I have a little story

[minks]

Ok it's truth not fiction but it makes a great story and with luck I can post you all some sweet pictures sweet as in cool, not cute. UGH bikers are not cute.

~~

Saturday afternoon about 20 bikers converged upon a lovely quiet cul-de-sac in NE Calgary between the hours of 11:00am and 1:00 pm. They pulled up on every kind of Harley you can imagine. Chrome and paint road dragons lined the street, an impressive but daunting display of machinery. Some looked like old guys just getting away from the work week, some looked like hardcore bikers who routinely tear up the streets and raise hell. There were a couple women in the group with bicepts as big as my calves who rode equally amazing bikes as the men. It was an impressive gathering.

We hit the road enmass a collective thunderous roar through the city streets out onto the highway. The temperatue was soaring but the open air breeze of riding a bike compensated for the intense heat.

Our end destination a small town called Nacmine, home of the "Bash in the Badlands" As we travelled the flat ribbons of heated asphalt we stopped at a handful of small town bars. The first smoke filled establisment was waiting for us as 4-8 more riders who had a head start were having liquid libations when we walked in. We as quick as we filled up the bar we emptied it as we headed on down the road, our numbers close to 30 and we were moving from town to town like a colony of well orchestrated loud bees.

Our 3rd and second last stop brought us into the small hamlet of Carbon. Nothing happens in Carbon until the bikers come in. As we roared into town, the tumbleweed parted as if Moses himself were comanding the sea. One by one bikes were backed up against the curb, helmets were removed and hooked onto handlebars or set upon seats.

The locals sat in stunned amazement as 30+ loud and thirsty bikers came through the ancient metal door. The old couple at the first table shuddered and scooted grandma's oxygen tank closer to her chair allowing us all to walk by. In kind each and every one of us who passed them smiled and said hello or thank you. Decrepid old missmatched tables and chairs were lined up single file down the center of the bar looking like time had never touched them. They were relics from grandmas era, cast offs that the bar took in when it was first starting up.

Halfway down this row of empty museum pieces sad a lone man, and older man, enjoying his routine saturday afternoon beer. He didn't look the least bit bothered by us, some of the bikers introduced themselves and extended their hand in friendly greeting. The old man sat and smiled and continued to drink his beer as we tried to engage him into small talk. He eluded to the fact he was a former rail worker and was happily retired. He didn't seem to hear us that well because he seemed to make his own conversation up and had trouble answering the barrage of questions fired his way.

Suddenly one of the other locals called out to him and suggested he play the piano for us. Well didn't the old mans face light up, you could see the sparkle in his eyes as he nearly lept from the table to make his way to the old fossil of a piano. He tinkled out a few chords then got into some golden oldies that made the entire bar stop and take listen. He was good, he was darn good. He was having a ball. He stopped after 3 songs but we clapped and cheered him on to play more so he did.

One of the bikers looked over at me and said "let's pass the hat for the old guy". I stood up and reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a hanful of change problably 4-5 bucks and dropped it into the hat and just as I was sitting down, my mate and the others around me stood and did the same thing. Unaware of what was going on behind him buddy at the piano played on as we collected $40 - $50 in cash for him. After he finished playing he returned to his seat, the one that likely had a permanant impression of his bottom side and drank his beer. We applauded him again, and the collection master walked up to him, placed his hand on his shoulder and said "here this is for you, thanks for making our day, the cash is yours, I only as that you give my hat back"

Our old piano player dumped the money out onto the table and poked a few coins in disbelief, he fingered the twenty dollar bill, and looked up at the biker and quite simply replied "thank you" and had another drink of his beer.

~~

Forgive my spelling and grammer I wrote it as it came to my head.

Pics will follow this week.