July 2013

How it should have happened

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  • Trayvon Martin: Hey, are you following me?
  • George Zimmerman: Ummmm yes.
  • Trayvon Martin: May I ask why?
  • George Zimmerman: Well, we’ve had a number of robberies in this neighborhood lately , and I don’t recognize you.
  • Trayvon Martin: Oh, Well, I’m Trayvon Martin, I’m spending the summer at my uncle’s unit 12. I expect you’ll see a lot of me this summer.
  • George Zimmerman: OK, thanks, good to know. I’m George Zimmerman by the way.
  • Trayvon Martin: No, thank you for keeping an eye out for your neighbors!

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I’m up way too early.   I don’t know why.

Its good to be home.     This is where I was born, and my family is all at.    There is something really comforting about that to me.    My father made his mark here, and I meet people all the time who remember him.    I miss the Man, and he was a Man.     Seems like there are damn few these days.    JVD took care of his own, and was true to the very end.

This was one of his favorite songs.    Being remembered was important to him.   Hard to forget.

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A Friday.

Leave a Comment / Bikers Against Child Abuse / /

Seems like a lot of biker shit is going on, but none of it involves riding.    Thats gotta get changed

My bike hasn’t started since I moved.   Like, it won’t start.    I hauled it down to blackball motorcycle and its more than likely a crank position sensor and I should be able to get it in the morning.    I need to ride it.    its the heat of the summer, but I know how that clock ticks.      Between the moving and work, its been too long.   I need to ride.

I talked to the new EagleRider tour guide for the Easy Rider tour today.    I met him in Los Angeles when I was there.   A good dude.    I really wish I could do the rest of those tours.     That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, doing what I was born to do.   At least I think so.

I’ve moved from Heber, to the town I was born in.   Thats been my last 2 weeks.   Orem Utah.    That also means a transfer to a new BACA chapter.      To be honest, I’ll miss Wasatch County, Heber and my old chapter.     It’ll always be the place I got my rockability back.     Good and Solid people up there, just 22 miles up the canyon.

Last night Myself, Missus Zip and my youngest daughter went to a BBQ, and met my new chapter.    I like these guys.   BACA was started here, and the founder is here, and 2 other people that were there on the original ride, 18 years ago.     I got a few stories, and I’m looking forward to more.    We ate some food, drank a little, and lit off some seriously good fireworks.   I laughed and listened.   There is some experience here.

I am a member of Bikers Against Child Abuse.    All the fun, all the brotherhood, all the riding means absolutely jack shit compared to a scared kid.    I’ve camped outside a 6 year old boys house for 3 days, because his abuser threatened to kill him.    It was his father.      He trusted me enough in the end, to show me the bruise where his dad stomped on him.    Shape of a footprint.      It changed my life, and fueled my fire.      I had a beautiful 16 year old teenage girl’s dad meet with me and a BACA brother in a driveway with his face in his hands, crying and thanking us, because his daughter finally slept through the night.      His daughter told me she had learned to sleep with her back against the door so she’d be awake when her perpetrator raped her.    She’d learned that, and found it was less painful to be awake when waking up getting raped.

Yeah, that sucks.    Sorry for jolting you out of a perfectly good friday night, but that’s the world we live in.     If I can stop any of that, I’m proud to be in that trench.     You can stop reading any time you want to, but an abused kid can’t stop it that easy.

To a kid:   My friends are scarier than your abuser.    You won’t knock us down.  If you come for a BACA kid,  odds are you won’t walk away.     Leave our kids alone.

http://www.azcentral.com/arizonarepublic/arizonaliving/articles/20121204public-response-bikers-against-child-abuse.html

 

 

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B.A.C.A.

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Proud to be a Member.

I am a member of Bikers Against Child Abuse. The die has been cast. The decision has been made. I have stepped over the line. I wont look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still.

My past has prepared me, my present makes sense, and my future is secure. Im finished and done with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tamed visions, mundane talking, cheap giving, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need pre-eminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity. I dont have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded, or rewarded. I now live by the faith in my works, and lean on the strength of my brothers and sisters. I love with patience, live by prayer, and labor with power.

My fate is set, my gait is fast, my goal is the ultimate safety of children. My road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions are tried and true, my Guide is reliable, my mission is clear. I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded, or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity. I wont give up, shut up, let up, until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, and showed up for all wounded children. I must go until I drop, ride until I give out, and work till He stops me. And when He comes for His own, He will have no problem recognizing me, for He will see my BACA backpatch and know that I am one of His. I am a member of Bikers Against Child Abuse, and this is my creed.

I’ve been involved with BACA since 1998.   I’ve seen some really terrible shit.    Things a kid should never experience, let alone hear about.     I’ve helped change some of that.     It’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

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Might as well Jump

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You got to roll with the punches, and get to what’s real.

I’ve been moving all day.  Hell, pretty much all week.   I’m pretty beat.    Having a brewski, kicking back and enjoying a moment in the new house.

My kids are digging it.    New rooms, new situations and after years of pushing them pretty hard to get a work ethic, I can see that starting to stick.    Just like my old man did to me.   They did good today.   It makes me pretty proud.

I was born and raised here.    Left here when I was 16.   Its funny.   Back then, all I wanted was to get out of here.   Now, I’m just glad to be back.

I’m 46.   I look at my life, and I wouldn’t change a thing.     I’ve paid a few dues, had some great times and I can’t bitch about a thing.     In fact, its the opposite.   I really dig my life.    “Perspective”  has been on my mind all week.     I want to make a post about it, just not right now.

Thank God for your darkest, shittiest moments in life.      I’m not sure how some people shoot out the other side and why some people fold, but my worst times have formed me into something I like.   I feel pretty lucky most days.

Another step in getting back to my rockabilly.     The road back is looking pretty good methinks.

Fuck yes.   Might as well Jump.

 

 

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