November-December 2012 Asylum Mobilitarium
Recently I found myself hanging out at Strokers on a nice October Saturday afternoon. This afforded me the opportunity to introduce a friend of mine to the culture of the motorcycle. This friend is somewhat new to the lifestyle of Harley-Davidson in particular and motorcycling in general. Saturday’s being somewhat slower and only slightly less crowded than most Sunday’s at the legendary bike destination, the people watching was better and sight lines were ah…better.
My friend was amazed at the seemingly different types of people present. Lawyers, doctors, plumbers, car salesman, felons and the latest in biker chic was apparently of great interest. I related that this venue probably gave a greater cross section of riders than almost any other biker-friendly hangout in Dallas.
Just take a bench and take in all that is glorious in the local biker world. Stroker’s clientele is 90% Harley-Davidson people. But you will see the rare sport bike rider, a Victory rider looking for respect and his place among the other big bikes and yes, the occasional weirdly silent Gold Wing. Teutonic BMW riders in their high tech gear and extra gas tanks, Triumph guys that can’t help but look cool. Then there are the Moto-Guzzi riders who are as passionate as Harley folk. But mostly it’s the Orange and Black that is represented.
Since the Harley lifestyle is a social thing, slightly more of those throttle-twisters will be riding two up than riding solo. There are many happy couples hanging out enjoying each other and the lifestyle they’ve chosen to share. It’s always been that way. The Founder’s promoted that from the beginning.
Of course on the other hand there is always the ex wife, husband, girlfriend or boyfriend showing up on another bike with a new soon to be the next ex. It can be a touchy situation. This writer has seen tears flowing as the ex walks by with the new, hopefully improved version. I’ve also seen slaps on the back and howling laughter as the poor, unsuspecting new flavor of the month looks over and wonders “why are those people laughing and pointing at me?”
You’ll also notice on any Saturday or Sunday that there are women sitting around looking for backseats and guys frantically hoping not to be riding solo for very long. For women it’s that ageless 80’s club thing. Turn, flip the hair, glance around, turn and talk to your friend, then repeat. For guys it’s taking that long look behind dark shades that will keep the dude from being caught staring too long.
Looking around, you might see the newly divorced rider who has a shiny new vest and a deer in the headlights look at all the strange goings on. He may elect to submit to the extreme peer pressure in his divorced guys bike club and go helmet-less. The Sons of Anarchy doo rag expertly tied to cover a receding hairline will do nicely this day.
There are the veterans standing around who have no more room for any additional patches on their leather or denim vests and have that bored been there done that look. They’ve “Seen the Elephant” more times than they would like to remember. Motorcycle crashes are hard to forget. Friends are too. They don’t ride without a helmet but respect the right for the other guy to do so if he wishes’.
There are the two really sunburned gal’s dancing by themselves since noon in front of the Bad Company cover band on stage. SMU students in bikini’s (well that’s their story) selling beer, working their way through school. Their soon to be ex boyfriends standing close, but not too close, giving the evil eye to any and all possible new boyfriends, or friend-boys even. Then there are other girls in bikinis attempting to wash bikes still too hot to touch, the steaming pipes resulting in a bad hair day.
At opposite ends of the covered patio you will see the bike-riders from the different outlaw bike clubs eyeing each other suspiciously but keeping in mind this is neutral territory. There are the wanna-be outlaw club members trying to stay out of the way of the real bad boys. HOG members just being social and having a good time. Then there are the posers desperately trying to look cool. Rolex riders, weekend warriors, they are all there.
As a leg is thrown over the iron horse and wait for your friend to saddle up behind you, the pilot glances over the crowd. You occasionally spot people who obviously have seen too many bars and too many bad relationships in the group. You can spot them. You just know!
And as you ride off up Harry Hines, pipes blasting in the cool Fall air, you wonder if you were observing the masses, or were you actually looking in your bikes rear view mirror.
