Country, a member of Scorpions MC in Dallas, has allowed us inside his mind and emotions. He has taken us on an exciting, adventure filled and sometime life threatening quest to find out just who and what he is. He finds his niche, the life of an outlaw biker.
To catch up on Country’s adventures, CLICK HERE.
I could go on and on about the weird and the strange that happened on my carnival days but you will have to buy the book to get all that. Those days were mighty different than the laws allow now, which made for interesting adventures. Plus the fact we were young and bullet proof. Yeah, right.
I made one quick trip back to San Francisco in September 1969. I drove a 1958 Chevy Impala. I had the glove compartment full of money. I mean packed until the door could hardly close and lock. I had a clothes bar in the back seat that hooked on each side of the car with clothes hanging wall to wall. There was a bull whip coiled in the back glass.
I parked at a bar in the city where I could look out the door and keep check on my stuff.
Well as fate would have it, some cop was chasing a teenage black car thief and according to the cop the kid hopped out and ran over a hill. The cop (supposedly) fired at the top of the hill and the bullet went over the hill, dropped and shot the kid who was (supposedly) out of sight by then. The area was known as Hunters Point.
This set off, to hear the black’s story, a mostly peaceable riot. Well a riot is a riot. They say the cops fired on adults and kids alike. All I know is the bar closed and barricaded their doors with us inside and when they opened and let us out, my car, money and things were gone. Well back to square one.
You pay for your education one way or the other. This riot is a historical event in California. I had a penchant for being at the right place at the wrong time.
I had a drive in me to travel; I couldn’t stay in one spot very long. I didn’t know what I was looking for; I just knew I was restless and not happy with whatever I was doing. I know now – it probably had to do with PTSD, but at the time I had no idea.
Back when I was in the Navy I hitchhiked home on leave once from Newport, Rhode Island to Little Rock, Arkansas. I was picked up by a man in Missouri. He told me he was going from state to state getting agreements on where to hook up this Interstate highway system the government was going to make. Little did I know in a short time I would be driving on them.
Long stretches of it began opening up and with it a way of life faded into the past. Little mom and pop business began to disappear. Thousands of downtown areas in little towns which were the heart throb that gave it its individual personality began to have vacant buildings as the money went to the Interstate that bypassed them.
I think right along then was when people began to grow apart from each other and evolve into what they are now, a bunch of strangers that are looking out for number one, driving 70 to 80 miles an hour, hurry, hurry, hurrying everywhere they go. No time to slow down and enjoy life or get to know one another.
Ah well, such is the life the good Lord saw fit to let us run with until we get to the point we can see we aren’t capable of doing it by ourselves. That is going to take a big slap in the face of his creation to get their arrogant attention. Hope I’m not around when it happens because I’m right in there with them.
Right about then was when I was to get into the bike scene for the rest of my life.
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