A Run In with the Hell's Angels

Hmm, do they use the possessive apostrophe?   Not important to our snippet of a story, so do not worry dear readers.

It was this morning, a Friday.  The week had flown by, it seemed like Tuesday or something to me.  I had to check my watch to be sure of the day. 

Fridays are early pickleball games.  I was on the freeway at 6:40 and heading east.  The traffic was busy.  This is not the busy direction and with the virus and all, it should have been lighter.  As a proxy for recovery, one might want to take note of that.  I was in the second from the right lane and heading down only a couple of miles.  I heard, then saw the chopper two lanes to my left.  I was going 70 or so.  The car doesn't really go much faster.

The Angel was doing better than that.  Perhaps with a devil may care attitude towards the laws and mores of a just and fair society, priding itself on inclusion and universal comfort.  But he was moving along quickly and passed me.  I'm not sure I've ever seen a real Hell's Angel in situ before.  I had a co-worker who played in a band that played in seedy bars.  They were entertaining one motorcycle gang one evening and then the word was passed that the Angels were going to arrive.  The other social group decided to vacate as the threat of non-peaceable interaction was afloat.

I moved over to the right lane and then into the exit ramp.  It's a long sweeper and dead ends at a light that you rarely catch as the cross street is a state highway.  Today was no exception and as I approached the red light, low and behold here was the Angel in the left hand right turn lane.  My lane too and I stopped behind him.

This was the chance to do a bit of studying.  He had the jacket on with his colors.  Classic Hell's Angels logo, recognizable world wide.  Then there was a pseudo Germanic world war two helmet which also had a sticker on it with the same logo.  One might expect a "Live Free or Die" sticker there too.  It it was there I couldn't see it.

The bike was a Harley, of course.  What was the old line?  "Better my sister in a whore house than my brother on a Honda."  It didn't make it to an advertising brochure, but was in general circulation at some point in my distant past.

Saddlebags - expected but not made of leather.  Looked like a synthetic, heavy nylon with a bit of droop to them.  The bike looked in good condition.  Nothing old or classical that I could see.

Moving down were jeans.  But they might not have been Levi's.  Seemed to have some cargo pockets on them.  A bit unexpected there, clean too, no wear or dirt at all.  And then finally we move down to the boots.  Surely heavy duty leather with chains and a "stomp on the world" look to them.

But no.  I'm startled.  He's is wearing some jogging shoes, trainers for you Brits, track shoes!  Not black either.  These were a surprisingly bright red colored.  High tops?  Nope, somewhat slipper like in design.  I was shocked, shocked.  Had these young fellows who fly the open road with impunity become joggers or civilized to this this extent?

Then the light changed and the turn arrow lighted and we had official permission to be on our way, to join the main road and get on  with our day's activities.  The Angel's bike made some noise at it got up to speed.  He carved into the turn and crossed a couple of lanes to head south down the highway.

My pickleball courts still lay to the east and I motored down to the left turn lanes at the first exit.  I braked gently to a halt to wait for another light change and for a few moments could see and hear the Angel move off down the road.