Biker Karma

    I do believe I'm going to aim at writing this blog without the use of photographs to retain your attention, merely to see who's more interested in the blog than the images. But I may decide otherwise along the way.

   Now, I understand that not all people are the same; and bikers are no exception. That said, I'm going to speak on behalf of the bikers that I regularly associate with and call my brothers. Each as any other human, unique in character and personality but each share a fundamental trait that is pretty common in biker culture; respect.

    If an individual is able to prove themselves to possess the qualities of integrity, respect, and reliability, they gain a certain level of respect that few ever really get to experience. I'm a man who strives to live a simple life, simple does not mean lacking in complexity but merely that my core life values are pretty easy to understand.

    Those who know me understand that I'm not a man of money. I spend pretty much every dollar trying to keep my family afloat as does any other "lower class" man. I make enough to survive and that's about it. Men like me come to understand the value of integrity and honesty as well as a willingness and genuine desire to contribute to helping others. Because by having a genuine interest in helping others, the mystical ways of the universe create biker karma. A simpler way of looking at it is that people like me build a genuine kinship like bond with those we choose to associate with.

    I have a very, very select few people that I choose to associate with; which to count wouldn't exceed the use of one hand. But these individuals know that if they need a hand or two to help out with a project, or to build a fence, hell even to mow the yard, they know they can count on me any time I'm available. They know that simply asking, they will receive any assistance I can afford. And by being so eager to help these brothers and family, I have always been taken care of.

    I can remember the day that one of my closest brothers invited me to his bike shop. He offered me a crazy hourly rate to help out around the shop as I could, an hourly wage I've never known before. A credit based rate that would contribute to getting maintenance assistance and provisions on my bike that I normally cannot afford. Living a lower class life, the most expensive thing I own is my Harley and due to that luxury, I do without virtually everything else that most average people get to enjoy. I do not have a car, I sacrificed a rental house and moved in with my queen in her apartment. I eat, sleep, and breath my biker life; something most of the world would frown upon or think foolish.

    But I digress, the relationship with this particular friend started on a credit basis assistance founded virtually entirely upon an act of faith. He did not know me personally, and made this choice based on my work ethic and personality alone. Today, though the credit foundation still exists, I've developed a level of respect and trust with this brother that ensures that pretty much anything I need, he'll help me get. By not abusing his friendship, and offering a genuine desire to help in any way that I can, I've earned a level of karma that has always taken care of me in the end.

    Being who I am, I analyze and over-analyze absolutely everything in my life no matter how big or small it may be. And if there is even just one bit of knowledge that I could pass onto the next generation (my boy), it would be this; Live a humble life, and never believe that you are better than anybody else. You are human and nothing more. Live a life of service; serve your brothers and those around you. Never believe you are above a task. This is not to say you should ever accept anything less than respect, but rather it is to say that you must in every waking moment be willing to earn that respect. If you earn your respect, you will always be taken care of. If you're willing to give the cloths of your back to a brother, your brother will do the same for you. Sometimes you may put forth more effort than you believe it is worth at that time, but you'll find out later on that the favor will always be returned. And lastly, it is my hope that you will heed this warning.

    If you fail to be genuine in your actions, you will fail. If you only help others to get something out of it, you will pay for it. A selfish heart is a destructive one that leaves a wake of damage along its path. And you can only hurt so many people before you're left alone to fend for yourself; and if you burn the wrong bridges you may find yourself fighting to live at all. So be good to people, and be sincere in your heart. Help others simply because you can, and never keep a record of the balance. Concern yourself only with what you can do to help and you'll find yourself surrounded by loved ones of whom you thank the Lord for every day.

MLH&R
Ziptie

Memories I'll never forget

Riding the Storm

Outskirt of the Storm

    I can remember riding back home with my father back in June from our family reunion. We had just rode through the worst rain storm I've rode through to date between Douglas and Casper, and spent about an hour at a gas station to change and dry off before heading to Shoshoni for our next stop. Some raggedy old biker was on his way home from work when he stopped to inquire about our trip. When he found out we were on the latter half of our 2500 mile loop he shook our hands and offered to buy us rounds at his clubs bar. We politely declined in that we were on a time crunch, but had a good visit.

    The rain let off between Casper and Shoshoni for the most part, and other than the antelope and fresh chip seal, there wasn't much to worry about along the way. As we rolled into Shoshoni I took notice of a small bar on the side of the road with an old chopper sitting outside; I couldn't help but think it was probably the bartenders because I remembered seeing it on our way through the first time.

Boysen State Park

   We cut North en-route to Cody on HWY 20 and I've got to say, if you've never rode the 20, you otta. Not long after leaving Shoshoni we found ourselves along side Boysen State Park and its reservoir. Riding along side of the reservoir at the fall of the sun put an amazing light along the landscape; clouds still off in the distance. You begin riding through twists and turns as you enter the canyon with walls that touch the sky.

   Darkness had finally fallen right around Thermopolis and lightening lit up the sky in the distance. After leaving Thermopolis I decided it was time to take a piss before the rain hit again so we pulled over for a minute. I looked up and watched the sky, and as the lightening lit up the sky I could see the grey and white clouds above us. It was the kind of storm with lightening everywhere but not a crack of thunder to be heard in that moment.

   A lightening lit sky at 11:30pm after a solid rain is something to see while you're out in the middle of nowhere WY. The smell, the sight, its just something that sticks with you. I hopped back on the bike and we took off. Now unfortunately we had noticed earlier in the day that my high beam had gone out. This made for an interesting ride considering the elements, as I had to ride elbow to elbow with my father in order to clearly see. My father and I ride this way pretty much everywhere we go, but it was quite a bit more intimidating once the rain started hailing down on us again.

   If you're a biker who truly rides to live and lives to ride, you'll know that no matter how hard I try, I'll never truly be able to captivate the details of experiences like these; but it is my hope that I can do so well enough to bring back your memories to your own moments of the past of mutual experience. Because spite the rain, the cold, the burned out high beam and being 80 miles from our destination, it was still an experience I'll never forget, one that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

   Out there on the road, everything just disappears and all you've got is the gas in your tank and the road beneath you. There are many experiences I'd like to share with you, but at this time I'm struggling to get my family into a better home, but in time I hope to be able to. I'd like to share experiences like getting stuck on WY HWY-26 while they chip-sealed, hot as the sun and nowhere to piss but a sage brush for all to see (not that we care haha). I'd like to share the experience of the front of that rain storm and the wind blowing so hard that we were riding at a 45 degree angle on an interstate practically flooded with water, even the cages were pulling over to wait it out; but not us.

   In time my friends, for those who find joy in story swapping the Idaho Hog will get there in time. Its my hope that one day The Idaho Hog will be an archive for all my experiences as a biker to one day share with my boy, the story of the life I've lived. A story of adventure and excitement, fear and sadness.

MLH&R
Ziptie
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Biker Expectations

    Ya know, since I've been riding I can't really say I've ever felt obligated to look, or ride a certain way. I can remember my first time riding a cruiser; I was riding on my fathers Yamaha Vstar Silverado Classic, a 1100cc bike. Regardless, it was an awesome feeling. The damn thing even sounded like a Harley! Now now boys, keep in mind I'm riding HD now so don't get your panties in a wad!

    My dad took me out to a rural school parking lot that had a loop and figure eight pattern that would allow me to practice my starts and stops, left and right turns as well as doing circles in a tight one lane all without ever having to be in the street. I think I only killed it once or twice before I got the hang of starts and stops, and I never did drop the thing. We spent a good few hours out there before having to go home. Eventually he told me that if I got my permit, he'd let me ride it; and that's just what I did.

