Mitch isn’t his real name.
Mitch has a ZZTop fuck off spade beard, but it is showing bits of grey now, Mitch is 6 foot 2, and heavy built, going to a paunch of course, Mitch was born on a Harley. Mitch has been in an “outlaw” patch club for 20+ years. Mitch is badass.
Go to Sturgis during bike week and you’ll see 10,000 just like Mitch.
Thing is, I knew Mitch way back, back when Mitch was riding a Honda 200 cc, back when Mitch was single, but had a fat ugly chick tailing him, back when…
Sometimes I run in to these people, we nod and check each other out, and the young buck’s working on their reputations can’t figure out why the greybeards are so quick to nod and smile at me, Hey Bro.
There aren’t many of them left of course, dying young is an occupational hazard of the badass biker, even within the relatively protected and supportive environment of a patch club, and I always shunned taking colours because to me I just didn’t need yet another fucking target on my back.
Sometimes you’ll overhear the bits of conversation, the young bucks saying to the greybeards “Who is he then, he don’t look like shit, I could break him in half”
Sometimes you’ll overhear the response, “nobody really knew who he was, always ran alone, lone wolf, but you kept hearing stories, nothing you could pin on him and nothing he’d admit to, but you heard stories”
“What stories?” says the young buck
“Never you mind..” says the greybeard, “… never you mind…”
So I sit down with Mitch, who I haven’t seen for 15/20 years and we shoot the shit and play catch up, and you can tell from the young bucks faces when some pennies drop and they realise that certain folklore tales of the old guys in badass yesteryear and what we are discussing, this drink of piss was actually there, and it sounds like he was actually involved.
And we get to the present, Mitch is in a bind, he’s living in some guys spare room, and he only managed to keep the bike because it was registered to the club as club property, when that fat bitch I knew way back when divorced him and took him to the fucking cleaners last year.
Time collapses and I see that old Mitch on the Honda, desperate to impress and belong, saving for his first HD, and I flick back to the shell in front of me.
I drop that I have been through the same shit, FRA / DV allegations, the works, Mitch is all Jesus Christ, she’s worm food of course…. hell no Mitch, I got older but I got wiser too, the world has moved on, it’s a digital age baby, CCTV / CSI / DNA / facial recognition, life is for the fucking living… plus I’m not whacked out on acid and speed all the time.
Nevertheless, something funny has come over me, the old mannerisms and speech patterns and indeed attitudes have resurfaced, a little, while talking to Mitch, so one of the young bitches who is clearly with the roid rage buck says something about things being tough all over, it isn’t even a concious decision, my mouth says “Shut the fuck up bitch, this is a man’s conversation.”
Later, I re-run it in my head, and somewhere I clearly noticed her look to the roid rage buck for support, and I clearly noticed the roid rage buck puff up, and I clearly noticed him then decide maybe now is not the time or place.
Mitch grins, hey bro, it’s real good to see you again, he laughs, I can almost see the old days re-runs screening through his head, back when we were men, back when he was a man, not a broke down old man looking downhill all the way to the grave.
He takes a breath and laughs out loud, then shrugs, then says “Hey man, I’ll admit it, I wasn’t you, even dead guy #1 dead guy #2 dead guy #3 (legends and founder members, who we knew well, back in the day) weren’t you…”
Later I re-run it in my head, and somewhere I clearly noticed roid rage buck have one of those oooh shit, that was nearly a fuckup, expressions on his face.
Mitch carries on “… but hey, yeah my divorce was fucked up, but the club kept me alive man.”
“No Mitch… ” I said, again without thinking, “… the club was a safety net, it stopped you having to choose between being alive or being dead.”
That was a few weeks ago.
This morning I went into town to post some shit, I’m walking back to where I parked and the roid rage buck appears, my first thought is he has had time to think and he thinks he can break me in half, and he probably could, but he raises his hand in peace and says “Hey man, I’m supposed to give you a message if I saw you.”
I say “What’s that then?”
He says “Mitch jacked in his job and took his redundancy payment, drew it as cash and got on the bike and hopped the next ferry to Europe, last we heard he is in Greece and heading east, he says he’ll get in touch when he hits Goa”
I nodded, smiled, and walked away, remembering the young Mitch (who had read Jupiter’s travels) on the Honda with the fat girlfriend and his dreams of saving up for an HD, and riding that fucker to Goa.
Later I re-run it in my head, and somewhere I clearly noticed the reflection of the roid rage buck in the bus shelter, staring after me, probably wondering it what it is with these crazy old fucks…. hey, it was a different world kid…
Playing some JJ Cale for you Mitch.
