Just like any ethnicity, Bikers have their own language and terminology. When I first met Snoopy, back in his BC days (Before Christ), he had quite a collection of ‘show knives’ (not for cooking). Through the years he would casually mention, “This was my ‘wet’ knife” or “I liked to do ‘wet’ work with this one.”
At first, I was so ignorant about these things, I wasn’t even savvy enough to question the meaning of these statements and in the BC days, I didn’t want to know. I found out later, when outlaws used to talk about being involved in ‘wet work’ or said “We’re gonna get wet.” They were talking about an event or action that produced blood.
I explained that to preface the next few installations of Country’s stories. It looks like Country’s serriously getting ready to take his gloves off and some of his stories may ‘get wet’.
CLICK HERE to catch up if you’re just now jumping in. Country is an incredible ‘word smith’ and produces awesome ‘Page Turning’ work. He makes you feel like you’re on the back of the bike riding along with him and I can just hear him saying:
“Shut up! Hang on! Let’s ride!”
NEWS ALERT! Our own armed Forces just marched onto the Texas A&M University in College station, TX and gunned down unarmed college students who were holding a peaceful protest to the Iraq war!!
This didn’t happen of course, but what if it did? What would be your reaction? Horror, disbelief, someone must be lying? That is something you would expect to hear from Iran or North Korea. Wrong, it did happen in 1970 at Kent State University in Kent, Ohio, where students were protesting the announcement by Nixon that we were going to invade Cambodia.
The Ohio National Guard fired 67 rounds in 13 seconds killing 4 students and wounding four others, one of whom was permanently paralyzed. Eleven days later at Jackson State, in Jackson Mississippi, a little after midnight police fired 140 shots at a dorm killing two and wounding nine.
Amid all this the bikers were doing their thing; establishing territory, stabbing and scabbing, kicking ass, popping caps right and left. Biker politics was being applied with force, alliances being made, and funerals were regularly attended. For those of us that lived through it, it was a gay old time, if you were an adrenalin junkie and a thrill seeker who didn’t expect to live to be 30. Hell! We had the Federal government setting the example.
I got that old 900 cc Sporty running but it had a magneto that would collect moisture at the least temperature change, which was every day. As a result it had a worn out kicker (kick starter) by the time I got it. You had to really come down on it for a chance to get it to start. I would push the kicker through until it finally engaged then hop way up and come down with all my weight. At the top of my kick enough weight would leave the kicker so that it would disengage. Down I would come, bottom out, knee bending the wrong way, flop over on the ground doing the chicken, cursing and putting on a show for all sight seers, who were usually your bros (where was the love?) They yelled, laughed and slapped each other on the back.
“Here, let me show you how to do that” said Jim Ward. 15 seconds later he was beside me adding stereo to the moans and groans.
“You wooses,” said someone else, “you can’t crank shit; let a real biker show you how to crank a Harley.” Yep, he was next on the ground. That ol’ Sporster did what others couldn’t and took out three club members in five minutes.
In freezing weather we didn’t have fancy leathers and such; we just kept putting on another layer of clothes. By the time I got the sporty started I was down to my t-shirt in freezing weather then had to get dressed all over again. That was one bike I didn’t have a moments regret when I sold it. I got another panhead and I was home again. Now I could hold my head up with the best of them, but wait until you hear how I got it.
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