My Friend, Dragon

I lost a friend this month and this is my letter to him, since I never got to say goodbye.

My Friend, Dragon
Doug, you are greatly missed. I received my last e-mail from you on the third of December. I didn’t see it until the fifth. I never knew when I hit that respond button that you would never see it. On the sixth, I received your final letter to me. It took me over a week to find your remains and I tried to give you a decent send off, but apparently your uncle stepped in from nowhere and had you cremated with no ceremony. You deserved better, though, I believe this is the way you would have chosen to be sent off, with no pomp and circumstance. I truly hope you know how many lives you touched with your generosity and knowledge.

You took the time to teach so many virtual strangers, people you never met in person, about so many different topics. You always had time for your friends and our stupid questions, which you always answered patiently and thoroughly. You always had a word of encouragement and advice for a wayward friend. I wish I would have listened more. I am truly grateful to have known you and to be among the few that you called friend. You were among the very few, outside of my club, that I consider my brother. I wish the I would of known the last time I saw you would be the last.

Even in your death, you have managed to help me. You have brought me a couple of new friends, men that you trusted, which is enough for me. You have put me in touch with old friends that I have not seen or talked to in ages. I have no doubts; you knew what you were doing and you had a reason to ensure I was in touch with Doc and the others.

Doug, you took on the awesome responsibility of both of your parents when they fell ill. Neither even knew who you were towards the end of their lives, but you kept on, determined you were the only one that would properly care for them. You eventually sold your collection of motorcycles and parts just to keep a roof over your comatose mother’s head long after your father had passed on. You went above and beyond what anybody could have ever expected any man to do.

Brother, you have brought me hope for an afterlife, something I never put much thought into. I hope that one day we can ride together in the hereafter, where there is no pain and no worries. I hope you are finally riding that old panhead again. My old chopper is just about back together and I would be honored, if you are able, if you would ride beside me once in a while. Until then, know you are loved and greatly missed

The Barbers Motorsports Museum in Leeds, Alabama, hosts an amazing Vintage Motorcycle Swap Meet every year. People come from all over the nation to attend. I was there this weekend. There were some incredible motorcycles there and some surprisingly good deals to be had. I hope you enjoy the pictures at least half as much I enjoyed taking them. Here is the link, you can hit slidesow at top left or view them individually.

Barber's Motorsports Vintage Motorcycle Swapmeet

To my followers

Sorry, I haven't been on for a while. I know I need to tighten up and I will. I've been busy as hell with life, club, school, blown engine on my scoot.

"The Lifestyle"

Bikes were a lot more fun when they were 'exclusively' ridden by angry, violent, intoxicated, anti-social, poorly groomed, heavily tattooed MANIACS.

I found this quote while reading Backtalk on Ironcross.net. Thanks, L.J.

This pretty well sums up my feelings most days any more. I spend a lot of time on a motorcycle, but I avoid most major motorcycle rallies because I don’t fit there. I make much less than a hundred grand a year and I put a ton of miles on my motorcycles rather quickly. Anymore, when I walk into a Harley dealership, they look at me like I am scum, yet when I pull into a gas station, I’m approached by some clown wearing brand new Harley Davidson leathers to protect him from a possible latte spill while he plows down the road in his escalade, narrowly missing motorcycles that are paying enough attention to get out of his way. He, is no doubt on his way to the Local HOG meeting, because he just spent thirty thousand or more dollars to buy a “lifestyle.” He got ripped off.