    The first day I got my permit, I asked him if I could take it back to the school parking lot to practice some more. I spent what seemed like all day out there in that parking lot practicing my turns and figure eights; with each loop of the figure eight I'd tighten it up until I was able to basically ride in two tiny circles at full crank over top a man hole cover without issue.

    My first real ride I had asked my dad if I could take the bike out, I'd thought about riding to Horseshoe Bend (bout 20 or so miles from home). I ended up taking Hwy 55 all the way to Cascade just south of McCall, roughly a 200 mile trip. Having had no road experience in my life, my first "ride" was on a 1100 cruiser and I took one of the most dangerous highways in the state of Idaho head on. It all came natural, like second nature! I couldn't believe the feeling, the freedom! I'm sure my father was secretly pissed that I took his bike so far out on my first ride, but I think the fact that I brought the bike back in one piece compensated for a lot of that. I knew that day that I was a biker, and I would one day have my own.

    It took me a few years but I finally got my Honda Shadow VT700C that I bobbed the shit out of and gave away to a co-worker 6 months and 8,000 miles later after I bought my 2015 FXDB. I handed him the keys and rode away on the new horse.

    After getting the Honda, I rode the piss out of it and I rode hard. The thrill of nearly dragging knee and being able to look down and see sparks flying from the kickstand dragging across the pavement was an awesome feeling; and my style never really changed after I got the Street Bob. Pushing the limits of my bike has always been sort of my thing, and I can usually out ride anybody riding along in terms of speed and maneuverability; but I'm not foolish enough to say there's none better, because there are legends out there.

    After a conversation with a brother man of mine, I got to thinking. He'd said that when he got his bike, he just wanted to ride; that the bike came with an image that he didn't ask for. This is something I'd never thought of before, but I can understand.

    See, it seems that every Joe Nobody out there can go out and buy a brand new Harley Davidson and suddenly they want to gear head to toe in a brand new $1000+ set of leathers. They buy an HD dew rag, a set or riding shades, and a brand spankin new set of HD brand biker boots for $300. They walk out to their brand new Street Glide having little to no experience having ever rode, they throw over a leg and take off. You can literately watch these people as they roll away and see their level of experience plain as day, maybe its taking off while their feet are hoovering just over the pavement to "maintain balance" or maybe its over turning and having to correct themselves causing the bike to wobble. Simple things like this are a dead give away, but the point is that these people didn't buy a Harley, they bought an image. Odds are the bike will never see over 5,000 miles and be sold for some stupid reason or excuse.

    I blame HD for this, since that's how they market their bikes; utilizing an image built by bikers who didn't give a shit what others thought, if not for the "outlaw" culture, HD would have a hard time selling their bikes. In fact, a vast majority of Harley Davidsons designs were influenced by back yard builders back in the day. They'd see shit they didn't like about their bikes, chop and modify them to their liking and later these changes became so popular that HD adopted them and are still used today. HD's got few original ideas, if any. Never-the-less, the image is a problem.


    My "attire" consists of a $60 pair of Herman Survivor steel toe work boots; the same brand I've been wearing since I was 16 years old, long before I ever knew of the biker life. I generally wear a pair of blue jeans on weekends, or a pair of wrangler cargo pants on work days. I generally wear just a T-Shirt and hoodie, or my black Carhartt Jacket if its cool out. If its cold, I do have an HD thermal reflective jacket I wear because its light weight and keeps me warm riding in -8 degree temperatures. I started wearing a chain wallet last year after I lost a pocket knife while riding. I kept the damn thing in my back left pocket, but my pants must have been baggy enough that it fell out along the way. I got to thinking about it and decided that if I could loose my knife, I could loose my wallet too; thus, chain wallet. I do have a leather vest, but that's the only leather item I own.

    Now, it doesn't sincerely bother me that RUBs go out and buy all this shit just to look like a "real" biker, but it does concern me. Its not the act of doing so, but the motive; why? Why do they feel so obligated to "look the part"? None of that gear makes you a better rider. Granted, leather is the equivalent to all the power ranger gear that sport bike riders wear, but I'd say only about 25% of the biker population actually consider protection beyond helmets when going out to ride. Sadly, its mostly for "looks". Leather has its purpose if bought for the right reasons. I'd love to have me a nice set of thick leather chaps, but not because it looks "cool", but because riding in freezing weather and rain like I do, the leather is optimal for wind and rain deflection and keeping my legs warm.

    Unfortunately, I can't afford a $300 pair of chaps, so instead I wear a pair of WWII issue wool insulated trousers that were given to me underneath my jeans and it does the trick. Being wool, it even keeps me fairly warm if I get wet in cold weather. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do cuz it is what it is.

   Another thing brother man was bothered by was the seeming demand of "club support". It seems that if you're a biker, you're expected to "support" a club of some sort.

   Truth is, this is just another misconception. Honestly, nobody cares if you choose to support or not. The only time you're going to have a problem with supporting a club is if you choose to support rival clubs. You'll never see a Red and White supporter sporting Black and White support gear or vice verse; its a conflict of interest. If you want to remain 100% neutral, you're better off just never buying a single support item, whether it be stickers, t-shirts, hoodies, hats or what have you. As an individual, nobody expects you to support anything, its a personal choice. And nobody will hold it against you for choosing to be neutral. Before I ever chose to officially "support" a club, I never once had anyone ask me "who do you support" as if it were some how expected of me, not once!

    Now what is expected of being a club supporter if you choose that route? Not much really. There are only a few very serious do's and don'ts. Never claim to be a club member, never state the club name without it being followed by "supporter" say for example "Hi, I'm ZipTie, Club Support". MC's were influenced very highly by military structure, and should be treated with the same respect, not only out of respect for the club, but respect for yourself. You can't piss on a Marines boots without expecting to get your ass handed to you, so don't go disrespecting a patch holder simply because you hold different ideals. Its all about respect. Lastly, if you claim to be official "club support", you must realize that any kind of socializing with opposing club members, mutual friends, or even acquaintances is an absolute no.

    Before I chose to support a club, I was very "independent" minded, and still am today. But back then, I had a very serious "nobody tells me who the fuck I can and can't hang out with. If someone treats me with respect, I'll treat them with respect." And I still firmly stand by that. Ultimately, if someone treats me with respect, I'm going to treat them well. The difference today is that I will not knowingly approach a conflict of interest to strike up conversation, the only difference is that I'll avoid people that I know oppose my chosen club. Its not because I think they're bad people, but because I respect the club, and they've got some sort of beef with each other. As a supporter, personally, its about respecting both clubs. They've got their own shit going on, and has nothing to do with me. But I support one over the other, and I choose to support this club because they're the only ones who have ever treat me like family spite not being a patch holder. I earned their respect simply by being myself, and being real with them. So its just better that I not associate with those the club doesn't get along with.

    In the end, I'm not going to be a dickhead to anyone who hasn't first been to me. Rival or not, I offer them enough respect to simply keep the peace. I don't talk shit about anyone or anything I don't know about personally, and I never listen to hearsay.

   It really boils down to this when it comes to club support or neutral. Lets say you're a neutral party claiming no club support. You're still going to have to adhere to the basic rules of MC life. If you some how became friends with a club member throughout your journey as an independent, you'd still be expected to cut off all ties to any rival clubs members or acquaintances. If you chose not to respect that expectation, you'd no longer be friends with that patch holder. That's just how it is! Independent or not, you're still subject to certain expectations and the only way to avoid it is to strictly associate with individuals who have nothing to do with clubs at all.

