Good morning! I hope you are having a great day. If you are not, tell yourself that you are. Say to yourself, “Today is a wonderful day and I expect great things to happen today.” Today I would like to talk about forbidden words and phrases. These are words and phrases that you must remove from your vocabulary. The number one phrase you must remove from your
vocabulary is I can’t. I can’t do this. Instead say, I can do this. Even though you may not believe it. That’s why you are saying that you can do this. Even better, say “I must do this now.” Other forbidden words and phrase are, “I’m too old.” “I’m too young.” “I don’t know how.” Tell yourself that you can do anything. That you always get what you want. You universe brings you what you focus on, so don’t use any words of phrases that hold you back from getting what you want. When I was in my twenties I practiced martial arts, but I stopped doing that. I always wanted to get back into it. In 2019 at the age of sixty-two, I stopped into our local Kung Fu and karate school and watched a class. As I sat
there watching the kids and adults working out in the dojo I had a Devil on my left shoulder telling me, “You’re too old for this. You can’t do this.” On my other shoulder I had an angel telling me, “If you don’t try, you’ll be sorry.” So I paid for my first month of classes and signed up. What I discovered, is that I can do this. I may not be as good as the other people, who have been in the class for years, and my body may not be as limber as the younger people in the class, but I can do martial arts to the best of my ability, and I can improve on that. The only one that I am in competition with is myself. Shortly after signing up for the Karate and Kun Fu classes I also joined the Thi Chi class. At the time I signed up, I weighed about one hundred and eight five pounds, and I had a little bit of a pot belly. All I did was ride my motorcycle once in a while drink beer, and write during the evenings. Martial arts has changed my life. Now in twenty-twenty three, I weigh one hundred and sixty pounds, I feel healthier and I have cut way back on my drinking. I recently earned my green belt and I am halfway to black. If I would have listened to the negative voices in my head, I wouldn’t have achieved this. Also in twenty nineteen I rode my motorcycles with a group of friends to a motorcycle club event in Alabama. After the event, I rode up to New Hampshire, by myself to visit my daughter and grandkids. I had a great time. On
the way home I visited Gettysburg Pennsylvania and took a tour of the battlefields. I was on the road for a month. I saw cool things and met cool people. This would never have happened if I would have listened to the negative voices in my head that said, “I can’t.” So eliminate those forbidden words and phrases the come into your mind. Throw them out of your brain box because you can.
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John Rogers backed off on the throttle. He pulled into the parking lot of, O’ Sullivan’s Place, an Irish pub on the outskirts of Harlem Springs Arizona. He noticed a few other Harleys in the parking lot. Four of which he recognized. They set parked off by themselves and three others parked closer to the main entrance to the pub. Running late, John took a large duffle bag off the back of his bike and hurried across the parking lot to the front door.
John paused for a few seconds letting his eyes grow accustomed to the dim barroom. He noticed a group of bikers sitting at the bar and ignored them. Crossing the crowded barroom, he headed to where four of his buddies sat at a table near the back of the bar. The bikers at the bar wore the patch of the Road Dogs motorcycle club.
“Hey bro. How are things on the highway?” a tall corn-fed white boy sitting at the table said when he stepped up.
“Hot as hell. Like usual. I’ll be glad when winter gets here,” John said.
“Yeah, being a flagman in Arizona can be a bitch in the summertime. Did you happen to notice the guys sitting at the bar? This might not be such a good idea,” a big hairy Scandinavian sitting next to the corn-fed white boy said.
“I got no problems with the Road Dogs. Once we get our club up and running, we’ll have a sit down with them, but for now, this is our business,” John said.
“Let’s see the patches,” a short wiry blond-headed guy at the table said.
John sat the duffle bag down on the table, unzipped it, and laid five denim vests down on the table. He held one up for inspection. “This one’s mine,” he said.
The main patch depicted a snake crawling sideways through the sand. The top rocker said Sidewinders. The small MC cube set off to the side of the main patch.