These people have single handedly brought Harley to their knees and it is not their fault, it is Harley’s. There are dealerships going bankrupt and shutting down everywhere. Production has almost come to a screeching halt. Because they turned their back on the people that kept them going through the rough times to cater to a fad, they are failing. They don’t carry the parts to fix any of the Harleys I’ve ever owned anymore because the RUBs buy more trinkets and sixty dollar shirts. That’s fine by me, I’ll just support the independent shops and the huge aftermarket supply.
Has Harley opened their eyes to what’s happening? Unfortunately, they have not. I went into the two local dealerships this past Monday, because the yuppies are finally starting to give up their garage furniture (can’t call it a motorcycle when it’s used as a decoration , a status symbol, and never ridden) a lot cheaper than this time last year, due to the depression we have been in for a while. Guess what? The fad’s over. My thoughts, which seemed rational enough to me, were that the dealers may have come to their senses and started offering reasonable prices on their used inventory. I was badly mistaken. They were offering the used motorcycles for two to three thousand over the MSRP of a new bike of the same model. The new bikes are about the same price of the used. I actually had a “salesman” tell me, when I asked him why it was so much higher than MSRP, “You have to pay to ride.” My reply was “I’ll rebuild my Ironhead and Harley can shove these twin cams up their collective ass.” All of this is in the midst of many, many dealerships shutting down across the country. Harley Davidson is dying a slow, painful death again, but I’m not sure they can come back from this one. The CEO’s will no doubt get their bail out before this use to be great icon disappears from the American landscape.

The question is, “Can we rebuild our true lifestyle, can we get back to the real?” Peter Fonda in “Wild Angels,” said “We just want to be free to ride our machines and not be hassled by the man…and we want to get loaded…..and we want to have a good time.” What happened to this attitude? This is exactly how I live my life. I’ve smartened up a little over the years. I don’t ride my scoot loaded anymore and I don’t recommend it, but this life used to be about our personal freedom from society’s rules, yet we’ve allowed ourselves to be drug down by them. All the major functions are invaded by the police and becoming more politically correct every year. When’s the last time a major party was thrown in a pasture on private property, without inviting the cops? When did poker runs become the answer to everybody’s financial windfall? When’s the last time you saw a “run” that said “Donate what you can and ride with us.”? When’s the last time you got on your scoot, just to see where she leads you, with no clue where you’re heading or when you will return? This is what we need to return to, our roots. To hell with the major bike rallies like Sturgis, Myrtle Beach, etc. To hell with "no colors, no drugs, no attitudes" signs, let the yuppies have them. We need to create our own motorcycle rally, put our signs up that say "colors welcome, RUBS are not."

I will be so happy when bikers are looked at as scum again and not the OCC ass clowns these RUBS seem to worship.

An open letter to Central Alabama Motor Speedway

To whom it should concern,

I came to your race Saturday night in support of my brother who has been running your track since he was thirteen. It was some great racing and could of been a great time, but the disrespect I witnessed towards our troops and our veterans dumbfounded me.

Let me start by telling you I am a disabled veteran of the USMC after almost nine years of service. I appreciate you taking the time to play the national anthem, however while it was being played, I happened to be in front of your concession stand planning to spend more money. As I stood at attention and saluted our flag during the National Anthem, as I always do, sales continued as usual. Apparently, selling a hot dog was much more important than stopping for three minutes to think about our men and women that were serving our country right at that moment. This is complete and utter disrespect for our my brothers in arms and our war dead that died so you could sell your hot dogs.

I paid $24 for the honor of witnessing this disrespect and it will be the last dime you will ever see from me. I will be sure to, as you said, let all my friends know about what a wonderful time I had.

Thank you,
Brad Hilyer

A Series of Misconceptions

My life has been a series of misconceptions.

I can remember being young and in a church, where they were telling me that if I listen to Rock and roll, the devil would come out of the speakers and take my soul to Hell, but there was a catch—I had to play the records backwards. I’m not sure why anybody would play their records backwards, but I highly recommend not doing it. They sound great going forward and the devil apparently has no hold on you when they are played in the manner of which they were designed.

I remember being taught about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, God and Satan. In the public schools, I was saying the pledge, learning about the constitution and certain “inalienable rights”. I still pledge my allegiance to the flag to this day, as it was originally written.