    The only way to avoid these kind of expectations is to buy a crotch rocket. Because clubbers don't generally hang out with rice riders.

    My suggestion to anyone reading this that holds a neutral status and worries about these things; just fuckin ride. Stop giving a shit about MC politics and just fuckin ride. You'll meet who you meet, and odds are you're too much of a lone wolf to ever choose to run into them again or form any kind of long standing friendship, so you'll never have anything to worry about. Enjoy the journey and those you meet. Because truth is, even though I support a club, there is one grand understanding that I have.

    If you take away all the cuts and tattoos, you'd never know the difference. Real bikers are all the same, and all live by the code. The only conflict of interest is business. Unfortunately at a corporate level, business does get in the way of friendship; throwing out that old saying "friendship is friendship, business is business".

MLH&R
Ziptie

Guardian Angels Can't Ride

    I've always wondered if our guardian angels hate us for riding too fast; after all, if they rode along side us they wouldn't be able to keep our brains from spreading across the road. That long shared motto "Don't ride faster than your guardian angel can fly" is something I always kind of sneered at until it bit me in the ass.

    Mentioned in my blog (An Independents Proclamation), I bought my 2015 Harley Davidson FXDB (Dyna Street Bob) on July 31st, 2015 on a five year commitment. I took off to Riggins, ID off 95 on my new HD to visit my mother whom I rarely get to see anymore, and show her the new horse. It was a good ride and I was excited to show my new responsibility, and the pride it filled me with. Unfortunately, I chose to ride home through McCall off 55 spite knowing they had done a nice long stretch of fresh chip-seal a few weeks prior. About 3 miles north of Rainbow Bridge I entered a 35 mph corner at around 70 mph; not an impossible task, but a stupid one with loose gravel lingering around. I entered the corner practically dragging knee and thankfully at the moment my rear end broke loose on gravel, I was leaning so heavily I entered an immediate slide.


    I can remember the very second I realized I was going down. For some reason I just didn't panic; though the first thought through my head was "well fuck, I'm going to wreck my brand new Harley". As I broke into a slide, I pulled right on the handlebars to keep my front wheel vertical on the pavement which kept my hands clear of being crushed or smeared on the pavement by keeping them in the air. The only damage to my hands was done upon immediate impact as I was adjusting the bars, scarred up my left pinky finger a bit. I yanked my head to the right shoulder to keep from smacking it against the highway upon impact and somehow my left leg cleared the bike before laying it down and I was able to pretty much slide along behind the bike as I held on. Honestly the whole experience reminded me of riding horses on a bad day.

    I've mentioned in previous blogs having been raised in the country life. Riding horses was all I'd really known until later in life. I can remember in 2012 I was riding a horse I wanted to make my own, a mix-bred mustang buckskin named "Spec" who didn't always appreciate a rider. I'd be out riding the pasture to pass the time and all the sudden the bastard would start bucking away! The jerk and jolt of it all was so familiar in laying down my bike that I just went with the punches, right on down to the point of impact; #1 rule being "don't panic".

    Panic is a product of fear, and fear is weakness. If you allow yourself to be overcome with fear and panic, you loose the ability to think clearly and evaluate any given situation. When going down you've only got a split second to evaluate the situation, come to a conclusion, make a decision and act; yet believe it or not, if you stay calm and don't panic, you've generally got enough time to work it out. I laid that bike down wearing absolutely no protective gear at stupid fast speed for the corner and came out with just the scraped pinky and shoulder.


     I can remember the cloud of dirt and dust that bellowed around me as I crashed, it was like someone just set off a stick of dynamite; or at least that's how it felt to me. A couple bikers that I was messing with earlier pulled up immediately to help. One of them later stating online "He'd never seen anyone jump up so fast from a wreck like that jumping up and down like he'd just scored a damned field goal!"; my response simply "Hey man! I was lucky to be alive lol!".

    I waited along side the road for about 5 hours until my family arrived with a trailer. I was just leaning back against my front tire with about 6 empty bottles of water that folks had left with me after checking to see if I was ok. Oddly enough, even after going down and quite literately cheating death, all I could think about was "fuck, now what am I going to ride?". It took about 3 weeks for HD to fix her up again and I even took it home before the new bars arrived, riding with bars bent about 3-4 inches. I worked there, so the bike would be there whenever the bars arrived anyway. I suppose if I'd of ended up dead or in the hospital, I'd second guess whether I'd ever ride again; but honestly who the hell am I kidding? There's just something about bikers like me who are completely consumed with the life and riding. That bike is my identity, it's who I am.

    Lets fast forward a few months into the winter season. I ride year round; rain, sleet, snow, ice, you name it. It started by having no other choice but to ride because my bike is all I own for transportation. But after I'd done it about a month, I just decided "fuck it, if I've got somewhere to be I'm going to ride". I can remember the first time I rode in the snow; I brushed the snow off my bike (no garage at the appt complex) and started her up to warm. It was probably about 10 degrees outside and we'd had about 8 inches of snowfall that night, in addition to quite a bit of ice build up from some sleet and rain we'd had throughout the week. I'd rode on the ice, but it was a bit intimidating now that I couldn't see and predict the grooves in the road made by traffic; I was going to be riding blind on a blanket of white.

    I pulled forward into the parking lot and made my way to the street. Right as I pull out and I'm in mid corner, I caught a bump of ice and lost the rear end *clunk*, of course this was at such a low speed I just basically dropped it and was able to pick it back up and continue. I rode 30 miles into Boise for an appointment with HD about getting my triple tree fixed after the accident which they'd neglected to do. I rode down highway 16 at 65mph with the flow of traffic, the thick layer of snow lingering on the road. It was early enough in the morning that I could look down through the light of my headlight at the road and see these massive waves and bumps in the ice from the traffic melting in odd shapes; there was probably only a quarter inch wide trail that had melted completely through and it was by no means straight. I could feel the bike any time it left that thin trail, gripping and yanking me around; I literately thought in every moment that I'd probably be dead, but didn't much care.


    I made it all the way to Meridian off Ten mile before the thick ice cleared up thanks to regular maintenance. Ironically it was there on ten mile with not a flake of snow remaining on the road that I was cruising at 35 mph when I hit black ice and in an instant the bike fishtailed out of control and laid down again on the left. I broke a tail light and scraped up the primary cover but nothing major. The cars behind me stopped and allowed me time to pick up the bike, hop on and continue on my way.

    I guess the point I'm trying to get across is that it's obvious that riding fast, or in less than optimal conditions is inherently dangerous. But the way I see it, so is stepping out of the damned shower every day, walking to the cage, hell lets not forget driving a cage; you could die eating the very food you eat each day by choking. Virtually everything in life can kill you. Mankind just has a bad habit of dictating which dangers are more probable, thus which to fear more.

    Honestly I fear driving a car more than I fear riding my Harley. In a car, even I am infinitely more tempted by distraction. If someone texts me, I can use one hand to take a look or even respond. In a cage, I can blast my favorite music which in turn makes me virtually deaf to the world around me. In a cage I'm much less likely to hear a siren, or car horn, or even a motorcycle. I can even eat in the car! Driving a car is like a movie theater on wheels. It comes with it's own sound track and Ultra HD big screen right before your eyes. Contrary, riding a motorcycle requires 100% attention and awareness. Every moment that I ride, I'm checking behind me, in front of me, to my 11-2, my 9-3, and my 7-4. I'm slowing down long before I approach the light or stop sign and I have to be aware enough to operate the clutch lever, brake lever, foot brake, and shift lever all simultaneously. Rather than watching the movie in surround sound, I'm in it. And I have to be aware of that dude running the red light or stop sign, I have to be aware of the guy behind me texting and driving who's not going to slow down in time to keep from plowing into me (I've had to blow a red light to avoid being rear ended), on a motorcycle awareness is survival.

