C'mon, Live a Little--and Ride My Chopper, Baby!-- Reb MacRath
Warning: a true tale, in its own way, of my appalling biker past.
She was waiting for me, God knew where. Her name, I believed, was Elvira. I'd barely glimpsed her in Seattle when she split with a biker the size of The Rock and flipped me the bird on the way. I felt a story coming, but not one I could write as a writer whose only bike had been a Schwinn. But then one night, at 3:00 a.m., I awoke from a dream of Elvira with what I thought was a rocking idea: what if Elvira waited in not one town but two?
You could blame Lee Child for the idea about two rival towns. After all, he'd written Nothing to Lose, a tale about two rival Colorado towns with just twelve miles between them. But I blame myself for the goddess perched upon that Harley, daring me to find her and teasing me with the riddle of her role in the two sites,
She'd have nothing to do with a loser who considered ripping off Lee Child, his setting and cool plotline. Hell, everyone rips off Lee Child--who ripped off the opening of David Morrell's First Blood: a stranger walks into town for a cup of coffee...and then all hell breaks loose.
Yes, Colorado was tempting. I was deskbound, after all, hobbled with a lame right knee and Child could give me the setting. And what was one more spin on Morrell's cup of coffee trope? But no, Elvira mocked me. Not Colorado. I stared at a map. And I stared and I stared. And then I stared a little more--until the right state came to me, a state that could be reached in better time by two beginning chopper riders attempting a delivery.
True, with my lame knee I couldn't get to Arizona. But, then again, Child had invented his twin towns of Hope and Despair. In my new role as a Biker Chief, I imagined two rival towns: one a no-bikers, all-American town called Civility, home of Mother's Own, and one a much smaller town called Angles that housed a hundred bikers in rotating shifts. This was where I had to rule if I were to find Elvira or lead her to find me.
Many more 3:00 a.m. wakeups followed. I went on to learn that Angles should be a hamlet, not a town or village. It has no mayor, no town council, no church, no formal meeting place. As such, Angles could be dependent on Civility for assistance with some basics such as 911 or utilities? What if, with one exception--my office--there is no air conditioning despite the scorching summer heat? What if Civility required biker-type deeds in return?
Without me as their chief, the bikers would drink themselves into their graves. But in exchange for two weeks residence each month, secure mailing addresses, and use of the Romper Room for their dalliances, I insist on compliance with our code. And failure to comply with that will result in two rounds in the ring with The Beast, our enforcer.
The administrative work came easily enough. At the same time, though, Elvira expected me to be to tune into Civility--and the hold that it might have on Angles for loans or credit arrangements. Was everything as perfect as it seemed to be?
Excuse me for a spell, please: I'm off to the Romper Room with Rayette and Maybelline, with hopes that word of mouth gets around soon to Elvira.
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Alright then, I feel better. But let's get back to business. It was no small achievement to decide upon a setting, learn all about towns and hamlets, and for my opening spin a riff on the climax of a great Sixties film. And, shades of Kris Kristofferson, a biker chief who'd been a Rhodes scholar and Golden Gloves champ before hitting the road might well attract Elvira. That said, I still had two problems to face:
1) I knew nothing about choppers.
2) I needed a MacGuffin greater than the trope about two rival towns.
I needed a mentor and found one in Sonny Barger, the legendary Hell's Angel biker icon. His book set me straight on enough of the basics to get me on the road, in gear.
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For the MacGuffin, though, Elvira continued to wake me at 3:00 a.m. Why were my two protagonists bound for Arizona? What was their planned destination and what did their bikes carry? What if they'd been bound for...Wait a second...Tombstone?
Finally, the real story came home. And the road since then has led me to Tucson. I'm still waiting for Elvira. And a whole lot of learning went into a book on a woman I may never meet. But there are worse fates than being a Rhodes scholar and Golden Gloves champ, in charge of a hundred bikers in a place called Angles. As we like to say: "We're Angles' sons--not angels, son."
This is my report.
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