What is a Biker - 3 ?

Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul.

Some pics of what bikers used to look like in the earlier days of motorcycling.

 1941, Vale, Oregon — Men gathered around a motorcycle with stunt bars at an Independence Day celebration. — Image by © Corbis

A pic from ‘cyclepsycho’ the Adventure Rider forum.

 About 1940 up in Alberta, Canada 

The bike, as far as we have been able to determine, is a 1929 Henderson Deluxe. The sheetmetal fender skirts were added by my grandfather to keep Grandma's dress out of the spokes

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A site called Helium is a place where writers can display their works & I found a couple interesting articles.

I can’t vouch for the authenticity of this story, but even so it illustrates the nature of true bikers.

GENTLEMEN BIKERS

by Donald Hancock

Created on: January 19, 2009

She is not with us any longer. She died several years ago. But she told us a story of Bikers that changed my view of what Bikers are like. Her name was Jo Ann. She was a very gentile lady by any standards and was a leader in the religious group called Science of Mind. It was hard for me to picture her astride a motorcycle, but this is the story she told, and I do believe that it is true.
In her younger days she lived in the huge metropolis of Atlanta, Georgia - USA. Needing transportation and being economy minded, she decided that a light weight motorcycle would be more efficient than an automobile and so she purchased one.
She did the necessary training in order to pass a license and motorcycle safety test and, with license in her saddle bag she set out to learn the lessons that only experience can teach.
During the first week or so of her new venture she did very well. She managed to keep the machine from falling over when she came to a stop light and, after a few minor scares, began to feel fairly confident and even began to think of herself as a biker.
The big test came the day she decided to go down into the main hub of Atlanta to do some shopping. She had carefully avoided the heavy traffic areas until now. But she decided she was ready for the real traffic and so she girded up her courage and struck out for what was called, "Five Points", which could be a traffic nightmare.
She was proud of herself for the first few minutes, obeying all signs, making the proper turning signals, and keeping her speed well within the limit. But just as she approached the main intersection where all of the traffic focuses into one big hub of a wheel, the unthinkable happened! Her engine quit.
She had always had a bit of a problem starting the engine with its "kick start". She was a rather small and light weight young woman and was not known for her physical strength. In the crowded hub of Five Points, Atlanta, the most experienced biker might let a few swear words fly with such an untimely event.
So there was Joann, in the middle of the traffic, under the stop light, and with every attempt to start the engine just adding to the problem by further flooding the already flooded engine. As row after row of cars began to blow their horns in harmony and disharmony and as the lights changed several times with no one able to move because of this "crazy woman who let her motorcycle stop right in the heart of traffic - she shouldn't be driving a motorcycle anyway! etc. etc." You get the picture I am sure.
She was doing everything she knew to do and nothing was working. She gestured to everyone as the roar of the horns got worse. Her gestures were, of course, saying that if they would just be patient maybe that would help her think of what she needed to do. At the very moment that she was tempted to throw the machine down and walk, no, run away, a very curious thing happened.
A line of bikers came upon the scene and realized immediately the situation that Joann was in. The lead biker glanced back to the others with a knowing smile and lead about eight of the huge Harleys into a "circle the wagons" sort of formation around Joann and her little bike. The honking roar of menacing trucks and autos came gradually to absolute quiet. If such a scene had been staged in a movie it would have brought down the house in laughter.
These bikers continued to circle for several minutes as Joann "got herself together" enough to unflood her engine and get it started again. As they heard its healthy whine the bikers gave their salute to Joann and resumed their journey to some new adventure. And Joann had a story to tell her friends for the rest of her life. You can bet that she never let a bad word about bikers be said in her presence ever again!


Another article had an interesting point of view as to what makes real biker.

by Joe Maffei

Created on: January 30, 2010

A real biker doesn't have a whole lot of things that say Harley Davidson on them, except his motorcycle. He doesn't have to buy a pin at the biker rally that says, "I rode mine" cause he has nothing to prove to anyone with pins and do dads.
When he gets there, he doesn't check in at the motel, but likely the campground. His rain gear isn't gortex or some fancy man made water shedding material, it's leather, cause cows don't leak.
He can tell the difference between a June bug and a Dragonfly, just by the taste.
He doesn't know what the inside of the service department of the dealership looks like, cause nobody works on his bike but him. And he knows the guy at the parts counter by first name, and probably his wife, kids and the rest. This is because they speak the same language and share the same passion.
He lives by a set of rules polite society doesn't understand, and therefore fears. In his world, respect gets respect in return, and disrespect...is not advised. He doesn't ride when the sun is out, he rides in the pouring rain, and the cold, and it doesn't seem to bother him, cause any day riding is better than any day working.
He probably has tattoos, that you don't understand, that's alright, they are his and he doesn't care that you don't understand.
When you're broken down on the side of the road, looking pitiful next to your broke down bike, he is the one that stops, and gets you running, or, if it is seriously broken, doesn't leave you until help has arrived to get you and your scoot off the road, cause, that's just how he rolls. He has been there, and appreciated the help once upon a time himself, and learned to pass it forward.
When you ride past him on your bike in the opposite direction and wave, like all the other RUBS (rich urban bikers), it is likely he won't. It's not personal, he just does't know you. Oh, and yeah, before I forget, your not his "bro". One things that bothers a biker more is some guy on a bike, usually at some rally or gas station somewhere with the, "hey bro" routine. His "bros" or brothers are guys he has either ridden with for years, shared road and hard times and blood with, or, are actually guys in the same club. Just because you have a bike, and he has a bike, doesn't make you "bros".
And, forget the grey hair, likely he is not the one you wanna mess with. To quote a real famous old biker, "treat me good, I'll treat you better, treat me bad, I'll treat you worse" is something a whole lot of bikers live by. Respecting him will get him respecting you, disrespecting him will probably mean a co pay on your dental plan is due.
He loves to laugh, he loves to party, and he will probably have a few strings of beads in his saddlebag for the wet t-shirt contest.
Are you offended yet? Scared off? Don't be. It's our world, it is kind of sealed off and hidden from you, unless you go searching it out. If you find it, watch, listen, and learn. It is hard to learn while your lips are flapping trying to impress people, and likely he is not going to be impressed, so, listen, learn, observe. Ask questions, everyone learned at some point, and there are no stupid questions. If the answer is, "I can't talk about that" accept it and move on to another topic.
What is a biker? He is a guy that lives by a different code than most polite society will ever understand or accept. Or, as we are fond of saying. If I had to explain it to you, you probably wouldn't understand.
He is used to profiling. While the rest of the world just started howling about how bad it is to profile certain people for this or that, it has been happening to him for decades, based only on how he looks, or perhaps the cut he is wearing. You will never hear him scream about his civil rights being violated. It's just part of the territory and you get used to it.
Just like there is a "pirate's code" there is also the code of the road, and he lives by it. Of course, it's more of just a guideline.
What is a biker? Walk up to one and ask. We don't eat on our own, we are approachable, we have families and jobs and mortgages and rent and bills just like everyone else. We are just cut from a different cloth than most.
Say hi sometime, find out, we don't bite...unless asked.

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The term ‘Real Biker’ will be debated forever, by people who are in the culture and those that wish they were, as well as all the ones who support or condemn the lifestyle.

‘Hang in there’ –-  J D Redneck