Biker Gang of Fools

Oddly enough I wasn’t part of the gang, but a victim. It was all very distressing.

We were coming home from our family trip to the hardware store (“Daddy, daddy! Can we go to the hardware store and buy some house paint?” “Yes son, we can.” “Yay!”) when it happened. There were a whole gang of crazy bikers, probably hopped up on goofballs. OK, there were three bikes (one with a lady on the back, the other two running stag) and they didn’t seem the worse for excess. They all obviously shopped together since all their bikes were equally loud (Harleys oddly enough), all their black helmets were equally cappish (like bike helmets the kids wear, only dorkier), all their jeans equally distressed (I’d say stone washed, but I could easily be wrong) and all their boots equally shiny new (as new as their black-black t-shirts). When they bought up their ensembles, they went for the full magilla.

We were sitting at a red light when the rode up in all their testosterone-drenched thundering glory. Oh how I wished I had a bike just like theirs. (Only, not so much really.) When the light changed the first guy rode off nice and steady, good lane position. The second guy dropped in behind him, staggered. So I knew these guys have ridden for a while and they knew what they were doing. The third guy was a little shaky on the start and he sorta drifted up and back in formation, but that could have been because of his rider. Or he was just new at the whole thing. But he was staying pretty much with the other two, so he should be all right.

And they were doing pretty OK. Until their lane ended. There was that big, yellow sign that said “Dudes, your lane is gonna end soon, so you might want to think about getting over” and then the road went straight until the lane actually ended, so you could see plenty far ahead and plan accordingly. I just figured they’d zoom up and get in front of everybody and that would be that. Yeah, they’d have to zoom up in front of me (like that’s a challenge) and the minivan in front of me, but then it was a quarter mile of nothing, so it seemed like a good plan. But maybe I missed something, because there was no zooming. OK, maybe they were going to drop back and slide behind me. No, no that didn’t seem to be about to come to pass. Oh, I see, the plan is to just sorta drift over and get into my lane right where my car is. Hmmm… that seems like the worst plan ever. I mean, if you’re going to play a rousing round of bumper-tag, a motorcycle doesn’t seem to be the vehicle of choice. The front guy (alpha-rider?) just sorta drifts over. (With the proper use of turn signal? It is to laugh.) Hmmm… that’s my front end right there where he’s trying to merge. So I beep my horn (it’s a Honda Civic, so it’s a friendly little “beep”), just to let him know “hey, I’m driving here”. And he goes back over in his lane. Only he’s running out of lane, so he comes back over. Speeding up might have been in his best interest, but there was that minivan right there. I guess to be fair, I could have slowed down and dropped back a little. You know, to give him some room. I thought of that and it seemed like a nice thing to do until I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw the pickup truck’s grill back there. Just the grill since the truck was that close. Nice.

Motorcycle guy is still merging. There’s still not a whole bike length between me and the minivan and I can’t slow down. So I give him another beep of the ol’ horn (“beeeeeep”) just to get his attention. He doesn’t really pay all that much attention, or can’t hear my horn over his rumbly bike, and keeps coming over. I slow down as much as I can (not much) and luckily the minivan speeds up just a little and he slides into the hole with a good four inches to spare. Then he slows down. A lot. So, of course, I beeped my horn at him real long (“beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep”) and he makes a Rude Gesture in my direction. Like it was my fault. Sheesh. It was even a Common Rude Gesture since we didn’t rate any novelty. That really hurt. I nearly cried.

After Mr. Big Shot Motorcycle Guy got in, I looked around for his friends. Hmmm… there they are! Behind the truck because they were paying attention to traffic and didn’t let themselves get boxed in and run out of lane and have to merge nearly running into my car. Good for them.

I’m still not over the Common Rude Gesture. I need to lay down in a darkened room and eat ice cream. It might be a while until I feel better and come out. Then I’m going to buy me my own motorcycle.

::: dishes up some Ben & Jerry’s and shuts off the lights :::

Let us know when you feel better, okay?

Was he big and burly. You know I always need that detail.

I’m back from Ioway! Well, actually I got back around 4ish Saturday afternoon. I had to get all unpacked and do laundry and stuff then. Then I went to bed early. Then I got up on Sunday morning, went to church, went to lunch with a bunch of people (Sonny’s BBQ. Yum!) Then I went home and had to spend a long, long time getting reports ready to email so that the powers that be can have the reports when the powers that be open their email in Tucson, AZ this morning. Bet y’all didn’t know the powers that be reside in Tucson did ya?