   People hate that bikers like me speed, but we look at it as a survival tactic. If I'm doing 10-15 mph faster than everyone else, I can stay ahead of the danger behind me; this allows me to focus forward and eliminates my danger by half. Now all I have to worry about is some texting driver swerving into the shoulder or oncoming traffic (happens dozens of times daily) or that same dumb ass also brakes

for no reason because they "think" they see a car in front of them as they're looking down at their phone; btw there is no car. Lets not forget any potential wildlife. I don't expect you to agree with my philosophy, but then again I don't give a damn; it's about my survival so that I can come home to my 5 year old and my good woman.

    A speeding ticket is far more welcome than death in my eyes, and I've told law enforcement that many, many times and in most cases they actually get it! I don't take unnecessary risks, I might speed, or pass 4 cars at once, but you'll never see me pass on a solid or on a bend, you'll never see me pass on a shoulder unless under emergency conditions (had traffic come to a virtual instant stop once); and you'll never see me doing wheelies down the highway like those dumb asses on YouTube. I value my life for the sake of my family, and I'm considerate of those around me. What you may perceive as "reckless" is actually a well thought out plan of evasion or even prevention. You see me pass doing 75-80, but I saw the two cars now behind you that were tailgating my ass and are now likely tailgating you. You may be ok with a tailgater, but it's a quite different story on two wheels that can literately kill you instantly if someone rear ends your ass. Fuck em, I'm out; trackin?

    So yea, Guardian Angels can't ride, but they can fly. Not riding faster than they can fly is simply using your brain; you can ride fast, but do it at the right time under the right conditions or pay the price. Don't risk your life, or the lives of others for your adrenaline kick. Because being inconsiderate doesn't make you a bad ass, it makes you a dumb ass and I don't care who you are or what cut you wear, you'll get little respect from me for it. I'll be the first to do 120 down the straight racing a buddy or testing our courage, but I won't pass oncoming traffic that fast or blow through an intersection just to feel like my balls are bigger than the guys next to me.

    Keep the shiny side up, use your head, and say a bikers prayer before each ride.

MLH&R
Ziptie

 

Freedom of the Vigilante

    There is a mindset that has come over this nation that the Police and Government officials are there to protect us; though not a false statement as that is what these entities are for, one must question capability. Add into the equation that there are just as many bad police and government officials as there are non-authority figures and you've got no choice but to consider self responsibility.

   vig·i·lan·te
   ˌvijəˈlan(t)ē/
noun
    a member of a self-appointed group of citizens who undertake law enforcement in their community without legal authority, typically because the legal agencies are thought to be inadequate.

    Vigilante justice isn't some sort of individual based belief between right or wrong and self enforcement. Vigilante justice is the enforcement of undeniable truth, not opinion. Take for example a local narcotics dealer seen daily exchanging his product not but 20-30 feet from a playground full of children in the hood. Police ask residents to report these activities but take so incredibly long to show up that by the time they do arrive, the perps are long gone. Then the resident is requested to "fill out a report", which only labels them a snitch in the eyes of the criminals, putting the individual and their family in danger of personal and/or property damage.

   There is no denying that the dealers actions are not only wrong, but very much illegal. Law enforcement will never be on time to intervene, and if they were they would arrest the individual only to let them out on bail or lack of evidence a few days later, and the perp would return the next day for his daily run. Yet the police want to help the community? Nah, its about that bail money, its about the income of repetitively charging people for reoccurring crimes. Criminals mean profit.

    Vigilante justice would handle the situation accordingly by means that would intimidate an offender straight, and on rare occasion if the offender continued to put our children and neighborhood in danger, a more permanent solution may be considered. Natural selection.

    At what point will society acknowledge that a slap on the wrist will never make our neighborhoods safer? Nobody of sane and sound mind likes violence, but a soldier doesn't go to war out of desire but rather of duty. Sometimes you have to do what is necessary in order to ensure the safety of your friends and family, because those appointed over us for "protection and service" will rarely ever be able to stop an act of crime in the moment; in all honesty only if the crime is committed in the presence of LEO's will they ever be able to aid or assist. Think of LEO's as an aftermath clean up crew. Its not their fault they can't be everywhere at once, but the fact of the matter is that LEO's will only arrive during/after an incident and the only thing they can do at that point is write down witness accounts and attempt following any leads towards a suspect. Bound by political restrictions which virtually render them paralyzed; figuratively speaking.

    To make matters worse, not only are LEO's incapable of handling anything but crime aftermath, they will not hesitate locking up an individual for taking matters into their own hands. If a good person were to take it upon themselves to beat the living shit out of their neighborhood crack dealer, or God forbid it come to homicide, the individual defending his family, neighbors, and community would be sent off to prison for life convicted of assault or murder. Law enforcement and government say they're here to help us and some do the best they can; while others choose to manipulate life circumstance for profit, even to the extent of incarcerating a public hero to ensure continued profits. Vigilantes are not good for business because they actually do something about the criminal element.

   This blog may not seem "biker" related, but truth be known that most 1%ers feel this way about life. Its common in the 1% culture to believe that society would be just fine handling their own. We don't believe that an ungoverned nation would spiral into a chaotic war zone. This train of thought is not exclusive to 1% biker culture, this is merely an example of one single culture and community within the world that feels this way.

   Imagine this. Today's world relies on state and government agencies for "protection and service", virtually giving up their very rights to defend themselves against those who would seek to harm them, their family, or their community. Today's world displays high levels of crime including but not limited to, violence and high use of dangerous narcotics. Criminals know that the general public relies almost exclusively on these "official" entities for justice and protection, and the criminal element are aware of these officials shortcomings brought forth by political insecurities and considerations. A world where the good guys never break the political rules and regulations is a world where criminals run free.

   Now imagine a world where instead of relying on state and government officials for protection and service, we relied on each other; our neighbors, our communities. You watch your neighbors back, and they watch yours. A neighborhood takes note of a drug deal or pedophile presence and handles it accordingly based solely on human judgement. Now granted, mankind has a nasty habit of acting on emotion, and at first the world may seem like a war-zone. But take into consideration the effect of a communities brute force against crime and violence. Eventually criminals would realize that with a community of "neighbor hood ass kickers", there would be no shadows to hide in, no time of day that would provide them with windows of opportunity. In time, the criminal element would be decreased and pushed out. This is not to say that crime would never happen, but it is to say that immediate support would be readily available 24/7. And in turn, LEO's would be able to do what they do best anyway, fine people for driving to fast and running that read light down town.

   If LEO's spent less time concerning themselves with victim-less crimes and more time with the criminal element, they would truly live up to their defined purpose. But unfortunately like reoccurring offenses, victim-less crimes are also a cash cow for these said offices and agencies. Our world has welcomed with open arms the "what if" and "could have" factors and method of consequence.

