Old School Biker, I work hard, ride hard, drink hard, and believe in the brotherhood of all bikers. Help your brother, hold your old lady, and kick anybody's ass that messes with either.

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Bikers comments and graphics

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I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line.
But you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.

I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk.
But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local mall.

I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant.
But you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.

I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I drove by.
But you didn't see me driving behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.

I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children.
But you didn 't see me when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.

I saw you stare at my long hair.
But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.

I saw you roll your eyes at our leather coats and gloves.
But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old coats and gloves to those that had none.

I saw you look in fright at my tattoos.
But you didn't see me cry as my children where born and have their name written over and in my heart.

I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere.
But you didn't see me going home to be with my family.

I saw you complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be.
But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.

I saw you yelling at your kids in the car.
But you didn't see me pat my child's hands, knowing he was safe behind me.

I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road.
But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.

I saw you race down the road in the rain.
But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.

I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time.
But you didn't see me trying to turn right

I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in.
But you didn't see me leave the road.

I saw you waiting impatiently for my friends to pass.
But you didn't see me. I wasn't there.

I saw you go home to your family.
But you didn't see me. Because, I died that day you cut me off.

I WAS JUST A BIKER. A person with friends and a family. But you didn't see me!

IF YOU RIDE OR KNOW ANYONE THAT RIDES, PLEASE POST THIS ON YOUR PROFILE!!!!!
Re-post this around in hopes that people will understand the biker community.
If you don't re-post this, It sucks to be you. I hope you never loose someone that rides.
EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE US, RESPECT OUR RIGHTS TO RIDE WHAT WE CHOOSE AND
TAKE A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO BE SURE WE'RE NOT IN "YOUR" WAY

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Bikers comments and graphics

FROM ONE WHO DID SERVE TO THOSE WHO STILL DO

Myspace Layouts Facebook Layouts

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HAPPENS EVERY FRIDAY.  DID YOU KNOW?
 
It really breaks my heart to know that we didn't know this goes on every
Friday, well at least I  didn't know. Instead, I guess the media feels it's
more important to report on Tiger Woods with his car accident or Brittany
Spears losing weight and getting married for the 4th time or football
players betting on dogs, or endless stories about Michael Jackson. I hope
this article gives you a sense of pride of what our men and women are doing
for us, everyday, as they serve in the armed forces here and abroad.
  _____________________________________________
  IT HAPPENS EVERY FRIDAY!  WERE YOU AWARE?
 
  Mornings at the Pentagon
 
  By JOSEPH L. GALLOWAY
  McClatchy Newspapers
 
Over the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air Force
personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is war. Thousands
more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and facing months or
years in military hospitals. This week, I'm turning my space over to a good
friend and former roommate, Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently
completed a year long tour of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
 
Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that fills the
halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers, applause and many
tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May 17 on the Weblog of
media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for America
Website.
 
"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon. This
section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway is
broad and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of the
corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all
crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are thousands
here.
 
This hallway, more than any other, is the `Army' hallway. The G3 offices
line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army. Moderate
conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not have seen each other
for a few weeks or a few years, spot each other, cross the way and renew.
 
Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air
conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area.
The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares. "10:36 hours: The clapping
starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost of the five rings of the
Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building. This clapping is
low, sustained, hearty. It is applause with a deep emotion behind it as it
moves forward in a wave down the length of the  hallway.
 
"A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in
the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the
first. He is missing the greater part of one leg and some of his wounds are
still suppurating. By his age I expect that he is a private, or perhaps a
private first class.
 
"Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod as
they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I described one of
these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The
applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in
the burden ... yet.
 
"Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair,
also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause but I think deepens the
sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's chair is pushed by, I
believe, a full colonel.
 
"Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of his
peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant assisted as need be by a field
grade officer.
 
"11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt, and I
laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. My hands hurt.
Please! Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes soldier after soldier has
come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30. 53 legs come with them and perhaps only
52 hands or arms but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.
 
They pass down this corridor of officers and applause and then meet for a
private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the
generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their
chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this
hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and
smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of
them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.
 
"There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her
19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite understanding why her husband
is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who had never
shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps
more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given
on their son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or
clapping, is ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An
Airborne Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers
in this crowd have themselves been a part of this parade in the past.
 
These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers,
and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single Friday, all
year long, for more than four years.
 
"Did you know that?"

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