The corn-fed white boy laughed when he read the name tag on the front of the vest. “Bones. Well, that fits. You do like your dominoes.”
“You bet I do Bill. You guys asked me to come up with some biker names, so here’s yours,” John said and handed, Bill Williams his vest. “We’re gonna call you Snake eyes. Turning to James Parker, the only black man at the table, he handed him his vest and said, “Jim, you are now known as Spades.”
The black man laughed. “That’ll work.”
Handing a vest to the short wiry blond-headed guy, named Tim Donavan, he said, “Tim. Your name is, Two-Bit.” Nodding to Bob Peterson, the big hairy Scandinavian, he said, “Bob. You are now known as Big Foot.”
Bob laughed. “Big Foot. I like that.”
Bones handed out the vests and they all put them on.
“I know we decided that you would be president, but what about the rest of the officer positions?” Spades asked.
Bones sat down at the table, a waitress took their drink orders and he said, “I figured Snake Eyes for VP. Spades, I want you to be our road captain. Two-Bit; since you’re the math whiz I’d like you to be our secretary and treasurer as well as our tail gunner.”
“What about me?” Big Foot asked.
Bones laughed. “That’s obvious. You’re gonna be our sergeant t at arms.”
Behind them, the Road Dogs sitting at the bar, headed, for the door. One of them glanced over at the five bikers sitting in a dark corner by themselves, taking in the patch.
“We may have trouble,” Big Foot said.
Bones glanced over his shoulder at the Road Dogs heading for the front door. “Don’t worry about them. We’ll deal with them old boys when the time comes,” he said.
“What about meetings?” Snake Eyes asked.
“I figured we’d meet here, on the first Friday of every month at around six-thirty in the evening. Tom says that we can use the room in the back. This is going to be our official clubhouse,” Bones said.
“Old Tom O’ Sullivan is a good old boy,” Big Foot said.
“What about prospects?” Two Bit asked.
“Start putting your feelers out for anyone who would like to join the club. I thought we’d take a ride out to Tombstone in a couple of weeks. That will be our first official run as a club,” Bones said.
“Tombstone. Sweet. I love Tombstone,” Spades said.
Finished with business, they did what most bikers would do in a situation like that: they partied.
Mr. Big and Pony Boy, two newly patched members of the Road Dogs hurried into the High Noon Saloon. Noticing Two Belts and Little Mike at the bar, they motioned to the back room where they held church. Little Mike and Two Belts picked up their beers and followed them into the meeting room.
“What’s got you two all worked up?” Little Mike said.
“We were over at O’ Sullivan’s place about a half-hour ago with Beer Belly,” Mr. Big said. “There were some guys over there holding a meeting. They’re trying to start another MC here in town. They’re calling themselves the Sidewinders. They’ve got their patches on the back of their vests and everything. The patch is yellow with a picture of a snake. The top rocker says sidewinders, with MC next to the patch.”
“Did their patch have a bottom rocker?” Two Belts asked.
“No,” Pony Boy said.
Little Mike sighed. “I’m surprised they didn’t want to have a face-to-face with us first.”
“I reckon they’ll have one whether they want to or not. We need to go over some things with those old boys, if they going to start another MC in this town,” Two Belts said.
“Them SOBs are diskin’ us!” Mr. Big said.
“Let’s not go off half-cocked. It looks like they’re not trying to claim territory. They don’t understand the protocol. If we see them out on the road, we’ll talk with them,” Little Mike said.
Back at the bar, Little Mike and Two belts sat down for another beer. Mr. Big and Pony Boy played a game of pool.
“What do you think about these guys starting another club?” Two Belts asked.
Little Mike took a pull from his beer. “It’s not those guys that I’m worried about. It’s this new blood we have in the club that worries me. Ever since we lost our bros up by Sturgis, things haven’t been the same. These new guys are a bunch of hotheads.”
