Biker Dude

The kidlings had a sleepover opportunity recently where each could invite one friend.  J’s friend has a traditional Indian (India Indian) name, which I’m quite familiar with since they’ve known each other for the past years.  I’ve met his mom a few times.  So, the day after the sleepover, the kids were all playing on the computer.  I’m working in the kitchen when I see this guy drive up on his Harley.  Biker dudes, despite Red Hog’s visit in July, are not a sight that is frequently seen at the Hahn home—men in general do not trod upon my sidewalk most days, unless they are a hapless and then very unfortunate salesman.

I opened the window, so the dogs would not be alerted and said, “Can I help you?”  I realize, this was the wrong thing to say, “May I help you?” would have been more appropriate, but I was tired.

He said, “Is Jesse here?”  I said, “There’s not a Jesse here.”  So, he looks puzzled and goes to his bike, where I see him making a phone call.  A few minutes later, I see him standing in the middle of my front yard, staring at the house.  Annoyed, I said, “What do you need?” 

In reality, this was based on the fact that I had fully imagined that whoever this biker dude was was really looking for the previous tenant and somehow I was going to get caught up in a case of mistaken identity and be murdered for unpaid drug money, caught in the middle of a vicious biker gang war, and my lifeless body would go undetected for weeks (because Lord knows the kids wouldn’t notice—as long as they still had electricity by which to play their electronics) with no way for the cops to solve the apparently random senseless and tragic case.

Finally, he said, “I’m here for my son, Jesse.”   The dim bulb barely buzzing in my head suddenly started to sputter to life and the slow realization came—Jesse was J’s friend with the Indian name.  I fell all over myself apologizing and felt about as bright as a room full of Bush brothers.  And, yeah, yeah, okay, so maybe he and I are in the PTA together and he’s probably not really a hard core biker guy with his bad flashy sparkly red, white, and blue bike and gear—so what?  He coulda’ been trouble, really!

The Outlaws are one of the nation's four largest motorcycle gangs, along with the Hells Angels, Pagans and Bandidos. The Outlaws have chapters in 20 states, Europe, Canada and Australia.

Published on: Aug 23, 2006