Why we love biker dudes
When I was a teenager, I sneaked out of the house all the time to ride with my biker boyfriends. You see...my parents didn't allow me on a motorcycle. But my grandmother was a different story. I'd spend the night at her house and meet my boyfriends there - one at a time - I mean. I had a series of biker boyfriends. There is just something about a guy on a Harley that is sexy as hell.
Rick, of course, was the sexiest with his really big Harley, and we dated for a year. Then there was Cal, the older biker dude who belonged to a motorcycle club in the nearby big city. We spent a lot of time cruising the countryside. The last of my teen crushes was Happy who nearly got me killed when we wiped out on a steep, wet, winding brick street. We were young and still immortal and we'd been making out at the Black Angel (look it up) in the middle of a thunderstorm. Just going too fast, I guess. When I was in college, a biker boyfriend bought me my own Honda 250 to ride to my university classes. I loved that little bike. Riding with nothing between myself and the wind, aside from the helmet he insisted I wear, made me feel free as a bird. Our breakup was friendly and I gave him back the bike.
I watched Sons of Anarchy last night for the first time and all those fine memories came rushing back. Even after I got married and had kids, I still had this thing for bikers - not a crush - but a trust. Once my husband, our three little kids and I were camping through Wyoming, Montana and the Dakotas and found ourselves in the middle of the Sturgis crowd. Every campground was packed, but the bikers made room for the family of five in the mini-van towing the pop-up tent trailer. Every morning it was - "Mornin' ma'am." and "Can I help you carry that load of firewood, ma'am?" and "Night, ma'am." I don't normally sleep well on a camping trip because I worry about grizzlies and crazy mountain men. I slept soundly on that trip because I had every confidence that those bikers would watch out for us like they watched out for their own. They did. They rode my kids around the campground. They helped my husband chop wood and ate s'mores with us. They pushed our van down the road to get her started when the alternator went and then they replaced it for us for the price of a steak dinner.
So...coming soon...The Biker and the Chick, by Julia Barrett.
Rick, of course, was the sexiest with his really big Harley, and we dated for a year. Then there was Cal, the older biker dude who belonged to a motorcycle club in the nearby big city. We spent a lot of time cruising the countryside. The last of my teen crushes was Happy who nearly got me killed when we wiped out on a steep, wet, winding brick street. We were young and still immortal and we'd been making out at the Black Angel (look it up) in the middle of a thunderstorm. Just going too fast, I guess. When I was in college, a biker boyfriend bought me my own Honda 250 to ride to my university classes. I loved that little bike. Riding with nothing between myself and the wind, aside from the helmet he insisted I wear, made me feel free as a bird. Our breakup was friendly and I gave him back the bike.
I watched Sons of Anarchy last night for the first time and all those fine memories came rushing back. Even after I got married and had kids, I still had this thing for bikers - not a crush - but a trust. Once my husband, our three little kids and I were camping through Wyoming, Montana and the Dakotas and found ourselves in the middle of the Sturgis crowd. Every campground was packed, but the bikers made room for the family of five in the mini-van towing the pop-up tent trailer. Every morning it was - "Mornin' ma'am." and "Can I help you carry that load of firewood, ma'am?" and "Night, ma'am." I don't normally sleep well on a camping trip because I worry about grizzlies and crazy mountain men. I slept soundly on that trip because I had every confidence that those bikers would watch out for us like they watched out for their own. They did. They rode my kids around the campground. They helped my husband chop wood and ate s'mores with us. They pushed our van down the road to get her started when the alternator went and then they replaced it for us for the price of a steak dinner.
So...coming soon...The Biker and the Chick, by Julia Barrett.
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