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I'm stopped for gas in Arizona and I observe a kid on a Sportster waiting for customers to drive off and then squeezing the pump for whatever extraneous fuel might be left in the hose. It’s really really hot and I’ve been broke many times, so I offer to fill his peanut tank saying “hey buddy, you need some gas?” He looks around reluctantly agrees. I fill his before mine and went in to buy a couple of bottles of water for us. When I get out of the store, he’s peeling off, I notice “PROSPECT” on his vest. Couldn't see what club he was prospecting.
I headed out and rode a good 230 miles before stopping to gas up and cool off again. I notice a large group of bikes parked at the rest stop adjacent to the gas station. I’m sitting on Hester doing the squeeze-drip-squeeze routine with the nozzle to top off the tank when two from the group approach me, one of which is the kid for whom I bought gas. The other is a cliché looking biker type with 1% and “13” patches among other severely faded insignias. I still wonder how the kid got that far ahead of me on such a small tank of gas.
As they approach me, the elder asks the kid something to which the kid replies “yeah, him”. The elder shoves a $5 bill into my shirt pocket and says “He aint your brother.” For some reason, as they walked away I piped up and said “I said buddy, not brother. I know the rule and I’m not patched.” Without looking back at me, the elder said “he won’t ever be either if he don’t figure his way out of his own sh*t.”
They were Mongols. Other than PGR missions, that was my first encounter in 32 years or riding with a 1% club.
I headed out and rode a good 230 miles before stopping to gas up and cool off again. I notice a large group of bikes parked at the rest stop adjacent to the gas station. I’m sitting on Hester doing the squeeze-drip-squeeze routine with the nozzle to top off the tank when two from the group approach me, one of which is the kid for whom I bought gas. The other is a cliché looking biker type with 1% and “13” patches among other severely faded insignias. I still wonder how the kid got that far ahead of me on such a small tank of gas.
As they approach me, the elder asks the kid something to which the kid replies “yeah, him”. The elder shoves a $5 bill into my shirt pocket and says “He aint your brother.” For some reason, as they walked away I piped up and said “I said buddy, not brother. I know the rule and I’m not patched.” Without looking back at me, the elder said “he won’t ever be either if he don’t figure his way out of his own sh*t.”
They were Mongols. Other than PGR missions, that was my first encounter in 32 years or riding with a 1% club.