Bad News From The Swampcave.

I got termites. Well, not me, but the swampcave. Ick! I’d rather have praying mantises. (Yep, I did read last weeks MMP.) So now I gotta get the cave termite treated. GRRRRRRRRRR! There goes several hundred dollars. Also, I noticed that I need to caulk the backporch where it meets the house. I see a gap on the north and east walls. I’m betting the termites found that too. Swampy is not happy right now.

Also, I gots to go to Etlanner Wednesday afternoon and stay til Friday afternoon and I don’t wanna. It’s a called statewide meeting so I don’t have a choice.

The worst thing? You wanna hear the worst thing? The worst thing is I didn’t get to meet Misstee. I don’t know why yet. She mighta sent me an email to tell me why but I haven’t checked email yet cause of the report thing, termites, and all I just ain’t had time. Maybe she’ll check in and give us all the details. Or maybe she was confused as to my whereabouts in Ioway. Anyways I’m just all sad I didn’t get to meet her.

-swampbear (Termites, called meetings and caulking, Oh MY!)

A rude gesture story for you.

Before I was became a cycling fanatic in my 40s, I was a cycling fanatic as a teenager. I aspired to be the late 1970s version of today’s Lance Armstrong, which is pretty funny when you consider the gut I have now. Anyways, I would ride my bike whenever and wherever possible.

One of the things that has alwayed pissed me off is the driver who thinks that a bicycle should not be on the road, so they come up behind me and blare the horn. I happen to ride as close to the edge as I can, and wave cars around, so I don’t happen to think I’m a discourteous rider. Therefore, I perfected the over the left shoulder one finger salute.

On this particular day, I saddled up and set off for my day at high school. About 2 miles into a 4 mile ride, there’s a damned car horn behind me, and up goes the backfisted salute. The car then passed me, and *it was my mother. * :eek:

When I got to school, I found the payphone and called her at work to apologize. She said we’ll discuss it when I get home tonight. She got home, and said nothing. I was going nuts. After dinner, I finally asked her if she was going to rip into me for flipping her off. She said no, because she knew I was sweating all day up to the time I brought it up. The end of the matter was, “Be careful who you flip off. The next time it might be your Grandmother.”

Later in life, I used the “let them stew” punishment on my son when he got pulled off the school bus for fighting.

Jeez, what a maroon. That’s what happens when you reply to a MMP without your MMcoffee…

I’d rather have roaches than termites, and that’s saying quite a bit. Let’s hope you don’t have to do a lot of structural work on The Swampcave because of the little boogers.

MissTee has been MIA all week. :confused: The consensus so far is that you two ran off to Acapulco together…

Eww, we had mice last week. One of my cats caught them, but didn’t kill them; he just played with them. They were itty-bitty little field mice.
I got them away from him and drowned them in the laundry sink.
We saw one the first night, then we saw two the next day. So I killed three of the little buggers. Now we have some sticky traps, but haven’t seen any more, and haven’t even seen any mouse droppings.
I’m hoping any others saw what happened to their friends (a cold watery death in the laundry sink :eek: ) and skedadeled on outta here.

Sorry Swampy, but there was no burl on the biker. Even if there was, I wouldn’t say. I wouldn’t want you even thinking about such a rude individual. He’s beneath you. “Beneath you” as in: “not good enough for you”, not “beneath you”, like that.

We had powder post beetles once. I didn’t even know there was such a thing until the inspector guy told us when we were selling the house. Powder post beetles are bad. Very bad.

Thanks for the kindness BiblioCat. It’s friends like you that give me the hope to go on.

There’s a bunch of bikers that hang out in front of the Ben and Jerry’s near my work. It’s because it’s the toughest thing you can do, really - eat ice cream. Maybe even with fudge sauce. Whooo. Scary.

Need tea. Will be back.

So sorry to hear of your bad biker experience, Rue. It’s bikers like that that give the rest of us a bad rep. When we ride our Harley, we are much more courteous and careful than that goofball you encountered. Please don’t judge us all harshly.

Swampy!! So nice to hear from you–was beginning to worry that you and MissTee had run off to Aruba (not Acapulco). Too bad you didn’t get to meet up with her…hope she’s ok. Does your Wed through Fri trip mean you’re gonna just stay and hang out for DopeStock '04 next weekend or…no!, please don’t say you’re…not coming!!!

