Legendary Short Stories

The Lone Biker

He was a loner and always was. He never fit into society in any role except one: This dude was an outlaw biker. He didn't fit into any of the usual biker gangs though. They just didn't get him. Sure, he enjoy an ice cold beer with a few of his choice, select friends but they were loners just like him. Like this dude, they rode alone.

The didn't have colors on either the front or back sides of their black leather biker vest. Instead their vests only had a small white patch with black print that had their names on it on the left side and a diamond shaped patch that simply read, "1%er." They were nomads but that fact was not printed on their vests. It was printed, or tattooed rather, on their weathered hearts.

Each member of this outlaw biker gang that wasn't an outlaw biker gang of any sort, rode solo, partied together, and had normal "Joe" jobs to meet their needs. They were hardened men with strong work eithics who worked as hard as any man known in the country they lived in and loved. All were retired military men who had served their country with distinction. All were law abiding citizens who raised hell on occasion and didn't mind breaking the law and doing time, and all of them had, if they saw a legitimate need for it.

One biker, in particular, was known as "The Lone Biker." He was the epitome of what it meant to ride solo. He rode long and hard every chance he got and those chances came along frequently for him. He loved his beautiful girlfriend who loved him with all her heart even though she knew he would never marry her due to the fact that he didn't believe in the idea of marriage. The Lonely Biker and his old lady, his girlfriend in biker speak, lived in the home where he had grown up having inherited it from his biker father and his old lady after they perished in a biking accident.

The solo lone outlaw biker woke up early this particular day. Earlier than was his custom. He needed to get out of this place and find tranquility. He had many bros and an old lady who was the love of his life but he needed to clear his mind. It was too clouded with thoughts, and worries, and this, and that, and he needed to ride to clear his mind, once and forever he quietly thought.

He lit up his classic, vintage, and pristine Harley FXRDG, which he customized himself with his bare hands, and flew as fast as he could away from the troubles that weighed him down. He was in search of tranquility and peace and his bike knew just where to take him to. After blowing a half tank of fuel he arrived at his destination. A peaceful place with green trees that soared into the sky as high as the heavens and a bobbly brook and stream that told him, "Welcome bro, we've been waiting for you for a long, long time."

The lone biker lowered his weary head as if to pray. But he wasn't praying, he was crying as he missed a life that he once had. A life with a family that truly loved him for what he was, with all the quirks and sins that he had in his miserable existence. He lit up a smoke and raised his tired eyes to the sky and thank his Creator, though he wasn't much for God, for all that he had: his bike, first and foremost, his old lady, who was more beautiful than most woman he had been with both inside and out, and his life, which was truly good in every way possible.

He finished his smoke and let out a primal scream to let the world know that he was a biker among bikers, the best of the best, and he didn't give a damn in the world if they didn't care about this truth. He fired up his ride and went on his way back home to be with the people who truly loved him for what he was. An outlaw biker with no patches, for he didn't care for such things. They only got in his way.

He was a 111er and he didn't care about that because he was a man among men who had failed at life and didn't learn their lessons from it. Not me, he reasoned. I am smarter than most and as dumb as any other idiot but I learn from my mistakes and celebrate my victories. That's what makes me an outlaw biker bar none.