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| My dear old Dad surrounded by bikies. |
It started off as a sedate Saturday lunch with the oldies and my visiting sister, brother-in-law and nephew.
I was elected to choose the venue and I suggested an authentic and charming pub down the bottom of the mountain. We’d never eaten there before but Scotto and I had been a few times to have a Sunday arvo drink and listen to the band.
As we disembarked from our cars in the parking lot, our eardrums were assaulted with the sound of a zillion motor bikes flooding down the hotel driveway. We were stuck in the middle of the road with big, black sinister bikes milling around us.
It was like a scene from Mad Max. They were huge and scary looking bikies with skull masks, chains, tattoos and black leather. They had mohawks and pierced bits everywhere.
I spun around to check on my elderly mother and was alarmed to see her trotting way ahead of us in a somewhat hurried fashion. Great, I thought. I’ve brought my senior citizen, fragile parents to a bikie pub and have probably scared them into apoplexy.
“Quickly!” Mum shouted at us as we struggled to keep up behind her. “We need to order before all these bloody bikies get to the counter. I’m hungry and I want to get in first.”
She had a point. There were at least two hundred of them. The bar staff must have panicked.
We found out, via my brother-in-law, Pedro, (who went for a cigarette and got chatting with one of them) that they were on a memorial ride for a member who had died the previous year.
“Probably died in a violent motorbike crash,” commented Mum, always one for a bit of drama. I scanned the beer garden and wondered if it was more likely a death via a cholesterol related issue. They were all rather big boys and they were wolfing down the deep fried chips with a vengeance.
“She’s going to regret all those tattoos when she’s an old lady,” my mother remarked in a scathing tone and with far too much volume for my liking as she stared at a bikie chick over my shoulder.
“It’s her choice, Mum!” I hissed under my breath. “Don’t talk so loud.”
“Look at her! She’s got writing and pictures all over her body,” Mum continued, not adjusting her bellowing by even a degree.
I deliberately did NOT look at anyone and just put my head down and stared at my palms which had begun to sweat and shake. Sometimes I think my mother has a death wish.
Fortunately, they turned out to be very nice bikies and after a couple of glasses of Dutch courage I quelled my reservations and asked two of them for a photo.
They were very well-spoken and polite I must say.
They even said I could put their photos on my blog, Pinky Poinker.
They were super keen actually.
I always ask for permission before putting pictures of people on my blog.
Especially bikies.
You never know who they might be hiding from and I’d hate to be the one to expose them.
That’s a joke. I suspect that many of them were accountants, lawyers and school teachers.
In fact, the grade two teacher at the school I work at is a bikie which is funny when you think about it.
# Yes, I'm still typing my key words into the title generator. I love it.
As we disembarked from our cars in the parking lot, our eardrums were assaulted with the sound of a zillion motor bikes flooding down the hotel driveway. We were stuck in the middle of the road with big, black sinister bikes milling around us.
It was like a scene from Mad Max. They were huge and scary looking bikies with skull masks, chains, tattoos and black leather. They had mohawks and pierced bits everywhere.
I spun around to check on my elderly mother and was alarmed to see her trotting way ahead of us in a somewhat hurried fashion. Great, I thought. I’ve brought my senior citizen, fragile parents to a bikie pub and have probably scared them into apoplexy.
“Quickly!” Mum shouted at us as we struggled to keep up behind her. “We need to order before all these bloody bikies get to the counter. I’m hungry and I want to get in first.”
She had a point. There were at least two hundred of them. The bar staff must have panicked.
We found out, via my brother-in-law, Pedro, (who went for a cigarette and got chatting with one of them) that they were on a memorial ride for a member who had died the previous year.
“Probably died in a violent motorbike crash,” commented Mum, always one for a bit of drama. I scanned the beer garden and wondered if it was more likely a death via a cholesterol related issue. They were all rather big boys and they were wolfing down the deep fried chips with a vengeance.
“She’s going to regret all those tattoos when she’s an old lady,” my mother remarked in a scathing tone and with far too much volume for my liking as she stared at a bikie chick over my shoulder.
“It’s her choice, Mum!” I hissed under my breath. “Don’t talk so loud.”
“Look at her! She’s got writing and pictures all over her body,” Mum continued, not adjusting her bellowing by even a degree.
I deliberately did NOT look at anyone and just put my head down and stared at my palms which had begun to sweat and shake. Sometimes I think my mother has a death wish.
Fortunately, they turned out to be very nice bikies and after a couple of glasses of Dutch courage I quelled my reservations and asked two of them for a photo.
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| Pinky: A woman of the people. |
They were very well-spoken and polite I must say.
They even said I could put their photos on my blog, Pinky Poinker.
They were super keen actually.
I always ask for permission before putting pictures of people on my blog.
Especially bikies.
You never know who they might be hiding from and I’d hate to be the one to expose them.
That’s a joke. I suspect that many of them were accountants, lawyers and school teachers.
In fact, the grade two teacher at the school I work at is a bikie which is funny when you think about it.
There are two different types of bikies you see. Sweet natured, respectful ones and the ones that....
Never mind. Best not dig myself any further in my grave.
Know any bikies?
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| The Family |
# Yes, I'm still typing my key words into the title generator. I love it.