I can remember being young and in the Marine Corps, with a family and extremely poor. I was working every side job I could find just to put food on my table. It didn’t matter because all I ever wanted as a child was to be a Marine. Knowing what I know now, I must have been insane. I gave up a good portion of my life and my health to protect a bunch of rights that I don’t have now because the American Public freely gave them away while my back was turned. These were rights I held dearly. I was medically discharged from the Marine Corps, only to come back to a country that cared so much about what I and many others were sacrificing for them, that they forfeited my rights freely just to gain some false sense of security.

The biggest misconception was that I was fighting for our rights that the American public was not willing to give up. Wow, was I wrong! My life and my health were apparently given freely for the benefit of a bunch of pussies too scared to stand up for what I believe in, which is freedom, true freedom, not freedom with security. I’m talking about the kind of freedom our forefathers were willing to stand up, and die if necessary, to protect, There was a time in this country when men were willing to die for their freedom, if only to be free to express their thoughts. Now that I’m just a veteran, I’m expected to just accept this, and hand over my rights in the name of political correctness. To hell with that!

We’re not even allowed to fly one of the original flags of our forefathers for fear of being labeled a terrorist by the Department of Homeland Stupidity. What is this flag I speak of? Well, it has a yellow background, has a snake on it and in big, bold letters it says “Don’t Tread on Me.” That simple sentence use to mean so much to so many. They have even gone as far as to state that if we have bumper stickers of third party candidates, instead of the two parties which have severely failed us, we are potential terrorists.

All the government has to do now is to declare that you’re a terrorist and you’re entire life is over. They can hold you indefinitely with no trial. They can come in, search your house with no warrant, and silence your neighbors so you never are told they were there or why. They can tap our phones and read our e-mails. There is no right to free speech, no right to privacy, no freedom of speech and no right to bear arms. They were all taken by the Patriot Act. Since then, there have been more rights taken and handed over freely in the name of security.

I, for one, am sick of it.

Wake Up America

I have a lot of questions as to what the hell has gone wrong in America. Who opened the borders and why? When did we decide our enemies are our friends? When did free speech for American citizens become a crime? Will the American public ever wake up? We have become the nation of the offended. We don’t want to offend the ILLEGAL aliens or the Muslims. God forbid we say anything bad about the illustrious commander in chief. If we speak against any of the above, and are white, we are labeled immediately as racist. Call me what you will. I don’t like any of them. I didn’t like Bush, Clinton or Bush Sr. either. As a matter of fact, I don’t think we’ve had a decent president in my life time, but that’s a different discussion for a different time.

Back to my original point, our government has decided to sue Arizona for enforcing federal immigration laws, but has done nothing to prevent the safe havens which are actually breaking the law. The companies that hire the criminals that have broke and entered into our country, are bailed out by the government, as in paid billions by the tax payers. The “sanctuary cities” are allowing these criminals not only to stay, but giving them all the American taxpayer’s money that they can manage to steal. With the illegals come the La Raza, MS-13 and the Brown Berets, not to mention god knows how many other terrorist organizations. These cockroaches are flooding in through our open Southern border while South Korea sleeps peacefully because we keep their northern border secure. Where is the national outrage? Why are we not marching on Washington?

My next point: the Muslims are not our friends, period. If you don’t worship Islam, they have a special name for you—Infidel. This word does not mean fuzzy, happy cute things they love, it means, simply, we must die. There is no such thing as a “Radical Muslim” or “Muslim Extremist,” there is only Muslim. They are taught not only to kill any non-believers, but to lie to the non-believers in order to get close enough to kill them. They are also taught to wait as long as it takes to earn the trust of the infidels so they can kill as many as possible at one time. Human life has no value to Islam. Women have no place in Islam, except as a machine to make babies. These people attacked us, declared Jihad against the American Infidels, yet they’re being allowed to build a mosque in the shadow of Ground Zero. Why are they allowed this most ultimate form of disrespect? How many American people have to die before we wake up? Our government is more worried about civilian casualties in Afghanistan than at home. There’s something wrong with that.