"Sir, do you know why I pulled you over today?" an officer asks a driver on a lonely rural highway, "The only thing I can think of is that I may have been speeding" a driver responds; "You are correct, do you have any idea how fast you were going?" the harassing banter continues. "Well, I clocked you on the radar doing 65 in a 50, may I have your license, registration and proof of insurance please.", note I ended that request with a period as its not a sincere question but rather a demand. At the end of the encounter, an innocent driver who caused a victim-less "crime" that left no one hurt, is fined a heavy sum of money merely because he/she "could have hurt/killed" someone.

    The "what if" or "could have" barometer is a fear tactic used to convince people that these laws are "good" for you. Because a speed limit "might" save somebody. Nobody considers the fact that only a small portion of the population ever actually drive that "required" (insert speed limit) sign while the rest know they can generally get away with going about 10mph over the speed limit without LEO's harassing them. Laws like these are put into motion using fear tactics to pad the wallets of these offices and agencies as if our tax dollars aren't enough. They're not put into effect for your "safety", but rather cleverly presented to a community of sheep in a deceitful way to make them more open to the idea. So while criminals hide in the shadows and in today's world even in plain sight doing their dealings, LEO spends more time handing out speeding and parking violations, noise complaint violations, ticketing broken down vehicles along side the road as if it's some how the owners fault they've been struck by poor circumstance, all in the name of "what if " or "could have".

"Your broken down car is a safety hazard "what if" someone hit it?"; well I guess they shouldn't have been texting and driving, or talking on the phone, or doing whatever it was that distracted them from seeing a large inanimate object on the side of the road. #logic?

    This blog is not to undermine the purpose of these offices and agencies as they all have a designated purpose. The problem is that in today's world they've been consumed with the greed for power. They realized that if manipulated properly, society will endorse any action in the name of "safety" and seeming comfort. They realized that a community will forget the departments inabilities and shortcomings to make a sincere difference if they hand us a piece of paper, or fill out a statement form to make us feel like they're doing their part to make a difference. The process of paperwork some how mysteriously tricks the mind into forgetting that they haven't actually done anything to help the situation and you can look forward to it reoccurring in the near future.

    In addition to the manipulation of society for the sake of profit under the guise of "what if" and "could have", you've got virtually little more than an organized crime syndicate playing every bodies best friend. Though nobody of sound mind would consider someone willing to lie their way into getting a confession or information as a "friend" let alone a protector. How do they even justify the credibility of information gained through the use of dishonesty? A topic for another time I suppose.

   I end in saying this. We live in a time where personal responsibility is our last hope. We must consider the two enemies at bay and the consequences of our good intentions. Is it worth going to court and fighting a corrupt system if it means sending a message to criminals the world over? Is it worth loosing your freedom to ensure that a child doesn't grow up being molested and abused? Is it worth your life to protect and serve those you love? I leave it up to you to conclude.

Until next time, stay vigilant. Our enemies are everywhere, and only you can do something about it.

MLH&R
Ziptie

An Independents Proclamation

Mountain Living

    I've had a few individuals both patch holder and independent alike inquire and even accuse me of being a fake for wearing a 3 piece patch, and the 1% diamond. This is my proclamation of what I represent for the sake of clarity and understanding across the board. So here's a little history on how I became Ziptie by living the life.

    I've spent my entire life struggling to make ends meet, and finding out that friends I called family weren't so much. An endless list of stories that could end with "pity me", but to cut to the chase I decided at one point that I was done with the world. I was done with the social stereotypical attitude of judgement and manipulation. I was tired of the dishonesty and the betrayal; tired of the system.

   I spent several years just looking for a place, a lifestyle that suited me. I was a nomad living out of a mini-van in the mountains of Montana, Idaho, and Utah; a mountain man raised cowboy just living off the land. I eventually came into possession of a crappy little Honda Shadow 700 that I bobbed out and tore the shit out of. On two wheels I felt like I'd found my place.

   I bought my 2015 Harley Davidson Street Bob (FXDB) on July 31st, 2015, and wrecked the bitch doing 70 on Hwy 55 three days later in a 40 mph curve after hitting loose gravel left over from a month old chip seal, walking away with just a scraped finger and light shoulder road rash. I got it fixed up and today, just under a year later, I've got almost 20,000 miles on her and have conquered that same curve multiple times since.

Wreck Aftermath

    I ride 7 days a week, 365 days a year in any kind of weather that Southwest Idaho can throw at me. Pouring rain to blizzard snows. I've rode on road warped ice an inch thick, ate shit, picked it up and kept on riding. My sole transportation is this Harley and if I have somewhere to be, it gets me there. My bike has never known a garage, excluding maintenance time. Its gravel peppered gas tank, its trashed fender and cosmetic damages are all badges of honor, boasting a hard life.

    The fact that I ride hard doesn't make me any better or any worse than any other rider out there. But it has earned me a certain level of respect within my local community that speaks of an understanding that I don't sport anything on my vest that I have not earned, whether under official MC recognition or earned in my own right. That said, the following will define each patch on my independent cut.

    I'll start with the right side. Worn on my right belt line, "If you don't ride in the rain, you don't ride" meant to get a rise or giggle out of readers. Three patches reflecting my Christian faith, "Snake River Valley Christian Riders", A patch of Calvary, and A "Jesus is Lord" ribbon. Just above the ribbon is my hand double stitched 1% diamond; this diamond represents my right to be an individual, it represents my anarchist mindset, a belief that mankind as a whole would be just fine without Federal Government dictating our lives. This diamond represents that I'll live my life as I choose with respect of the well being and rights of others. The government labels people like me "Outlaws" and you can read about what it really means to be a 1%er (HERE), contrary to the deceptions of the government. Finishing off the right front panel just above the top pocket I fly the Rebel or "Southern Cross" flag as an acknowledgement of history.

     The right panel starts at the belt line with the standard for determining who becomes my family "Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family". Directly left also along the belt line is my Harley Davidson broken wings, which represent surviving that wreck on 55 wearing nothing more than my bandanna, vest, blue jeans and shit kickers. I wear it as a personal reminder that I should be dead. Just above the wings I sport the patch of a small time independent world wide group on Facebook named after that which they represent, "The Bikers Code". An unspoken code known to any real biker; a code that any real biker follows. I'll never pass a downed rider, whether wreck or simply broke down. I'll stop and offer my assistance in any way I can and the cut on your back will bring you no discrimination from me. On that road, a biker is a biker and I'd sure as hell hope that if I were ever stranded that someone would stop for me. If one of your group breaks down during a ride, you stay by their side until they can ride home with you regardless of your life engagements. At the top above my pocket, I sport my legal name "Ziptie".

    Last but certainly not least, my back patch. I sport a 3 piece "vendor" patch setup that some may find disrespectful. Its these individuals I hope will pay close attention to this section of the blog in that it may bring clarity and I hope they'll share the same respect shown to me by local clubs.

   Top rocker "Born Free", bottom rocker "American". A statement declaring my having been born under the protection of the United States Constitution, providing me with documented acknowledgment of my inalienable rights as a human being in existence to live as I choose as long as my actions and choices do not harm or infringe on the rights of others. My center patch sports an American Bald Eagle with wings spread, an American Flag shield with Crossed rifles and text reading "The 2nd Amendment, A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed", "1791", Protect our rights" Don't Tread On Me". This center patch represents the teeth of the Constitution and its 27 Amendments as our right to defend ourselves and those around us from both civil and government threats. Our right to be armed equally to that of the government that dictates us.