“Church this Friday should be interesting. Especially when they hear that you’re stepping down as pres,” Two Belts said.
“Yeah, I have a feeling these new guys are going to try some kind of end run. That Mr. Big is getting a bit too big for his britches,” Little Mike said.
“We need to take him down a notch or two,” Two Belts said, glancing over at the two bros playing pool.
The next morning Little Mike and the rest of the Road Dogs rode down Main Street. They headed to Denny’s for a bite to eat when they saw five bikers wearing the Sidewinders MC patch on their backs. Little Mike pulled up next to Bones on the left side while the rest of the Road Dogs pulled in behind them.
“Pullover. We need to talk,” Little Mike said.
“Talk about what?” Bones said.
“Let’s kick some ass!” Mr. Big yelled.
Little Mike whirled his head around. “Shut up Big!” He turned back to the Sidewinders. “Pull over into the Chevron parking lot. We need to talk about this club you’re starting.”
The Sidewinders pulled into the Chevron parking lot and the Road Dogs followed.
Bones and the rest of the Sidewinders parked their motorcycles. The Road Dogs parked theirs. They headed over to where the Sidewinders were climbing off their motorcycles. The newer members of the Road Dogs stood with their arms crossed and scowls on their faces. Little Mike gave Bones a friendly smile and stuck out his hand. “They call me Little Mike.”
Bones shook his hand. “What? Are you gonna try and tell us we can’t start another motorcycle club in this town?”
Little Mike shook his head. “No. There are some things I’d like to go over with you.”
“What kind of things?” Bones asked.
“Protocols and such. Why don’t you guys come out to the High Noon Saloon tomorrow night?” Little Mike said.
“Why don’t you bring your crew over to O’Sullivan’s. We’re having a party on Thursday night. It’s kind of an official dedication for the new clubhouse. Tom is keeping the general public out for that night. It’s gonna be a private party.”
“Sure, we’ll be there,” Little Mike said.
Two Belts nodded at Big Foot. “You’re almost as big as me.”
“A little bigger,” Big Foot said.
“Be ready to get your drink on, Thursday night,” Two Belts said and headed to his bike. The Road Dogs rolled out of the parking lot and roared down the street to Denny’s.
Thursday Evening, the Road Dogs rolled down Main Street and pulled into O’ Sullivan’s Place at six. They parked their motorcycles up next to the building. Little Mike and Two Belts pushed open the front door. They sauntered inside and the rest of the Road Dogs followed. Pausing to let his eyes grow accustomed to the pale light, Little Mike glanced about the barroom. Bones stood up and motioned him over to a table across the room where he sat with his crew. The Sidewinders stood up, there were handshakes all around and then they sat down.
“Before we start this, let me buy, the drinks,” Bones said.
“I never turn down a free drink,” Two Belts said.
They shot the shit for a few minutes waiting for the drinks. The waitress stepped up, wearing a t-shirt cut low in the front, and set their drinks down on the table.
“Thank you darlin’,” Bones said and then paid for the drinks giving her a big tip. “What are these things you want to go over?” Bones asked when the waitress left.
“First of all, if you guys plan on selling speed or any other type of hard drugs in this town, we’ll shut you down. While we’re here, there will be no crystal meth in this town,” Little Mike said.
“We’re a family club. We don’t do drugs and we don’t sell drugs,” Bones said.
“Also, you’ll need to make an appearance at the commission of clubs meeting,” Two Belts said.
Bone’s sighed. “I don’t think that they have the right to tell us whether we can have our, own club,” Bones said.
“Yeah, but if you don’t want trouble with the other clubs you need to get backing from the commission,” Two Belts said.
“If you decide to present your patch, we’ll sponsor you,” Little Mike said.
“Okay. I don’t like it, but we’ll do it. Anything else?” Bones asked.
“We should support each other’s events, such as poker runs and things like that,” Little Mike said.
“I agree. We’re having a run coming up to Tombstone. You guys should come,” Bones said. “Anything else?”