Finally, Obama, the new Dictator of America, passes whatever laws he decides to, regardless of the public’s views of the laws. Between Obama and Pelosi, they’ve done more to turn this country towards socialism in the short time they’ve been in charge than probably any president in history. Back when they were forcing the Health Care Bill down our throat, Obama swore that it was not another tax, yet as it was just challenged in court, it was defended as enforceable because it’s a tax. That sounds like a lie to me. Now he’s pushing for amnesty for the illegals and bowing to the Muslim leaders, not to mention siding with Mexico against our own country.

They call me insane because I don’t agree with where we’re heading as a nation. I say, America, we need to wake up now, before it’s too late, if it’s not already.

Whenever the people are well informed, they can be trusted with their own government; that whenever things get so far wrong as to attract their notice, they may be relied on to set them to rights .…Thomas Jefferson

Following The Rules

All my life I have been told to follow the rules, whether it’s the Rules of our Society, the Rules of Law, The Rules of the Schoolhouse, or the Rules of Engagement. The Rules have been in place to attempt to manage every aspect of my life. Some of these rules carry heavier consequences than others and some made more sense than others. For instance, if I defended myself from a schoolyard bully, I could be suspended from school, but if I didn’t, there would be more bullies attacking me. I learned at an early age that rules are not meant to protect, but to control.

There are many sets of that rules I’d like to discuss here, and they need to be brought to light, but the one set that weighs on my mind most heavily is the Rules of Engagement our troops are forced to live and die by. What’s their real choice? If they follow the rules of Engagement they die. If they don’t, they either go to the brig, or can possibly face a death sentence from their own government.

I can remember being docked in a Muslim country about a year before September 11. The Al-Quaida (already a serious threat) had promised to blow up the next American ship to pull into their port. We were surrounded on three sides by mountains and were one hundred yards from a major shipping lane. We could only leave during high tide, leaving us as sitting ducks lined up at a shooting gallery at a carnival. The enemy could not have asked for a better kill zone. We were issued ammunition and were patrolling the ship night and day to protect ourselves. We, as has been the case since about 1958, were issued our Rules of Engagement, or as I think they should be called, Rules to Die By.

I can’t remember all of these rules, nor would I write them here if I could, but let me tell you about the one that really bothers me to this day. It makes my blood run cold to see a U.S. troop arrested for supposedly violating the rules of Engagement, because I know personally, what they are asked to do. I swear the Rules of Engagement are designed to kill our troops and to defend the enemy.

What brings me to this attitude towards the current Rules of Engagement? When we were briefed on the situation we were facing, we were told not to fire unless being fired at. That sounds reasonable, right? Well, it did to me until they explained. We were given orders that if we had a fanatic with a RPG which he was aiming directly at the ship, he can point it at us all day. Now, if he manages to fire the RPG, since it is a single fire weapon, he is now disarmed and you can’t shoot him then either. The only time that you are allowed to shoot the terrorist is the exact moment his that finger touches the trigger. So, for clarification, this guy can aim a rocket launcher at you all day, but you can’t shoot him unless you can prove that his finger is actually on the trigger at the exact moment you fire. This is the sad truth of what we were told, not an exaggeration.

What do you think the police would do if the same terrorist were pointing a RPG at them? Do they have to play by the same Rules of Engagement as our troops? They don’t, because they would be killed with quickness. Why do we allow our troops to be tied down like this? The civilians in this country, which allow, no, demand these rules to exist have more of a right to self-defense than our own troops, which are putting their lives on the line for you and me.

We need to demand that this war be taken out of the hands of the politicians and lawyers, and put into the hands of our generals. The last war we fought in which the generals were in control of their men kept the world from speaking German. It’s also the last war we decisively won. There was no strategic pull out, there was victory. America needs a victory now, probably more than ever.

