Long ago while teaching my future wife to ride a bike, I encountered a gang. Sort of.
Being a cop and a biker, I was familiar with some local clubs, and had heard of a lot of trouble different agencies were having with them.
We were in the parking lot below the Buford Dam, which holds/creates Lake Lanier just north of Atlanta. The lot was empty and almost 200 yards long, so I was letting her ride up and down. I was at the far end by the spillway when I heard the rumble of many bikes coming down the only road that feeds the lot. Almost Mrs. was at the other end where the road comes in. She’s on my 1948 H-D Panhead, restored to mint condition and in Atlanta Police livery. For some reason, she has stopped and is just sitting there.
I counted 17 bikes, some with 2 up, as they approached and circled my bike. Great.
Miss White Bread USA on a very valuable classic Harley, marked as a police bike no less meeting Mongo and the Warriors. As a few of the club members dismounted and approached my wife, I started planning. Clearly they would take the bike and maybe hurt my wife. I sped up my pace a bit, counting how many extra rounds I had in spare mags, and trying to pick out the most likely targets. There’s no cars or cover anywhere, so this was going to go badly.
Now they’re pulling at her leather jacket- my jacket - and another is doing something to my handlebars.
Now, I’m running, ready to fight, but still almost 100 yards away. The club starts getting on their bikes and moving out. I’m trying to see which one will knock her off and take my bike. A few of them wave as the last bike makes it to the exit, and I finally make it to my wife panting and wheezing.
I ask her what happened and is she all right? She’s peachy. They gave me this pin, that pin, these wings, and David gave me this Guardian Bell to ward off Evil Road Spirits. They said to tell you you have a beautiful bike and to bring it to some show blah, blah, blah.
Great. I’m full of adrenaline for the Big Biker Gun Battle of '87, counting bullets, and picking targets, while they’re being nice, giving jacket pins, and inviting us to a party.
Twisted Biker Bastards!