I’m also sorry to hear of your termite infestation…hope the damage is not too extensive. :frowning:

rue, my son, Lil Lestat[sup]TM[/sup] just installed a loud speaker setup in his little rice burner. Sounds like you coulda used one…that and one of those spikey-type things that come outta your hubcaps, maybe…

swampy oh, no! Not termites! Although I hear bears are known to feast on termites. I’m just saying. At least it’s not stick-fleas.

vunderbob thanks for the early Monday laugh. That was a riot! Your mom sounds like one cool dudette!

Mr. Anachi and I spent most of the weekend cleaning up after Charley. What a mess! Then Saturday afternoon we had a real bang-up thunder storm where one minute the rain was blowing sideways about 50 mph due east and the next minute it was going in the totally opposite direction. Bein’ a little gun-shy we were a tad nervous when some of the leftover broken branches started bangin’ on the roof. There is still so much debris in the streets that now THEY are starting to worry about fire hazards.

That’s all I got for now.

Tupug (Live from Charleyville)

I’m so sorry, Swampy. Virtual hugs from over here, and maybe you should ask to share Rue’s icecream.

The wood around our back door is rotting, so I know how you feel. It’s so soft I can pinch little bits of it off, if I were so inclined. God, this house has been a mess since we bought it. Leaky roof, rotten carpet in the bathroon, lawn that’s half grubs, half crabgrass, and leaky basement. Makes me almost want to get an apartment again – almost.

We’ll have to replace the door, though. We looked at Home Despot and found a nice one for $500. So it’s going to be a long while until we replace it, because that’s roughly what I spent on law books last week. Until then, I must refrain from pinching bits of wood off. sigh

MissTee and I did not run off to Aruba or Acapulco. Everybody knew I would be MIA last week but I don’t know about her. Maybe she’ll come a runnin’ soon.

Rue I’ve been beneath some big burly bikers in my time. You can take to mean whatever you want. I’ve also held a few burly biker types beneath me in my time. You can take that to mean whatever you want too.

I’m talking with the bug terminator this afternoon. That’s when I’ll know for sure that I either got termites or had termites in the swampcave. I guess I should look behind stuff like sofas more often. That’s where I noticed the damage. On the baseboards behind a sofa in the living room. I got two sofas in case anybody was wonderin’. Anywho, it looks to me like termites and not carpenter ants or wood beetles (what I think are Rue’s powder post beetles). Did I mention that I’ll need to replace baseboards too? Did I mention that the baseboards are stained rather than painted? Will I be able to match up the stain? This whole thing just stinks! Stinks, I tell ya! ** PEEEEEEEEE - YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!** It stinks bad.

I could use a big burly biker or two right now.


I’m now firmly convinced that all those tough bikers are really business managers, executives, and other assorted suit-types. Seriously, I know a lot of bikers, and they all work at my office (IT department of a major retail corporation).

But Lissla, eating ice cream really is a tough dude activity Like when you take a bite and risk severe ice cream headache. 'Cause that’s how bikers would eat ice cream, really cold and big bites. Double chocolate raspberry truffle-- oooohh scary.

Plus, Rue reminds me that I earned a rude gesture not long ago (I would like to say it was my first, but it’s probably just the first I’ve ever noticed). Dern me for slowing down as I turned into a parking lot. How dare I cause that guy to have to use his brakes?

First day of school starts tomorrow and I’m here setting up my classroom. I swear I cleaned this place before I left but there’s gunk and dust all over everything. I blame goblins, or termites.

I need a new lunchbox, too, and I can’t find one I like. What’s with lunchbags these days? I don’t want a pepto pink with some sort of hydrocephalic Barbie ghetto slut girl on the lid, lunch box. If I could make my dream lunchbox, it would be shaped like the rocket ship from Wallace and Grommit.

Elysian thanks for the virtual hug. It was all nice and feel good. Rue wouldn’t share his ice cream though. I mean, it’s not like he’s all selfish and stuff. He’d give ya the shirt off his back (which wouldn’t do me much good since I’m bigger than he is so it wouldn’t fit) and if ya showed up at his house hungry he’d make ya a grilled cheese sammich, but he draws the line at sharing his ice cream. Can’t say as I blame him. A man’s gotta draw the line on altruism somewhere, after all.

