The Naive Biker Chick and the Gang Member

I was waiting at the parts desk of my favorite Harley Dealership. It was taking the guy behind the counter a while to find the right cover for my Heritage. I happened to glance at the man standing next to me. I noticed he was a relatively clean-cut, nice looking guy. He was dressed in the customary leathers of a motorcycle rider and was wearing a denim vest and t-shirt. The t-shirt is what caught my eye. On it was the logo and colors for one of the North Western outlaw motorcycle clubs. I stared at him for a few moments thinking that he just didn’t look the part of a gang member. He had no tattoos, his hair was short and he looked like your run-of-the-mill white collar weekend rider. With that t-shirt though, I knew that he was anything but a weekender.

One percenters are what outlaw motorcycle clubs are known as. The American Motorcycle Association commented once that 99% of motorcycle riders were law abiding citizens. The rest were dubbed one percenters. Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms refers to them as OMG, Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs.

These guys can be some bad-assed dudes. Membership is done only by prospecting. Their rules are rigorous and enforced by violence. Once you accept their colors you’re in for life. The only way out is prison or death. I knew this.

But me being me, I began a conversation with Mr. One Percenter. I knew from one of our friends that rides with this group, but holds no colors, that there was a “family meeting” happening a couple of weeks later in a town about 12 hours from here. “Are you going to the party this month?” I asked the man.

The guy looked at me and I could hear Jeff whisper behind my back “oh shit.”

“I’ve been to a few parties”, he answered. He was checking me out, wondering who I was, what I knew and how I knew it. At that point I thought that I had nothing to fear. Certainly this guy wasn’t gonna pull his 9mm and pop me in the dealership.

“I’m talking about the one in a couple of weeks” I replied and mentioned the town and state. I heard Jeff whisper “shit” again and “you’d better be careful Teri”.

“One of my friends rides with you and is going to cook for you.” His look softened, he asked the name of my friend and nodded his head.

“Yeah I know him” he said, “He’s a great guy. We got him this huge smoker to cook with there.” That’s when Jeff stepped up and introduced us. Mr. One Percenter gave us his name. He shook our hands and acted like he had known us all his life. We were all in construction and used the same lumber store. Our company’s account there is on credit, most likely his is a purely cash account, a large cash account.

We chit-chatted a bit, shook hands, said our good-byes and went on our way. Two days later when Jeff saw our friend he told Jeff that he had gotten a phone call from the club asking a few questions about how I knew about their meeting, if he told us about it and exactly what he told us.

Jeff came home that night and started a conversation with “We’ve got a big problem. It could be huge. I don’t want you to be embarrassed or mad.” Then he began to tell me a little more about the line I had crossed. Evidentially you don’t talk to these guys unless they first talk to you. You never mention names and women do not take part in the conversations. He then let me know that our friend will more than likely be called out at the meeting and there could be trouble.

My first thought was “how was I supposed to know?” Then I began to get angry. Mr. One Percenter and his “brothers” have a web site that clearly states when and where their parties have been and will be. They have pictures and even a freaking online shop!

I didn’t want our friend in trouble at all, but I certainly was pissed that they’d even question him when anyone in the world can pull up their information. I asked Jeff to apologize for me and told him to tell our friend about the website. That’s how I found out most of what I knew anyway.

Maybe I’m being naive, but I can’t wait to see one of those guys again.