“No that about covers it,” Little Mike said.
Two Belts glanced over at Big Foot. “Okay, big guy. Let’s see who can drink who under the table,” he said. The band cranked up, and several women climbed onto the bar, took off their tops, and danced topless.
“Now we’re talkin’,” Big Foot said. They climbed out of their seats and headed to the bar.
Thirty minutes later, all hell broke loose. A beer bottle hit the floor, someone cursed and the fight was on. Little Mike looked up. He saw Mr. Big and Pony Boy slamming their fists into the face of two of the Sidewinder’s new prospects.
“Damn that Mr. Big! We can’t take him anywhere without him getting into shit,” Little Mike said jumping to his feet.
“Yeah, and Pony Boy’s always right there with him,” Two Belts said.
The officers of the Sidewinders jumped up, along with the officers of the Road Dogs. They rushed over to stop the fight. They pulled Mr. Big and Pony Boy off the prospects. Battered and bleeding, the combatants stood glaring at each other.
“That’s it. The party’s over for you two. Let’s ride,” Little Mike said. Five minutes later, the Road Dogs climbed onto their motorcycles and hit the highway. They roared out of town heading toward the High Noon Saloon.
Hey Bro this is Cave Man. Trouble was brewing once more with the bros down on Earth. The powers that be in Biker Heaven decided to send me down there so I could sort things out. I decided to take Chico and Bone Crusher with me. We touched down on the highway about a hundred fifty miles west of Harlem Springs Arizona. When I get the chance to come back down to Earth, I like to get in some time on the road in a mortal body. There’s nothing like the feel of the wind in your face and your hair while you’re riding a motorcycle.
Thunder clapped and lightning flashed when we touched down. Our spirit bikes changed to older Harley Davidson motorcycles. We roared past the old oak tree that I plowed into back in 68 and motored on down the road. Five miles outside of Harlem Springs, I braked and pulled over to the side of the road in front of the High Noon Saloon. Chico pulled up next to me.
“Why didn’t you pull into the parking lot?” Chico asked.
“The bros are in there holding church. We’ll need to go incognito for a little bit. This should give you a chance to use some of those powers that you get when you cross over,” I said.
Chico grinned. “This ought to be fun.”
Bone Crusher nodded. “Let’s do it.”
We dematerialized and rolled into the gravel parking lot of the High Noon Saloon.
Inside the back room of the High Noon, the bros gathered around the table. A gavel sat on the table in front of Little Mike. “We have a few things we need to discuss. First of all, Mr. Big, you and Pony Boy were out of line over there at O’ Sullivan’s Place.”
“What? Those bastards started it. I don’t know why you don’t run them out of town,” Mr. Big said. Pony Boy nodded in agreement.
“You were out of line. We were their guests,” Two Belts said.
They argued the matter and went over some other issues for a while.
“Does anyone have anything they need to bring up?” Little Mike asked.
“Yeah, what’s with this policy of not selling dope? If we cooked speed or sold some weed, we could make a lot of money for the club,” Pony Boy said. Mr. Big nodded.
“That won’t happen as long as I’m part of this club,” Little Mike said.
“I’ll have no part of that either,” Two Belts said.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Road Kill, who was sitting at the end of the table and hadn’t said much so far, said.
“I know that some of you like to smoke a little weed now and then, but we’re not drug dealers. Anyone who uses manufactures or sells any hard drugs will have his patch pulled,” Little Mike said. “Any questions about that?” Mr. Big and Pony Boy gave him a hard look but didn’t respond. “Good now there’s another matter. I am going to step down as president. I nominate Two Belts to take my place.”
Two Belts sighed. “I make a better Sergeant of Arms, but I’ll serve if you have to step down.”
“I nominate Mr. Big,” Pony Boy said.
Pandemonium filled the meeting room.
“Let’s put it to a vote,” a bro named Tommy Boy said.
