekend was not over yet. I am thinking where the Hell are we going? All I see coming up is the Pier at the beach. Then we all slide into the underground parking lot, wrong place to park the bikes.

There is only one way to get to the “Sea View Inn.”
Then it dawned on me, The Bicycle path. Great !!! This is going to stir up the heat really good. Off we go, 12 crazies on the bicycle path, remember it’s Sunday at the pier.

Great place to take the family. It was crowded. We all looked like we were doing one of those ‘60s B, biker movies. Doing burn outs on the bike path. Oh well what’s done is done.

People running every which way. Looking back on it, it was funny. We made it to the bar, again nowhere to park. Bicycle racks, perfect. There was a whole line of them. The 21s fit in great. In we went. The barkeep was happy to see us, joint was empty.

Order up the Bloody Beer pitchers, this should take the edge off last night. Pool games started on all tables. Yes, it was a mellow Sunday. Wrong…

The almighty blue men came in the bar in a Fury. Totally freaked out, “How the Hell did you guys get down here.”

“We rode,” how else do you get down here, the sign said “Bike Path.”

They were pissed, they didn’t know what to do next, except give the same old ticket for high bars and loud pipes, take the good ole Suspect Cards.

Then one said, “Pull out your bikes (from the bicycle racks) and walk them out on the bicycle path and do not start them up.”

Right…we went 20 feet on the path and fired the motors up and hauled ass, and again people were going every which way. Well, that was it. We found a bar in El Segundo to cool our heels. To us it was just another weekend, one of many.