I was driving an old truck to an archaeological dig and saw a Knucklehead blow the rear tyre. I held traffic behind me doing lazy eights as he slowly reduced speed and pulled off the road. 'Tiny' was a 300 lb Hell's Angel and accepted my offer to load his bike and drop him off at the nearest bike shop.
Several months later I'm in a pizza parlor to hear a friend's folk music group perform. Aside from a young couple celebrating their young daughter's birthday the only other customers were two really big black football players from the local college. I was well into a pitcher of beer, feeling no pain when the football players
put coins into the juke box and played rap music in the middle of my friends set. I staggered up, pulled the plug and walked over. I leaned over and told them they were rude and to 'STFU.' They started to stand up with half open, spittle dripping mouths of hungry predators about to make a kill. My plan of action? was to knock their beer into them and run. I did and they SAT DOWN saying 'we don't want any trouble SIR, sorry!' I turned away feeling like a real B.A. There was Tiny and a dozen other bikers with hands inside vests on various knives, guns, hand grenades, Robert's Rule of Order Handbooks. He held me up and we all sat down with the young family and sang HAPPY BIRTHDAY with the band. it pays to have friends in low places sometimes.
HDs have become just another preppie toy with Chevy Corvettes over here.