   The combination of these three patches is my tip of the hat to every 1% club on the face of the planet. A statement to LEO and the Federal Government boasting our rights to associate with who we please, as we please. I acknowledge the responsibility of my 3 piece cut and the conduct expectations that comes with wearing it. Every single time I walk out my front door wearing this vest, I do so with the understanding that I'm not just representing myself as an individual but I'm representing an image that has been manipulated and stereotyped by the media and government for decades and I accept the responsibility of properly representing the image and the life, regardless of my lack of club affiliation. I represent the MC life with respect, because the MC world has always done right by me.

    I can understand the concern of MC's when they see an independent sporting a 3 piece patch. We live in a world of thoughtless people who would completely disregard the responsibility that comes with it. These individuals pose a threat to the entire culture by having no concern with their public conduct and give MC's a bad wrap because of it. They don't understand or even care that to the general public, we're all the same. They don't see a club name, color and territory, they just see three patches and we all look the same. So what one club does, affects the entire MC community, and the same goes for an independent like myself who sports a 3 piece patch setup.

   I am not a criminal, the only mark on my record is that of a possession of Marijuana charge placed on me in 2011. I don't hang out at the bars, and I don't start shit with people I disagree with unless they threaten my family. I'm just your average Joe minding his own business and living his own life. I have friends in the MC life, and friends who are weekend warriors; I have friends who don't ride and I have friends that hate motorcycles.

This is my proclamation, this is who I am. I am 1%, I'm just a biker.

MLH&R
Ziptie

How the 1% lost its way

    Once upon a time, bikers related to one another based on a mutual appreciation for a motorcycle, a beer, reliability, and dependability. A club cut was a statement meaning nothing more than "this is my family", and all were proud to call it their own. There was no rivalry, no discrimination, no hatred towards one another simply because a certain "color" wasn't shared. Where did it go bad?

    I'm not some old timer, as I've been accused of speaking as one of experience. I'd like to think that I don't speak as some wise old timer because I've "been there and done that", but rather I speak this way because I possess the intellectual capacity to learn from those who've come before me. Having sat and shared coffee and beer with old timers over the years who'd shared dozens of stories each regarding their lives and experiences. I absorbed their knowledge and perspectives, most of which now float in sorrow of times changed; and not for the better.

    If you're ever blessed with the opportunity to sit down with an old timer and hear him speak of times past, you'll hear the joy in his voice as he reminisces in his memories of parties, road trips, camping under the skies and their bikes leaving them stranded in the middle of a Wyoming desert; yet

as his memories become more current, his voice turns to sadness. You'll see a softness come over his eyes as he speaks in shame of the way things have become. A brother lost by the trigger finger of a "rival" club, who's only motive truly boiled down to being simple greed. Money & Business.

    Business & Territory, the source of all our divide and conquer. Chapters all over the globe mistook their constitutional rights as Anarchist Americans (1%) to partake in their substance of  choice as a business opportunity. It could be something as simple as the grass trade, or something as destructive as the meth trade, both equally meaning only one thing to these individuals. Profit.

    Once profit is obtained, territory is developed and determined by presence. The presence of one clubs chapter running business declares it their geographical domain, and greed fuels a willingness to defend their territorial exclusive at any cost. And illegal business has enough of its own risk, so allowing competition seemingly only invites more risk. In reality, as a former pot dealer, it was always good business to have competition because it relieved some of the heat from my own doorstep and dispersed it evenly across the board, but this isn't a concept commonly acknowledged by those in business with harder substances. Where there's big money, there's big greed, and they want it all.

    Then you have dominant clubs who still support the days of old. They police their own and dissolve erratic behaviors by placing fair judgement according to their own bylaws generally founded on the Anarchist mindset the founders of the United States Constitution possessed. Rivalry is also born of the classic "Good VS Evil" concept when the biggest dog in town does not condone destructive trades such as meth or cocaine and moves in to clean up the neighborhood. They fight in defense of noble cause, but unfortunately bare the bad PR caused by those in said shady trades because of the obvious similarities shared with any 3 piece cut. Their 3 piece cut automatically associates them with bad business, and their willingness to exterminate said bad business makes them look like criminals. Robin Hood was actually the hero.

   In association with business came status. Somehow in turn, being a 1%er meant you had to possess an attitude of intimidation to better ensure a path of least resistance. All of the sudden it wasn't enough to possess quality characteristics as an individual, if you didn't "earn" your cut with their club, you'd

no longer get any sort of respect regardless of having never done wrong by the club or its members. When it used to be that two clubs, two individuals could respect each others mutual interests and mutual life struggles, poor attitude now ruled our worlds. Being a 1%er originally represented an individual willing to stand up for what you believe in, and nothing more.

    I've been disrespected on occasion because of my ability to express or explain things in an articulate manner, as though some how being able to think before speaking, and being slow to anger and slow to react on emotion makes me a weaker, "fake" individual. If that's the way it is, then so be it. But true strength comes not from an individual who's only strength is operating through intimidation and image. Having the ability to acknowledge and prioritize what's worth fighting for and what isn't is a sign of true understanding. Because truth is, sometimes its not worth fighting for just because something offends you, something that happens regularly in our biker culture. Rival clubs beating the shit out of each other or worse all because they couldn't see past their political and business differences in order to return to their foundations of mutual interest and respect.

   A few hate me because I don't recognize club rivalries. I have clubs that I favor over others, but I don't accept any club as a whole, not even my favorite club. Just because one may be a member of my favorite club, and sports its cut daily, doesn't mean that I respect him based on his association. If a member of my favored clubs disrespects me, I don't just let it go and accept them as a brother regardless. Instead of starting shit, I choose to disassociate with that individual. I don't cut off the club, I cut off the person.

    In a perfect world it is in this manner that I would determine my respect for a club. I'd first respect the deserving individual, if all individuals are respectable, I'd respect the chapter; if the all the chapters are respectable I'd respect the club. But unfortunately the world does not operate this way, and you cannot just offer a blanket of respect over the entirety of an association. In the real world, respect can

only be given on an individual by individual basis. Because not every member, of every chapter, of every club is going to be worthy of respect as not all will acknowledge respects true meaning. The club cut does not entitle you to respect; integrity and conduct are what determine the level of respect you receive from others, and the cut just represents your chosen family.

   We lost our way because business distorted the perceptions of respect. And in quoting a brother I'll say this, "its the man that makes the patch, not the patch that makes the man". So in a world of cyber bad-asses, take a moment to remind yourself that you cannot disrespect an individual based on club association or lack there of; nor are you excluded from this standard. Instead, remind yourself that respect is earned solely by the way an individual treats another, and cannot be determined by third person perspectives or hearsay. Rejection of this truth makes you the very poser you claim to despise. Because the only posers are those who have forgotten what it means to truly respect.

If you would like to hear my take on what it really means to be a 1%er, be sure to check out the topics dedicated blog here (Born Free Americans the 1%).

MLH&R
Ziptie

Make it your own

My Stock FXDB on day of purchase

   I've made a few references to social media in previous blogs, and the heart of this blog will beat to that very topic. Social media influence.

    If you're anything like myself or those I hang out with, you probably belong to a few groups on Facebook dedicated to your make and model of motorcycle (The Dyna Page in my case). In addition, you'll probably have liked pages such as "The Bikers Code" or "MC Brotherhood 101". These groups and pages share a common interest between you the individual and the biker culture/community. So its not out of the ordinary to naturally feel obligated to ask for input on your personal horse.
   
    "Hey brothers, I'm thinking about getting 16 inch T-Bars for my Dyna Wideglide, but I can't decide between chrome or black.", you scroll down a bit and see some dude asking for input on what it would "look" like with Willie-G gas cap covers or casting a vote between Vance & Hines short shots or Thunder-header 2-1s but only considering the cosmetic opinions of others. Honestly I don't understand it.

