RUDIMENTS, pt. 381
(some quality stuff, in place)
As soon as I got started with
motorcycling and all the things
that went with it, I realized I'd
kind of landed in a strange pot
of gold. At the same time, from
what I could see, it wouldn't last
past 3 or 4 years. I was wrong, I
got through about 8, and then
two miserable years when I had
to be funding if for myself. Which
kind of sucked, and the long
payback period for the money
I'd borrowed (personally) wasn't
worth what it brought me. But
I had plenty of learning experiences,
a means of expanding my own
knowledge and seeing the 'other'
side of what people were really
about. Plus, fact of the matter was,
I brought forms of happiness to
any number of people, and got
them around. The 1990's were
quite different than now. It was
just the beginning period of things.
Like seeing NYC cab drivers no
longer being white men - whether
strange or eccentric, older white
men or not, the new breed began
turning up with turbans and even
robes sometimes. There were
language barriers, and there were
people too who'd get irate over
this. There was a new and slow
circulation of peeves and beefs
about the new immigration - all
that stuff we have today, just
getting started. We'd trounce
around New York City, sometimes
in 12's or 15's even, motorcycles,
blasting our ways around; pretty
much doing hat we wished, The
personal climate was different, and
the rules were quite flexible too.
We were never, and I mean never,
corralled or hassled by the police.
The one time the police were called,
we got out of it and the point became
moot. Statute 45:381, is entitled,
'Looking the Other Way'. Thanks
NYC Police; always.
-
One time, in traffic, we were squeezed
by a yellow cab with some swami guy
driving it. Catching him at the next
light, we tapped on his window, which
he rolled down, nervously saying, 'No,
no, please. No trouble! This is not my
yellow cab.' So I said to the effect, 'Oh
yeah? What color is your camel?' That
stupid phrase stuck on me for a few
years. It was a big joke at the time,
and the driver guy thought I was as
funny as Red Skelton at a minaret.
So then I told him I'd eaten at a
Muslim restaurant the night before.
He said 'And how did you know it
was Muslim, sir?' I replied, 'Well,
everything was Allah cart.' Ha ha,
and the light had changed.
-
Bikers weren't always the sharpest
of cookies - though some were,
don't get me wrong. It was all I
could do sometimes to have them
understand that Indian people (South
Asians, like in Iselin, NJ) were for
the most part Hindus, not Muslims.
That's way more than a slight
difference, and mucho cabelleros
have died over this factor, Senor
(to badly mix references). We had
a few local bars for Bikers which
were still hanging around back then,
in Iselin - which was swiftly turning
itself over to a complete Little Bombay
format - ethnic food and people,
jewelry and fashions galore, in fact
you tripped over them, even when
sober. They weren't exactly the
motorcycle crowd, and Mayor
McGreevey, at the time, kept giving
them inducements and exemptions,
which really pissed bikers off. So,
most any time there was a real sort
of war, or anger anyway, over the
act that Iselin - once a down and
dirty, tough local town, had been
willingly turned over to another
entire nation-state right here in
'our' home, as they would put it.
One after the other, all the bars
were falling, until Jack's was gone,
then Hank's was gone, the Pioneer,
after hanging on for the longest time,
bit the dust, and then even Flip's
went down. It was sad. Our last
redoubt had been the Pioneer, home
to, at some point or another locally,
every form of parking lot offense
that could be thought of, and I mean
all of them. The Woodbridge cops
used to come by, empty the bar
of anyone who had a motorcycle
parked outside, and then go up
and down each one for violations
(completely ignoring the fact that
we were blasted, which wasn't,
I guess, a 'violation' until we
tried getting on one of them
and starting it for the ride home).
This happened three or four times,
on usually the worst of the hot,
Summer nights when no one really
wanted to hear this stuff - a brazen,
over the top lecture on basically
their hatred of us. It all worked
out. Our New York cop guys
sued to laugh at the stories.
One or more times in NYC we
were in much tougher situations,
really not laughable at all, but
we managed. One time, an ankle
holster got spied by someone,
in the bar we were at, which
wasn't really a bar but rather a
'club's' mechanic shop being used
after hours. That didn't fly to well,
and rather than press for trouble
or worse, we left. There were any
number of these sorts of things -
in Bayonne, one clubhouse got
firebombed, by another club.
On another Bayonne place, the
guy near the top of running the
private bar and gambling den
got found out pilfering and,
in lieu of instant death, had to
leave, and I mean leave. Better
to have just changed his name
and moved to Arizona. The
Biker world doesn't have any
witness protection plan.
-
I found out eventually, too that
the Biker world pretty much lacks
the factor of 'Quality,' in much the
same way as I see now too that
Avenel itself does, (lack it).
You see, simply 'doing' something
is never really enough. It's 'how'
you do it, and what goes into it,
that matters, and that factor is
Quality - which factor colors
everything else. Cutting corners,
fudging, pretending things are
what they're not, those are all
Qualitative factors - like noise,
or being obese, if it just comes
from non-committal living and
not some 'medical' condition.
(You don't hear that much anymore,
or like you used to forty years ago.
Now people just seem prideless
enough to outgrow their brains,
their clothes, and their personal
preferences and thing nothing
of it. It's like everyone now needs
a butler to tell them, please
not to walk around like that).
-
I'm no different, but for me it's all
by choice. I've determined myself to
look like crap, just to ensure that
my outsider status remains obvious,
evident, and gets taken seriously.
Much else, I simply don't care
about, including most other people's
opinions. (OK, I said most). So, in
order to maintain en even keel, let's
step out, have a few, and walk home
along the tracks to Avenel. OK?
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