Posted by hogryder on September 18, 1999 at 16:15:16:
You guys were warned/threatened that if you didn't make enough entrys to this forum I would give you another "biker" tale. It hasn't been busy enough so you have no one to blame but yourselves. I will be merciful and make it a short one.
Many years ago (somewhere around 1985) I was on a one week bike trip on my Honda 450. (My ride at the time.) One afternoon while traveling through Oregon I decided to cut the day short and just goof off for the afternoon. I found a small campground in a state park that offered no modern conveniences; just a picnic table and a fire pit. After setting up camp I was sitting at my picnic table, enjoying the late afternoon sun, and reading a book. In the next campsite was a pick-up truck with a camper shell. Outside the camper was a young woman and her daughter who looked about 5 or 6 years old.
I was deeply engrossed in my book when I heard a small voice say, "Hello". It was the little girl from the next camp, a darling little thing all long blond hair, shy smile, and twinkling eyes. I said "Hello" back and she asked, "Are you a Hell's Angels?" I said, "No I'm not a Hell's Angel."
With that, she turned to face her mother and shouted, "Mom! He's not a Hell's Angels!" and turned back to face me.
The mother looked up and froze; paralyzed with fear. Her beautiful little girl was only a few feet from that large, unshaven, mad-dog-killer-biker-pervert in the next camp. I watched as all the color drained from her face.
For the next few minutes I carried on a typical six-year-old conversation with the little girl. It turned out her name was Angela and she was there with her mommy and daddy. Her daddy had gone fishing and she was supposed to stay with mommy but was bored. Her mom told her that I was "probably one of those Hell's Angels" and that she should stay away from me. She wanted to know what a "Hell's Angels" was and if riding a motorcycle was like riding her bike (she didn't even need training wheels anymore). All this time her mother stood staring at us, unmoving, her eyes wide in her pasty white face.
Finally I said, "I think your mom wants you to come back to your camper." and Angela said, "She didn't say so."
I said, "I think she does anyway."
So Angela and I said "bye" and she meandered back to her mother in a normal six-year-old fashion, stopping to pick a flower and looking at the trees. As soon as she arrived, her mother snapped out of her paralysis, grabbed her daughter's hand and ran into the camper, slamming the door behind them. I heard muffled conversation and a drawn out "But, Mom?!" then silence. I didn't hear anything from the camper until Angela's father arrived a couple of hours later and received the chewing out of his life. He was told in no uncertain terms that he was the lowest scum in the universe for leaving his wife and daughter alone and unprotected with that leather-clad vermin in the next campsite.
I've never seen a campsite packed up so fast in my life. That woman had everything they owned thrown into their camper in five minutes flat, bitching at her husband the whole time. I swear she never stopped to take a breath. The last I saw of them was Angela waving to me out the window as they roared away in a cloud of dust. I waved back, laughing.
That's it. Now if you guys don't start making more entries, I'll tell another story. I'm not bluffing! I'll do it!!