Honor Our Vets 22 Vietnam All Veterans Reunion

    This article is from Biker Number 267 January 2010 an Easyriders magazine.

South Mississippi Biker Rally

    This article is from Biker Number 227 April 2005 an Easyriders magazine.

Daytona Rogue

    This article is from Biker Number 226 March 2005 an Easyriders magazine.

Farewell, Larry

   Article from Biker Number 225 February 2005 an Easyriders magazine.

Honor Our Vets

   Article from Biker Number 225 February 2005 an Easyriders magazine.

Horse Kickin' Fun

   Article from Biker Number 224 December 2004 an Easyriders magazine.

Welcome Home

    This article is from Biker Number 218 April 2004 an Easyriders magazine.

Heritage Rally

   Article from Biker Number 217 March 2004 an Easyriders magazine.

Rogue's 100TH

    This article is from Biker Number 216 January 2004 an Easyriders magazine.

Dew Droppin'

    This article is from Biker Number 216 January 2004 an Easyriders magazine.

Southbound

    This article is from Biker Number 215 November 2003 an Easyriders magazine.

Little Sturgis

    This article is from Biker Number 190 January 2001 an Easyriders magazine

Spirat Party 99

    This article is from Biker Number 183 June 2000 an Easyriders magazine.

RIP

    Article from Easyriders magazine 324 June 2000.

    I got to my knees and let out a sneeze that spewed blood all over the floor. I shoulda stayed down but like a jerk off clown I stood up in the puddle of gore.

    I said "You’re really a sucker you gray bearded fucker, you half dead, old, bag of guts. Kiss your scoot goodbye cause you're fixin' to die. Then he kicked me square in the nuts.

    The crowd made for the door as I thrashed on the floor in a pain like I never had felt. But through all the raw hurt in the blood and the dirt I went for the gun in my belt.

    But I just made things worse the old guy was first and his boot came down on my hand with a sickening crunch the bones popped in a bunch

    And I tried but failed to stand

    Well I guess he got mad’ cause the rest was real bad As my rudeness he attempted to cure There were steel toed kicks roundhouse licks You get the idea I'm sure. With my ribs all mushed and my fingers crushed I was just this side of dead My bones were broke and I though I'd croak But I heard the words that he said

    "I may be gray but I got this way by out toughin' shitheads like you Real bikers ain't old till they’re dead and cold And I've got some more livin' to do."

    Then he walked out of the bar and I heard from afar As his bikes big engine caught. And as the blood dried I lay there and tried To figure out Just what I'd been taught.

    And the moral seemed clear through the blood and the beer though it hurt too much to stir With an old biker dude don’t ever be rude Just smile and always say ......SIR

Old Bikers

The old ones stand out now, their numbers dwindling down.

They are a sad loss to the American scene.

These individualist's with worn down clothes and faces.

You can still see them sometimes, the real ones, some in packs. Not as large as a while ago, sometimes alone. The alone one is the best. One who's been there a long time, staying in the life he loves. Never giving into a system that sucks you up like a vortex. If you slip just one foot into it, He's got his connections - a few like him that care for and protect each other Hanging onto the only unique lifestyle left, Like old dinosaurs, Their faces are leathered and rough by forty, but their eyes still sharp and knowing. Some are grey in the beards and braids. Some are limp in the step and some pain in the kidneys Still they know that no other life "is life." But merely a dreary journey into everyone else's monotony. He looks at the new ones, then turns away, Knowing they will never know of life on the road And of women who take it. Wild loving women who'll hang in with them, because they love it too. A women with a wild heart and a loyal soul, that's what's needed here. The new ones are shiny and young and a bit too clean. They're born in a system that now has an iron grip The new one's will never know and couldn't take "the life" I think it's a mystery, even to the old ones, Why this life is theirs, but it is, and it's the only one, When the last biker falls, like the dinosaurs, the sun will go down on a breed of heart-o-gold, Tough as nails, free spirited men. Who even at their worst, love what's theirs and protect it. In a worldwide system that is making all people as alike as manufactured dolls, The earth will be a duller place........... When the last biker Falls