My dad was an old school biker. He did a hitch in the Army during 'Nam, and when he got out he never really did fit in out in the normal world - after the shit he saw and did there...working a 9-5 never seemed to make much sense.. So, he opened a bike shop in LA and joined the Nords.....at the time one of the bigger outlaw motorcycle clubs in SoCal. He did pretty well with the Nords, and with the exception of doing a nickle at Chino...he rose steadily thru the club's ranks. When he met my mom and knocked her up, he'd been a Nord for about 14 years and President for maybe 13 months. That was 1983.

So, I grew up around bikers. Mom split when I was four, but I had a lot of family to take care of me - so I never really missed her much. I learned to take up for myself at an early age, how to fight and how to work a situation to where I didn't always have to fight. No doubt, I was a biker's kid - I was suspended from school three times for kicking somebody's ass, and finally got my GED in the Army after a judge sentenced me there for trying to flush the gym-teacher's head down the locker-room toilet. Sorry, but anyone who grabs my ass without permission better have the chops to back it up. Unfortunately, "Mister Simpson" was a hell of a lot better with his whistle than he was with his tiny lil cock..........

So, I got shipped off to the Army. While I was learning to be a mechanic....not much of a stretch since I'd been working with my Dad since I was 10.....the Nords were getting into serious war with a Mexican gang who'd tried selling dope in their territory. For a while, the Nords were holding their own until the Latin Devils got smart and made an alliance with MS-13. Dad tried made a deal with the Angels, but before the cavalry arrived most of the Nords were in body bags or prison.....Dad got nabbed by the feds just after popping one of the Latin Devil's chief lieutenants. He got life and later on died of cancer in Pelican Bay - but he was fighting for his territory when he got pinched. By what my dad taught me, thats the way its supposed to be.

The Army kept me for three wonderful years. I wound up at Fort Hood working on engines and doin' my best to stay out of the stockade. Luckily, the Sergeant Major in charge of the Motor Pool went back a long way with Dad - and he stuck me in a small group which kept the wheels turning for some special operations vehicles the Army was using in the desert. Dirt Bikes, Sand Rails.....dune buggies with machine guns......we kept them all running and it was something I was good at. I never managed to keep rank very long, but with Sgt. Major Walken on my ass, I was doing OK. Then I had a little bit of trouble when I went home on leave to visit my Dad in the prison hospital.......

I got there maybe three days before Dad slipped into that last coma. We talked about a lot of stuff, about me growin up, riding, the Nords....all that stuff. When he finally went to sleep he hovered there for another day before he when on that one last ride. I know I act like I'm way too tough to cry, but I wasn't doing any acting that day. They let me sign for his body and pretty soon I got together with what was left of the Nords to bury him. That would have been the end of it, 'cept as I was leaving town....I ran straight into someone in Latin Devil colors as I was crossing out of LA into the high desert. I'm sure that where-ever he is, Dad approved of me gutting the little fuck - but the Sheriff had other ideas. When he saw how far that fucker's intestines had stretched, he was just a little grossed out.....

I got twenty for murder, but wound up doing five. From dad, I knew how to make it in prison - and I wasn't cutting anyone any slack. I gave better than I got, and after five years of it - the now financially strapped state of Kalifornia cut me loose so long as I agreed to leave the state.

Bug and Heater from the Nords were there for me when I got out. They were Dad's best buds from way back, and they'd made sure that I got what was left of his "estate". It wasn't much, but it put me on a bike again and kept me eating till I made it to Hathian..........

Thats pretty much my life up till now. Looking at it, I can see that it leaves a lot of stuff out.....

...like how I always frustrated my teachers and social workers by scoring out as "brilliant" on aptitude tests but then showing absolutely NO desire to do well in school. Truth is, I read a lot......but I don't advertise it because ....the crowd I run with just would NOT understand...

...like how I never had much of a taste for guys after I had to flush my gym teacher, but bar girls and strippers are another matter. I got no explanation for it, but I always kinda kept it on the down-low and hoped my old man never found out. He did of course......but he never made a big deal out of it.....I guess he always thought of me as the son he never had anyway.

...like how I really am a damn good mechanic, and I shoot paint pretty good as well. I was always drawing stuff when I was little, and starting at about 12 my "Uncle Bug" introduced me to the fine art of custom bike & auto painting. I'm told I could probably make a living at it......that's f I can stay out of jail long enough......

..like how I have this really short temper when it comes to taking shit from people...and how I like to use my hands or a stick/pool cue/baton to show them how little shit I'm willing to take. I know guns......Dad and Heater taught me early....but there's something about kicking someone's ass with a blunt object that I just find especially satisfying.....

...anyway, that's me for now. More to follow......