Little Mike nodded. “All in favor of Two Belts being pres hold up your hands.” Half of the members present raised their hands. Little Mike counted the hands. “All those in favor of Mr. Big being our new pres, raise your hands.” The rest of the patched members, mostly the younger newer members, raised their hands. Little Mike counted the votes. “It’s a tie. In case of a tie, the sitting president holds the tie-breaking vote. I-”
It was right about then that Chico, Bone Crusher, and I entered the room. You could have heard a pin drop, and all eyes turned to the door when it opened, seemingly on its own. Chico, Bone Crusher, and I stepped into the room. All though unseen, the sound of our footfalls echoed throughout the room.
“Who are these guys?” Chico asked motioning to Mr. Big and Pony Boy.
“A couple of dudes they picked up after you guys passed. I don’t know why they patched ‘em,” I said. We stepped up to the table standing behind the bros.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Chico asked.
“It’s time for you to use some of those powers we talked about after you crossed over,” I said. “These bros have an important decision on the table. Whoever is the next pres, will lead the club in his, own way. We don’t want these bros heading down the wrong road.”
Chico glanced over to where Road Kill sat at the end of the table and grinned. “Road Kill. He’s a solid brother and wouldn’t steer the club wrong. Watch this.” Reaching down, he put his hand next to the gavel. Closing his eyes to focus, he moved the gavel down the table until it sat in front of Road Kill. Road Kill’s eyes widened.
Bone Crusher laughed. “Those old boys look like they about shit themselves.”
“All righty, then. It appears that some of our fallen brothers are present and it is obvious who they want to hold the gavel. I nominate, Road Kill as president,” Little Mike said.
“I second it,” Two Belts said.
“Let’s vote,” Tommy Boy said. The bros sat at the table, their eyes wide, and cast their vote. This time it was unanimous in favor of Road Kill as president. Road Kill reached out and touched the gavel. When he did his eyes widened even wider still.
“Chico, that dude Cave Man and another guy that I don’t know. They’re here man. Standing right behind you Little Mike,” Road Kill said.
Little Mike and Two Belts whirled around. The other bros glanced behind their backs and around the room, but nobody but Road Kill saw us. Little Mike let out a nervous laugh. “I guess they’re here for church. You know you guys are always welcome here.”
“They want us to continue our business,” Road Kill said. “Since I am the new pres, Tommy Boy, I want you to be my VP. Little Mike, I know you were happy riding in back, so you’ll continue as our tail gunner. Two Belts, you’re the biggest SOB in the chapter so you’ll stay on as our sergeant of arms.” Chico glanced at a scruffy guy leaning back in his chair with his back against the wall. “Scruffy, I want you as road captain. Road Kill nodded to a dark-complexioned guy with pork chop sideburns. “Bad Bob, you’ve got the most book learning of us all, so I want you to serve as our secretary and treasurer,” he said. Road Kill turned to Pony Boy and Mr. Big. “I’m putting you two on notice. You cause any more trouble and you’re out,” he said and then banged the gavel. Angry looks crossed their faces. The sound of motorcycles pulling up outside filtered into the room. A prospect stuck his head in the door.
“Hey, you guys we have trouble. The Sidewinders just pulled into the parking lot,” the prospect said.
“Okay, everyone, stay cool. Tell them we’ll be right there.” Everyone else filed out of the room. Road Kill paused looking at me and said, “Dude I almost shit when I saw you guys standing there. What are you doing here?”
“The club’s in trouble bro. You needed some guidance,” I said.
“Bro you did, good. You’ve got solid leadership sitting at the table now,” Chico said. “You’ll make a good pres.”
“I’ll never fill your shoes,” Road Kill said.
“You’ll follow your, own path. You’re the right man for the job,” Chico said.
Nodding to Bone Crusher, Road Kill said, “Who’s this guy? I know you Chico and I’ve seen Cave Man’s picture in the Book of The Dead, but I’ve never seen him before.”
Bone Crusher stuck out his hand. “The name’s Bone Crusher.” They shook.
