"If You're Not Living on the Edge, You're Just Taking Up Space"

My how aging will alter one's perspective. It's the rare younger person who has the wit, wisdom and acquired learning to live life as it should be lived. Of course, I am not one to tell others how to live....I don't pay your bills so if ya don't stick your nose in my business, I won't say word one to others about their choices. But for me life used to be lived from one thrill to the next.

If one wished to imagine the life of a hardcore Biker, picture days and nights of hedonistic pleasures of every describable variety. Motorcycle runs where hundreds of hardcore Scooter Tramps thunder down the road, side-by-side, 70 mph as we twist through the turns in unison. To reach out touch the cat next to you and laugh as the people in cars withdraw in shock, terror, amazement, pleasure or disgust as the roaring file moves past.

To "white line" between two cars on a four lane road as you pass them. It's pretty comical to watch, or it was when I was "young, dumb and full of c^#" as it were, to watch as the two cars sort of involuntarily move apart as one shoots the gap between them. The space is so narrow I could actually reach out and touch both cars as I shot thru and then past them, laughing as only a madman would. The thrill is intoxicating, and I did it many, many times. For a real laff, tap on the driver's side window as ya shoot by...that'll wake 'em up!

The feeling of hauling ass down a two lane blacktop, leaning way over into the curves, slowing just barley to set up the apex, then powering through said apex. The feeling as the rear tire bites the pavement and launches one forward is thrilling beyond words.

The feeling of power and control as one pilots 600lbs of steel and rubber down the road with only a set of Levi's. leather boots and vest as one's insulation from the road rash begging to reach up and snatch that pretty young ass right off that motorsickle....makes life retain a certain urgency, and man-O-man did I feed on that in my younger days.

If I wasn't riding I was looking forward to the next saddling up, whenever it would occur. I would ride year round, but of course living in VA and NC, the winter weather was not too awful bad usually, although me and a brother did take a Christmas Day, 1983 ride that was so cold that I swore I'd never ride in that kind of cold again...it was bitter...in the teens, and man, at 70 mph it's like sitting on the wing of a jetliner at 40,000 feet, or felt like I would imagine anyway. And I never again rode in such cold weather...until it got that cold again and the need to ride was more pronounced than the need to be cozy and warm. Besides, girls offer to warm ya up, and what red blooded American Scooter Tramp can pass that chance up? Certainly not I!

The "sensation" of riding two up with a sweet little hardbelly perched behind ya so close her nipples bore into your back, not that that is a bad thing, ya know! Will I hook up with the little cutie? Almost assuredly, yes. I mean when she straddles me and that Scooter she knows the deal. They don't call 'em "Milwaukee Vibrators" for nothing ya know! Tends to get one's juices flowing, and ever the hedonist in search of the next thrill, flowing juices are way good.

Playing pool in a smoky strip joint with the brothers. Standing watch over the line of parked motorcycles to present a presence that keeps jerks, thieves and the overly curious from fondling your gleaming heap of fire belching steel. Field parties where from dozens to hundreds of like minded brothers and sisters meet to gather, tip a few Budweiser's, puff on the evil weed and piss into the bonfire. Someone pulls up a Dodge van and opens the doors, the massive home stereo speakers sitting in the open doors, David Allen Coe, Skynyrd, Charlie Daniels, Willie, Hank Jr., and all the rest blaring, as we half drunk, stoned and partying brothers and sisters lock arms, do the cancan and sing out of tune to the tops of our voices. Ya oughta hear a hundred partying fools sing "Devil Went Down To Georgia," as loud as possible.

We had one field party outside of Reston, Va in the late 1970s that was so raucous the cops showed up. They didn't bother us a bit. They just eyeballed us and told us to keep it cool and not drive drunk or disturb the "citizens" which we were happy with. I recall all the "Old Ladies" using their God given "pocketed parts" to store their Old Men's stashes to keep anyone stopped from going down for possession. Props to the Old Ladies of the world, and NO, it is NOT a denigrating reference, but instead a loving reference of the highest order.

Our Old Ladies mended us, fed us, warmed us on the cold nights and gave us a safe and comforting place to close our eyes, safe in the knowledge that they would do battle with Satan himself to protect us from those who would like to do harm and mischief to a supine and unaware Biker. The term "Old Lady" is one of reverence born of thanks, love and respect. As well it was an acknowledgment that this was MY Old Lady. As proud as I was to have her, she was as proud to be my Old Lady. Seeing my Old Lady wearing a t-shirt that said "Property of Bluto" was an honor to her and me.

Of course, this is written in retrospective on the occasion of my 54th birthday today. Mom called and told me how wonderful I am and have always been (silly woman) and my married daughter will be here later for cake. My ex called wishing me a Happy Birthday and I recalled the Hellion I was when she met me and fell head over heels for the young Biker, just waiting to mark the world with his presence. Keep in mind the only thing worse than aging is the only option of not having made it to a ripe old age. I hope 54 years are the beginning for me and not anywhere near the end, but I don't control that.

With my first grandchild due in January, I am as thrilled to live today as I ever was. I have awesome kids, a great son-in-law who respects my daughter and me (smart man), my wonderful and long suffering mom who I adore, and of course the most awesome little tootsie that ever lived who snuggles up next to my gruffly old ass every night. Poor gal...no matter how many times I ask her why does she love me, a useless, shiftless, lazy and now getting old EX-Scooter Tramp, she just smiles and assures me I give as good to her as I get from her. I don't see it, but I am lucky and smart enuff to not look a gift woofie in the mouth! Damn I love that woman! She likes me and thinks I am smart and funny. No accounting for taste on her part, but still, lucky I am.

Sadly my days in the saddle are likely over. Arthritis in my neck prevents the mobility needed to keep from being a hood ornament on a fast moving Buick, so I may have ridden my last miles already, but ZERO regrets brothers and sisters....ZERO! I have lived the lives of ten men and had a blast. I have great loved ones and am happy as a pig in slop. The only thing better would be to have health and life forever, but since no one has ever gotten out of this life alive, I doubt I will, but if the after life is half as much fun, eternity will be a trip man... a pure Hell on Wheels trip!

This is in tribute to all those who have come and gone in my eventful and fun as Hell life so far. I loved many, disliked as many as I loved, and am fortunate in the extreme. Thanks for the love and good times brothers and sisters - I love you all. To those who have passed, I will see you someday...not too soon hopefully. I have lived life on my terms, and what more could one ask from this opportunity? Live life like ya mean it - I have and still do and I am one happy old Scooter Tramp! LIke the US Marines, once a hardcore Biker, always a hardcore Biker. It comes from inside and NOT from owning a motorsickle. Live hard, love deeply and smile.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a memoir, but I could find no such category any longer so placed it by default in the op/ed category.