What’s with bikers dissing bikers? I mean, whatever happened to the “brotherhood,” the camaraderie among the outlaws who believe in the purity of the centrifugal force that keeps their bottoms off the asphalt?
It’s cool to hate Harleys now, mostly because it’s cool to hate anything popular (Beliebers!) and the Harley fans hate everyone else; the fanatic enthusiast who looks forward to taking a wrench to their Royal Enfields & haters who just can’t stand that century old lump of metal that barely moves and has decibel numbers larger than the horse power numbers.
Then there are groups whose nomenclature follows certain species of animals that couldn’t fly even in hallucinogenic Pink Floydian dreams. And groups named after fierce animals, purportedly reflecting their machines’ collective grunt. There’s even a group whose moto is “Cock up & ride” even though they themselves don’t do exactly that. Cock. Up. And. Ride. They have to un-cock and loud mouth their opinions about everyone else.
Then there is, of course, the “custom” scene where you have to piss all over the machine to make it your own unique pierce of heart (see what I did there?), just like every one else’s. These hipsters don’t lie-sters when they dis everything that comes straight off the mill. “You gotta chop her ‘fore you ride her,” according to the café-racerly inclined.
Why can’t we just ride, solo, or with a few friends, or with a group, without spewing opinion of the negative kind on the rest of the sore-butt-club? Haters gonna hate (hate, hate, hate, hate) as they’ve been repeatedly saying, long before Ms. Swift capitalized on it & probably earned in the 6 figures by repeating it over & over again.
Here’s my two paisas’ worth: Indians rock. “Two-fingers-to-the-ground” salute to you all. Stepping out on my Chief Vintage now to blow off some CO2. End of rant.