    It's your bike fellas (and ladies), why do you rely so heavily on the input of others? Have you ever wondered why 8/10 bikes look virtually identical but belong to riders across the country, or even the world? I understand that riding a cookie cutter like myself, that there is a limited amount of "customizing" that one can do.

   With that considered, there is a considerable portion of things you can build yourself (or a friend) to make it 100% unique. You can make your own bars, you can make your own exhaust, you can make your own luggage racks and your own sissy bars. You can make your own air filters and you can

Rocked bars, travel bag, and 18'' machete

make your own crash bars. You've still got a large amount of control over the design of your bike. So why do so many default to purchasing manufactured items that cost triple, or even quad that of which it would cost them to design and build it themselves? The answer is ease. Sure, it's a polished cookie cutter design that makes your bike look sharp, but it's going to make your heart sink when you pull into a rally and walk past a bike that looks virtually identical.

    Don't get me wrong, a sharp looking bike is a sharp looking bike. Going cookie cutter doesn't mean that you're bike looks like shit; all I am saying is that it takes away from your personal identity and character.

    I'll use myself as an example. I personally don't know how to fabricate, but I have friends that do. I had been considering purchasing a sissy bar off eBay for $200 so that my ole lady could comfortably relax while riding with me. It turned out that my ole lady had a 3 wheeled bicycle that she traded to her cousin in exchange for a custom made sissy bar. I brought my bike up to his place one afternoon and we made some plans. Originally we were going to just utilize the fender bolts to mount the side plates since I have no desire to ever remove it. After realizing how the turn signals were made, we decided to design the plates to slide over the signal bolts without having to disassemble the lights, leaving the front bolt to secure the plates; a "quick attach" type design. The sissy bar now stands 4' tall from the fender as suits my taste and satisfies my urge for that old-school feel.

    Now being that I'm your typical biker that you heard about in the days of old, always being broke and bouncing job to job, I don't have the money for things like grips or pegs. So I utilized the options I do have, and created my own "grip covers". My father has been a leather crafts man for decades, and had some extra leather supplies hanging around. I took some buckskin chap hide and fashioned grip covers out of them, lacing them with heavy duty brown and yellow boot laces, giving it a retro feel. It looked absolutely ridiculous at first being that the leather was super bright, but a couple weeks of use and time in the sun, a few rain showers and having dried up and tightened; I now have grip covers that look aged decades with signs of wear and solid use. Another plus is that you never see "grip covers", let alone out of leather. Only back in the day.

Tan Chap Hide Grip & Lever Covers Newly Made

    I take pride in the days of old which I never personally got to experience (I'm 27), and admire the creativity those ole boys showed when customizing their bikes. If I could learn how to make my own exhaust, I'd go that route too. I fancy the idea of true dual pipes stretching along each side of my FXDB Street Bob, which you never see done because of the electronics that block the left side. But it could be done with the proper amount of patience and creativity.

    Never forget that the small things matter. My bike looks drastically different thanks to even the small changes, like a home made 3'' gas tank lift, and having rocked my handle bars much more forward than you'll see on any stock FXDB, both contributing to giving its stretched look.

    The point I hope to get across is that you should have zero concern as to what others think of your bike and what you've done with it. Instead, do what you like and desire then expect the input to follow. So what if someone doesn't dig your white wall tires (I get grief for it), so what if someone doesn't like your exhaust, bars, or air filter. It's one thing to get opinions on the feel of something like bar height or style, but you'll never get anywhere seeking the public's cosmetic opinions because you'll always be severely divided. If they dig your style, right on man; if they don't, tough shit.

   Be yourself, express yourself. Don't settle for cookie cutter conformity if you can help it! Be sure to check out more blogs regarding all things bikers life from the list above, or direct link here (The Idaho Hog)

MLH&R
Ziptie

Rocked Bars, Travel Bag (Front), Softail swing arm bag (back), 2+ setup,
Worn Chap Hide Leather Grip & Lever Covers, 4' Sissy bar,Shinko White Walls,
Cycle Shack Mufflers & Smoked Signal Lenses. My W.I.P

"Ole Ladies"

   
 

    If by chance you've read my last blog titled "A Bikers Life" you'll know that I was raised country. Growing up was full of "Yes Ma'am", "No Thank You Ma'am" and the like. I grew up with the should be common sense that you don't mess with another mans woman if you've got any brains about you.

    There are many folks, my father included, who grew up with a lifestyle that found the term "Ole Lady" degrading, and I can understand that. But considering our new found lifestyle, it's more of a respected tolerance for him, and an honor for me. To call my girl my ole lady bestows a special level of "mine" for lack of better explanation. That said, this blog will likely not set well with feminists in that they'll feel guys like me see women as "property" rather than a human being. So here's the sitrep.

    The Ole Lady, the greatest personal rank a woman can achieve within the biker culture that gives her a certain level of recognition and acknowledgement within the community that is not offered to anyone else. Once you become a mans Ole Lady you've proven yourself to be loyal, respectful, loving, nurturing, catering and honest, you are in a sense protected by his shadow. Any true biker, 1%-99% who knows she is yours, will respect that through and through. In many cases, some will go as far as to not even acknowledge your woman's presence. Something normal society would take offense to, but its a sign of ultimate respect within the biker community, more so in MC life. Lack of acknowledgment ensures that no bad impressions or disrespect are made.


    Once you gain the status of ones ole lady, your ole mans brothers will look out for you, protect you like a sister, and be a constant barrier between you and any man who would seek to disrespect you, your ole man, or your relationship. "Girlfriends" don't get this luxury because they have boundaries that need be tested in order to establish trust between her and her man. Nobody wants to claim an ole lady only to later find out she's an easy woman. In combination of ole lady status, in company of true brothers, it does away with the insecurities of having other men around your woman. A man can leave his woman in the company of his brothers without worry.

    An ole lady doesn't always agree, or do what she's told. The title doesn't mean submission, it simply means respect. She acknowledges her mans status in the relationship as a leader, a protector, a king; and in return she reaps all the benefits of being his queen. Unbreakable devotion and commitment, nurturing and as much pampering as he's capable of. A proven ole lady knows that she'll never have to worry about another woman. And in the event that another woman over steps her bounds, an ole lady is entitled to unleashing all hell against her offender without interference from her man.

    There are a very select few, I'll quote a previous blog in saying that 1% of the 1% will feel his alpha status entitles him to any woman he desires, but only calls one of them his own. These men are undeserving of any woman and I'm struck with sorrow for these women. You deserve better for all that you offer within your relationship.

    An ole lady generally has her queens seat upon her mans iron horse. The 2 up has her name on it and no other woman rides without her permission, which is extremely rare. The only exception is immediate family, or a brothers ole lady. A brothers ole lady will always respect and request permission if circumstances require that she needs a ride. But the standard stands that nobody rides your ole lady's seat. Its your bike, her seat. Period. Men like myself consider it a great honor to gift the exclusive of his 2+, and a good woman takes pride in that.

    The private life between an ole couple is as any other. You'll love on one another, you'll bicker and argue over stupid shit, and times will be both good and bad. In public among brothers, an ole lady knows her place and how to best honor her man among his brothers. A good woman can also earn her man respect by acknowledging that her words and actions reflect entirely on her man. If she steps out of place or shows disrespect towards someone else, her man is the one to pay. A good woman doesn't have to walk on egg shells, because she naturally understands the definition of respect for her man and those around.

