Before the official start of riding season, we usually wait until the snow melts and the salt is washed away by one good rainstorm before riding. It was the end of winter and it was raining, so we caged it to our morning appointment: RV timeshares. Who would have thought there was such a thing! We really had nothing to do that day, so, with the promise of a $50 gas card, a free lunch and an hour or so of our time; we were off to learn everything we needed to know about RV Campground Membership Timeshares.
We left for our appointment casually dressed. My DH wore a small sign of an MC connection on his tee, but nothing more noticeable unless you really scrutinized his clothing for the affiliation. We sat across from the sales guy, who was polite enough, smiled at the right time, agreed at the right time but was clearly looking for that common interest between all of us, which I guess in his mind would make us vulnerable to his sales pitch. He noticed the tee. A few moments later we discovered, that this mild respectable sales man was in fact a bad ass biker who rode a HOG! And to prove it he had pictures.
As he excused himself we were becoming impatience, wanting to wrap this up get our gas card and leave. The sales guy returns with this big photo album (I imagine the sales office people share the album when the occasion calls for it) containing pictures of a custom bike placed in different settings i.e. on the beach, in the city, in the desert and so on. (Probably photo-shopped) that he supposedly rode. The pictures were bad enough but his entire personality had transformed. He had taken off his jacket and tie. He started injecting words like shit and fuck in the conversation with a few other colorful expletives to impress us?
We were downgraded from Mr. & Mrs. to “hey man what do you think of this shit” as he’s trying to close the sale. Needless to say, we were entertained for the next hour. We got the card, told the guy to ride safe and left. The Biker Syndrome website was born.
For the reader: I ride a Heritage Softail. I live on the East Coast, so riding season is interrupted several months out of the year by snow.
Of course, if you ride you know that Biker Syndrome attitude is everywhere. When we ride alone, all ”harlied up” my DH and I usually have the rear of the restaurant reserved for us, without calling ahead, no matter where we are! I can walk in a crowded ladies room and everyone in line insists I go in front of them; and the ride goes on. It’s fun to watch . (And who said Hollywood has no effect on perception or influences attitudes.)
Thanks for dropping by: feel free to leave your Biker Syndrome story.