“It’s good to meet you. You don’t feel like no ghost.”
“I used to ride with another club, back when I was alive. I wasn’t much back then, but after you die you’ve got a lot of time to think. If it weren’t for Cave Man here, I would have been burning in the fires of hell by now.”
“Past is past. Let it die,” I said. “You’re a righteous dude now.”
“It sounds like the natives are getting restless outside. Let’s go see what these Sidewinders want,” Road Kill said and then headed to the door.
Outside, Mr. Big and Pony Boy squared off with the same two prospects that they had fought with the night before. They were starting to get loud and when one of the prospects stepped up to Pony Boy and Pony Boy pushed him.
“Hey! That’ll be enough of that!” Road Kill yelled. He stepped between the Sidewinders and the rest of the Road Dogs. Little Mike and Road Kill turned to face the Sidewinders.
“I’m sorry for these two assholes. We can’t take them anywhere without them causing trouble,” Road Kill said.
A confused look crossed Bones’ face. “I thought you were in charge,” he said to Little Mike.
“We held church. I stepped down as pres. This is Road Kill. He’s our new president,” Little Mike said.
“Pleased to meet you. They call me Bones,” Bones said and they shook hands.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Road Kill said.
“Well, shit happens. Our guys want satisfaction. They want to settle things.”
“Now we’re talkin’. We’ll meet you any place, any time!” Pony Boy yelled.
“Shut up! Pony Boy!” Road Kill yelled. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We’ve got more guys than you. You’ve only got ten guys in your club,” Road Kill said.
“We’ll pick out our ten best fighters!” Mr. Big interrupted. “If we win, you guys leave town! If we lose, you stay and we leave you alone!”
“Shut up Big!” Road Kill yelled. “Or you and Pony Boy will be the only ones leaving!”
“No, actually, that’ll work,” Bones said.
Road Kill sighed. “Where do you want to do this thing?” Road Kill asked.
“We could always do it out at the Punch Bowl,” Little Mike said.
“Great. Back to the Devil’s Punch Bowl. Sometimes you bros here on Earth are more trouble than you’re worth,” I said. Chico and Bone Crusher nodded in agreement.
“Tell me about it,” Road Kill said.
Bones looked up and his eyes widened. “Who’s he talkin’ to?” he said to Little Mike.
“Oh, forget about it. Do you guys know where the Devil’s Punch Bowl is?”
“Yeah, it’s that dry lake bed east of town,” Bones said.
“We’ll meet you out there at noon on Saturday,” Little Mike said.
The Road Dogs rolled out to the Devil’s Punch Bowl at eleven-thirty Saturday afternoon. Chico, Bone Crusher, and I followed along behind them on our spirit bikes. The bros parked the scooters in the middle of the dry lake bed. They popped the tops on some beers, waiting for the Sidewinders to show.
Road Kill saw a group of motorcycles heading toward them from the other side of the lake bed. “Here they are. Right on time,” Road Kill said.
“I didn’t think the chicken shit bastards would show,” Mr. Big said.
“Shut up Big. We wouldn’t have to be out here in the hot sun if you and Pony Boy would learn how to behave,” Road Kill said.
“You got that right,” Little Mike said.
“You need to keep control of this,” I said to Road Kill.
“I know. This is going to be one big fistfight. No weapons,” Road Kill said.
The rest of the bros gave him some weird looks, thinking that he was talkin’ to himself. The Sidewinders pulled up and parked their scooters. They headed over to where the Road Dogs gathered. Bones squared off facing Road Kill.
“Before we start this thing, I want to lay down some rules. This is going to be an old-fashioned fistfight. No weapons. When a dude’s had enough, he quits. If you’ve had enough, stay down or you’re fair game. We continue until only one man is standing,” Road Kill said.
“That’s fine, but I’m calling you out. Two of our prospects want a piece of those two loudmouths that caused the trouble at O’ Sullivan’s Place,” Bones said.
