I previously posted about riding with some bikers while I was stationed at Fort Benning. If you’ve read a few of my posts, you might have read that one. Anyway, we rode together quite a few times, and we visited the bar named, Someplace Else, most of the times we rode together. But one time, we stopped at another hole in the wall in Columbus. I can’t remember the name of that dive, but bikers, soldiers, and people who liked country music generally went to that bar. One Saturday night when we arrived at the bar, the place was already hopping. Quite a crowd had gathered to get drunk, tell lies, and get into fights, not necessarily in that order. I recognized a few of the soldiers so I walked over to say hello, “How’s it going, guys?” “Well, look who it is, Wright ‘I got my nose two miles in the air’ Masters. What brings you here? It can’t be the beer. I know it ain’t the damn music, and it sure as hell ain’t the women. So, what then?” said my old friend PVT Jones. “That glad to see me, huh Jones? Although, you shouldn’t raise your voice too loud to me or speak like you don’t like me cuz my girlfriend might get mad. And if she gets mad. Well, let me just tell you. You don’t want to make her mad.” “Why? What’s she going to do? Beat me up? A girl? Yeah. Right.” About that time, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw my lady biker girlfriend of sorts and said, “Oh hi Chains. I want you to meet a few people.” She liked to be called ‘Chains’ even though her given name was Mary. She said, “They weren’t giving you any trouble were they, Demon? Cuz that squirmy-looking one right there seemed like he was giving you some grief. If you want, I can dust the floor with his little ass. Please? Pretty please.” “No, Chains. You don’t need to be busting his chops. He was just fooling around, weren’t you Jones?” Jones looked at Chains, then looked at me, then gulped, then he said, “Yeah, yeah, that’s how it was. I was just messing around.” I tapped Chains on the fanny and handed her a few bucks and said, “Hey sweetie, could you get us a couple beers?” “Sure thing, sweet nookums. I’ll be right back,” Chains said. Once Chains walked toward the bar, Jones looked at me and said, “You weren’t lying, were you?” “Lying, lying about what?” I said. “Your girlfriend, of course.” “Oh, her. No, why? Why should I lie?” “I don’t know what to expect with you.” “That’s what makes things interesting.” “So, tell me, would she really have beat my ass?” “Like you were an old rug filled with dirt, and all I would have had to do was blink an eye.” “Shit, she is big, dude. And when I say big, she is massive.” “I know. Strong, too. She hoisted me right up off of the floor one time with one hand. I don’t mess with her. You best not either cuz she’s watching you, now.” “Why is she watching me?” “Let’s just say she don’t like anybody messing with her pets.” Right about then, a gun went off outside the bar. Half of the people in the bar rushed out into the street to see what was going on. It turned out that a drunk guy was outside waving a gun around and holding a bottle of beer and talking gibberish. All at once, he shot the gun again, but he had it harmlessly pointed into the air so nobody was hit. Then he climbed onto the hood of a car and started jumping up and down. He was also screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs. The drunk fired two more rounds into the air, and then we heard the sirens. Bikers generally do not like the sound of sirens, so the leader said, “Let’s roll.” A minute later, there was a loud roar of the collective engines of the bikes starting up. Then we were gone. We rode into the night and away from another exercise in futility.
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