Puggy I’m glad you’re all safe after Charley. Hope the clean up stuff isn’t too ick. Bears do not eat termites. We eat pic-a-nic baskets (well, the stuff in 'em), cookies and drink beer, though we can be enticed with brownies. Oh, and we like fluffernutters and pizza but not fluffernutter pizzas cause that’d be just gross. I think I explained once before that we bears actually like marshmallow fluff and not honey. Pooh and his making everybody believe he gets his nose stuck in honey pots is just some weird English bear thing. We really get our noses stuck in marshmallow fluff jars a lot. That’s the bear food pyramid.

Ashes[sup]2[/sup] I think you should get a PowerPuff Girls lunchbox. I bet you’d look all cool with one of those. That way you can pretend you’re Blossom, Buttercup or Bubbles, depending on which one’s your favorite.

-swampbear (did I just admit I know the names of the PowerPuff Girls?)

Termites, carpenter ants, wood beetles and all other wood boring insects should be outlawed. Then we could deport them to one of those countries where they build their houses out of concrete and they would starve to death.

The only bikers I have a problem with lately are those rotten KIDS on their lousy BICYCLES tearing up my LAWN. At least shool is starting back up soon and they’ll be confined for most of the day.

Ex - (getting older and grouchier by the minute)

Not to be sweating it earthpup, I know that guy was just a biker aberation. My dad’s ridden bikes ever since the Earth cooled and the dinos all croaked. (Which was helpful since his bikes always ran on dead dinosaurs.) Most bikers are nice, sensible people. The lady next door has her own Harley and she’s nice enough. (She needs more leather though. Yeah, bay-bee!) This guy was just a big weiner-head.

Buttercup is the best Powerpuff Girl. She’s spunky.

I think a Wallace and Grommit lunchbox would be super cool.

Have you ever seen a snake eat a live rat? I hadn’t. Until last night. Now I’ve seen it. Twice.


I have a Winnie the Pooh lunch box. It’s nifty.
I also have a biker story. Years ago, many biker gangs would come to my end of the State of California for a big gathering. This took place at about the same time as the marijuana plants were ready to harvest. A coincidence, I’m sure. We’re talking great gangs of big, ugly bikers with bigger, uglier biker mamas.

So, in this particular year, I am driving south as the bikers are riding north, so we see several bunches of riders. (I’m driving with a friend of mine–I’ll call him Osbert. That’s not his name, but that’s what I’m going to call him.) We, Osbert and I, comment on different riding formations, colors, hair length (this was before mandatory helmet laws, although what self-respecting outlaw biker wears a helmet anyway?), and trade stories of the mayhem, maiming and other assorted criminal acts that seem to accompany the annual biker harvest celebration.

Eventually, we stop for gas. As I’m washing the windows, Osbert is pumping the gas and he starts chatting with the folks getting gas on the other side. This happens to be one of a gang of big, ugly bikers (the others are off dismantling a small foreign car or the like). Osbert will chat with anyone. He’s particularly fond of starting conversations with people that most people never talk to, and with police officers. He talks to cops on the odd chance that if he gets caught doing something he shouldn’t (trespassing mostly, Osbert has odd ideas about private property–like it’s only important if it’s his private property), the cop that catches him will be one that he’s talked to about some obscure hobby and he won’t get arrested. Apparently it worked. Osbert was never arrested, and his wife won’t let him do much of that sort of stuff anymore.

So, Osbert is chatting with a guy that looks like he may have worked security for the Stones at Altamont, and I’m thinking, “don’t stare, don’t let them know you’re nervous, just move slowly and deliberately, they can smell fear,” and the like, when Osbert calls me over. He wants me to approach the guy. Unarmed.

Hoping that being in plain view of thousands, well, hundreds, okay, a couple of other people will protect me, I join the conversation. As I cautiously raised my eyes to see if I can locate any identifying marks, Osbert cheerfully says,“I was telling him how good your chocolate chip cookies are. Think we can spare a few?”
I look at him like he just fell off the moon! A few? Do I think I can give a few chocolate chip cookies to a guy that makes Marlon Brando’s character in The Wild Bunch look like a girly-girl? Yeah, I think so. I dig out a bag of the cookies and hand them to Osbert who passes them over to the behemoth in leather and chains. Biker dude takes a bite (the gold tooth is particularly noticable since he was missing several other teeth–ran out of gold, I suppose) and then nods sagely and says, “Cool,” and takes the bag to share with the others. So, at least one portion of the Hell’s Angels liked my cookies and since then I’ve had a ready defense to any bikers that might threatened me:

“Don’t hurt me, I gave chocolate chip cookies to a biker once!”