“That’s fair enough, but I don’t, have a beef with you,” Road Kill said.
“I got no problem with you either, but a president should fight for the honor of his club.”
“Pony Boy and Mr. Big, step up,” Road Kill said and then picked out seven more guys. As one man, they stepped up to meet the Sidewinders. Road Kill raised his fist, nodded at Bones, and said, “Let’s rumble.”
The two groups of bikers moved toward each other and the fists started flying. For the next twenty minutes, the sound of fists slapping bone echoed across the dry lake bed. Mr. Big and Pony Boy were the first two Road Dogs to fall. The two prospects that they had attacked at O’ Sullivan’s Place beat them down to the ground. They turned to the nearest Road Dog in the fight and continued the battle.
“Them Sidewinders can fight,” I said to Chico. We were standing next to Little Mike.
“Yeah they can,” Little Mike said, hearing my voice. He glanced around, but couldn’t tell where the voice came from. “Cave Man, I wish you’d either show yourself or shut the hell up. That kind of shit creeps me out,” he said.
Chico and I both laughed. The sound of our laughter whispered past Little Mike’s ear.
“These Sidewinders don’t seem like a bad crew,” Bone Crusher said.
“No, they’re some good dudes,” I said.
The battle turned in the Road Dogs’ favor. One by one, the Sidewinders began to fall as the Road Dogs in the fight hammered them with blow after blow. Finally, the last two men standing were Road Kill and Bones. Road Kill hammered Bones with a hard right that knocked him to his knees. He followed that with a left hook and hard right-hand fist that knocked him over backward.
“You’re done. Let’s end this,” Road Kill said, offering Bones his hand.
“We’ll leave our vests here and ride out,” Bones said.
Chico, Bone Crusher, and I stepped up next to Road Kill. “You know, Harlem Springs is big enough for two motorcycle clubs,” I said.
Road Kill looked me in the eye and nodded. “You’re right. It is.” Road Kill turned back to Bones. “No one’s taking off their vests but those two,” he said pointing at Mr. Big and Pony Boy.
“You know, you seem like a stand-up guy, but this talking to yourself thing you got going on is weird,” Bones said.
“Why don’t you guys come over to the clubhouse and I’ll explain it to you. You won’t believe it,” Road Kill said.
“Yeah, I could use a couple of beers. You felt like you hand a lead pipe or a roll of quarters in your fist,” Bones said.
“No only some old bony knuckles.” Bones stuck out his hand and Road Kill grabbed him up in a bear hug. Finished with that, Road Kill said, “Two Belts, Little Mike, grab Mr. Big and Pony Boy. I want their vests.” Motioning to a Road Dog prospect, he said, “Build a fire. We have some tattoos to burn off.”
“What about their scooters?” Two Belts asked.
“We’ll let them keep their bikes”
The Road Dogs and the Sidewinders gathered around to watch the show. The sound of Mr. Big and Pony Boy screaming, along with the stench of burning flesh filled the air.
The excitement was over, the two motorcycle clubs headed back to their motorcycles.
“Are we still invited to this Tombstone run?” Road Kill asked.
“Hell yeah,” Bones said. “We’ll head out about eight in the morning next Saturday.”
The two motorcycle clubs rolled out heading to the Road Dogs clubhouse. Road Kill lingered behind.
“You did, good. You’ll make a good president,” I said.
“From what I hear, you’ll be even better than me,” Chico said.
“That’s going to be hard. You were one of the best,” Road Kill said. He turned to Bone Crusher. “I never knew you when you were alive, but it’s been a pleasure to meet you, even though you are, what a ghost?”
“Something like that,” Bone Crusher said and they shook hands.
Road Kill climbed onto his scooter and headed across the lake bed. We followed along behind on our spirit bikes. One week later, we touched down on a two-lane highway, southeast of Tucson. We followed along behind the Road Dogs and the Sidewinders. They rolled down the highway heading toward the town too tough to die.