I drove from Albuquerque to Los Angeles recently. I stopped in Needles, California for
the night and was shocked at how hard some of our smaller towns have been hit
by our economic downturn. I didn’t
actually count, but the empty or boarded up stores seemed to out-number the
stores still in business.
When I pulled into one of the few Motor Inns still open
there were a dozen or so motorcycles parked at the entrance. I thought about trying to find another
motel to get a better night’s sleep, but the trip back through that hard hit
town just felt too depressing.
When I opened the door the backs of a dozen or so black
leather jackets greeted me. And
their mass hid the desk completely.
They were just checking in and the clerk was having a hard time with
their reservations so it was taking a long time. I got to chatting with a few of the gang while we waited.
They were all Vietnam Vets and were looking forward to a big
party at the local VFW Hall just up the road. Their bellies had seen better days and their tattoos had
developed a few extra wrinkles, but they were fun to talk to. They asked me if I was a vet and
invited me to join them. Not being
a vet, I declined.
To top it off, when I went to my room, black leather jackets
were going into rooms on either side of me. We smiled and nodded and I went to sleep early expecting to
hear them whooping and hollering their way back to their rooms at some later
point. Turns out, I didn’t hear a
peep all night.
What’s this world coming to when you can’t even get a good
story out of a biker gang? And who
wants to hear about a good night’s sleep?
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