    As a man, I would be lost without my ole lady. She is the foundation at which I stand. The friend I trust more than any other. The only being on earth to know my weaknesses and struggles. She is the pillar of my life's purpose and I am grateful to God above for having blessed me with her partnership in this life.

I love you Katelyn
Sincerely, You're Ole Man.

MLH&R
Ziptie

My Queen

A Bikers Life

Tucker & I on my old 1985 Honda Shadow VT700C

    On July 31st, 2015 I rode to my work at Harley Davidson on my 1985 Honda Shadow VT700C rat rod. A bike that had taught me what it's like to top off the fluids and wrench on a bike after every ride. This bike taught me what it meant to screw up a carb adjustment, or clogging the water system attempting to patch a leak, causing it to run hot and burn holes on the inside of each pair of jeans I owned. This bike taught me what it meant to rage after hours of failed troubleshooting and kicking that bastard over as if its metallic body would somehow feel my pain. It taught a nobody, good for nothing, white boy the basics of old-school motorcycle operation. Creating a bond between man and machine that would never be forgotten.

    My father and I had been talking about the fact that my poor rat rod was nearly at its wits end and I didn't have any other mode of transportation. I had been eyeballing a used Harley Davidson Sportster 72 for a while and was hoping to pull the trigger. Now long story short the sales team took advantage of my enthusiasm and excitement of possibly owning my first Harley and convinced me to go with the 72's big daddy the FXDB, a.k.a Street Bob. Baseline model in vivid black with no special features, just your standard good ole Harley Davidson. I handed my rat rods keys to a co-worker free of charge that very evening, and rode home on my brand new Harley Davidson.

Day 1, my Father and I

    I had made a commitment I would pay for over the course of the next 5 years. $326.77 a month including insurance. This means I would make seemingly infinite sacrifices throughout my life. It means I wouldn't make enough for rent, new shoes, cloths, and I'd virtually be guaranteed to live off ramen noodles, hot dogs, and canned chili. If I wanted any of the above luxuries, I'd have to sacrifice elsewhere. It meant pretty much only having enough money to pay for fuel and little else, meaning my only source of entertainment was to simply ride. A bikers life.

    A bikers life; man how could one explain such a life when so much controversy is involved between defining a "motorcycle enthusiast" from a "biker"? Well, I wish it were as simple as to say that just throwing a leg over two wheels makes one a biker, but I can't say I believe that. See I grew up country, cowboy through and through. My father was a horse farrier and my mother was a horse trainer (she'd say people trainer) for the better part of 20 years. I grew up with wranglers, white and plaid western shirts, shit kickers and a cowboy hat. My mornings were scented with the graceful stench of horse shit, not burned rubber and motor oil. So how the hell do I know what it means to be a biker? 

    I'd like to take a look at this question from a different angle. Who am I to know what makes a real cowboy from the yuppie? Anybody can throw on a pair of wranglers, cowboy hat and shit kickers, throw a leg over a horse and be a cowboy; right? Well, I guess anyone can do those things, but to be a cowboy one would not be. See, riding a horse takes more than just the ability to hop on or dress the part. It takes knowing to squeeze instead of kick, it takes knowing that steady pressure trumps trying to yank the animal around. Being a cowboy means your up at the crack of dawn throwing hay and shoveling shit, it means getting bored and hopping on your horse bareback, laying down and taking a nap or going for a ride, trusting the animal won't take off with you (which sometimes happens!). It takes knowing how to clean their hooves and trim their feet, being a cowboy requires a full devotion of your life. Not just owning the horse and attire, and hopping on for a short ride on the weekends.

Me riding my old horse Spec

    The same is applicable to the biker. You can own all the leather you think need be required, hell own a leather pair of socks if you have to! You can own that $10,000-50,000 Harley Davidson even, but that won't make you any more a biker. Yes, you love motorcycles and you enjoy every minute of the road you actually get to enjoy, and that's respectable.

    A biker is one who devotes his entire life to his love of motorcycles. Think of it as a marriage, because you'll hear more stories than you'd think of a biker leaving his woman and taking nothing but his motorcycle in the end (ok ok, she probably left him). It keeps us breathing, and no doubt keeps others breathing too if you know what I mean.

    A biker knows that his bike brings such joy and life to his world that without it he would loose a part of himself, just like a good woman. And its not just the material reality of the bike itself, but everything that comes with it. The smell of freshly moist grass in the morning sun as you take a morning scoot, the sun beaming just over the horizon as it wakes for the day. Its riding 2,100 miles in three days for a family reunion or sleeping in on the forest floor under a tarp because you can't afford a motel. Its packing a couple cans of spaghettios for $0.99 a can at the grocery store to last you the trip. Its packing only one set of cloths to save on load. Its having to carry your tools and a few quarts of oil in preparation for unfortunate circumstance and its a long conversation with some old raggedy ass biker that saw you sitting in the shade at the gas station.

    I'm a biker in training and life is my teacher. I foolishly left my job and now my life wreaks of the stereotypical old-school stories of a good for nothing biker (cowboy) bum and his dog living out of his girlfriends bed as she picks up the slack in his down time, Harley Davidson sitting in the parking lot, view able from the apartment at all times. The stay at home "step-dad-like" figure struggling to make money while educating a 5 year old in manners and knowledge while ensuring the house doesn't get jacked up throughout the day. Swapping motorcycle details for parts and labor, and if there's any time, maybe get in a few details gigs for extra cash to help out where he can.

    I don't have much leather, in fact only a leather vest sporting a 3 piece "Born Free American" cut, and a pair of old worn out brown suede chaps good for little more than blocking the wind. Leathers a rich mans game. I sport an old military style OD green cap everywhere I go and a pair of square toed shit kickers to cover my feet. I ride year round both voluntarily and involuntarily through the rain, snow, sleet, ice and shine simply because its what has to be done when there are no other options. But I can honestly say, I'm getting used to it. Once you do it long enough, you don't seem to notice the searing pain shooting through your hands after having rode 60 miles through 8 degree weather and a -35 degree wind chill, or the ice frozen to your beard. You no longer notice the shot gun blast of a pouring rain at 70 mph or the feel of the pavement on your side as your rear tire loose its tread to the ice. It becomes almost second nature, push the bar out into the fall, clear the leg, hang on till you quit sliding, pick it up and keep on rolling. 

    One could scan any biker page online and see thousands of bikers accusing another of posing to be something he's not. I sit back and shake my head at times because if there's one thing I've come to know it's that no matter how experienced I think I am, there is always someone out there more beat up, broken-hearted, and financially ruined; whose beard drags by his ankles and his eyes twinkle with kindness and humility through his old wrinkly face.

    There are only three determining factors to know whether you're dealing with a real "biker". Does his bike consume his entire life, does he live in respect for those who respect him, and does he live a life of humility? These are the three golden rules of a "bikers" life. 

    There is no shame in being an enthusiast, because any true biker understands that the thrill of a motorcycle can be appealing to anyone brave enough to give it a try. But only a select few will be so consumed with the love, life, and liberation of their motorcycle that it shapes their very identity, their very being. When you see a true biker, there is no doubt in your mind as you look at him that he is the real deal. As the rodeo cowboy walks out of the arena covered in dirt and manure after being thrown off a 1000 lb. animal, or rides in from the sunset after a days long cattle drive, so does the biker who throws a leg over his iron horse and rides into the distance.

MLH&R
Ziptie

Dads 05' Road King, my 2015 Street Bob