The Truth about Motorcycle Clubs

If you take the time to look at the back of a patch holder's cut, you will never see MG on there. It reads MC for a reason. It is a club, not a gang. Here's a little education on this subject:

Motorcycles, women, booze, intimidation and drugs are what a motorcycle club runs on. The members of these clubs are filled with speed, mescaline, weed, alcohol, and anything else they could possibly put into their system. They’re all running around looking for somebody to kill, maim and rape. A motorcycle club is just a common street gang with fancy motorcycles and a severe lack of hygiene. If you agreed with me so far, then reading further will probably be a waste of your time, as your blinders are on a little too tight.

A true Motorcycle Club runs solely on brotherhood. This is a foreign concept to most, so let me elaborate. I will take a bullet for my brothers, no questions asked. Does this mean I always agree with them? The short answer is no, but they have my undying loyalty. Disagreements are handled in church, not in public. When a brother calls at three am, I get off my ass and lend him a hand. If my brother is attacked, I will do everything I can to ensure he comes out on top (We’ll discuss the reason he was attacked later in church). When my brother cries, I cry with him. When he laughs, I laugh with him. If he pisses his pants in public, I dump water on him to hide it, and then make all kinds of fun of him in private.

What does a man do to earn my undying love, respect and loyalty? It’s real simple; he earns the right to wear my colors by showing his undying love, respect and loyalty. It takes a special kind of man to do this. Most will never know what it is to be truly loved and respected, but for the few, there is no better place to be than hauling ass down the highway while surrounded by brothers, tire to tire, peg to peg, and shoulder to shoulder, knowing the next mile could be your last.

I have used words here that are foreign to most: respect, loyalty, brotherhood and love. If you do not know the true meanings of these words, there is no need to ever think you could possibly understand the ravings of this insane man.

Stoned and Drunk

This is just a poem I wrote. Some will get it, most will not:

Stoned and drunk, there is no pain
Nine years in the Corps,
I’m a veteran, I’m insane
I’m alive, but why still here?
I love my life in the fast lane
My motorcycles, I hold dear

My club is my life
My patch is my pride
My colors my wife
My cut is my bride

So many brothers gone
So many I have yet to meet
My life is soon done
The demons I wait to greet
For all the things I’ve done wrong
My soul, they will surely beat

For I live the life of my choosing

I am scooter trash

I am scooter trash, plain and simple, nothing more nothing less. What I hope to offer with this blog is a place to kick back, indulge in your beverage of choice and enjoy or hate on some of my writings. Actually, this space is for me. It is a place where I can share my thoughts with the world outside of myself. Here is my disclaimer, I am not politically correct. I will probably offend you at some point. This is not my goal, however, it will happen.

First, I'll give you a little background, so you'll know where I come from. I am a disabled veteran of the USMC after almost nine years of serving my country. I am no hero, just a guy that got off his ass and served his country. There are many able-bodied, poor excuses of people that try to call themselves men that have never bothered. I don't understand how they can look at themselves in the mirror daily and live with themselves. It's completely beyond my realm of comprehension. I fully support our troops, though I do not agree with my government much anymore, and I send letters to my representatives almost weekly to let them know, and I vote.

I swore an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States against ALL enemies Foreign and Domestic, and will do so to the best of my ability.

Motorcycles are my passion. I'll ride anything on 2 wheels with a massive engine, however, home built chops are my first love. I'm not impressed with people that buy the most expensive, biggest bagger they can find and leave it sitting in their garage while they wear their HD approved road gear in their SUV to go sip lattes with their boys at the stealership. You have nothing in common with me. I build, ride and repair my own.

Now, back to this blog. I will present my writings for your pleasure or displeasure. I'm not here for a popularity contest, rather to increase my writing skills. I expect feedback, positive and negative, and I will read all feedback and respond accordingly, as long as it's written in a clear enough manner to be able to be understood.

Thank you for allowing me to waste a few minutes of your day.