One biker's week long ordeal to join his club.
I've been around this biker club for much of my life. My father was loosely associated with this group when I was young and they were much wilder. I often thought growing up, I would take my place among them but the military and college intervened. I still had ties to the club with some family members within it. They stayed in touch with my father before he passed away. One member in particular I had known for much of my life. He had ridden on a rally with us to the coast and following that summer, he never left them. The date was approaching for him to receive his cut.
Getting your cut means earning your jacket, the official brand of the club's colors. It's as intense as putting on your first wedding band. In a way, perhaps more so because you don't divorce this club. It's a life long commitment and if you ever fall from grace no attorney, or anyone in the world , can help you. But as long as you are in, you are protected from anything. This was the speech that as told to my buddy as we all raised our bottles to salute him on his first day of trials.
This was no college fraternity and it did not require one to drink themselves into a stupor although it was advised for what was to come. This was not hazing like I had witnessed in my college days. This was something else entirely. When my buddy was drunk enough he was placed face down on a long stool and the insignia of the club tattooed into his back. For anyone else this would have been the last trial. Because my buddy had family already in the club, failure was not an options once branded. The total work of detailing the tattoo was about 5 hours. And the party surrounding us had raised to a fever pitch. He was not to yell out or attempt to stop the procedure. I asked him what it was like and his eyes were red and blood shot. He didn't answer.
When they told him it was done, he slowly raised up and staggered to the large mirror near the back of the room. Some would wonder why not simply have the tat commissioned by an artist in a sterile environment. The procedure was quite sanitary and the artist was a license tattoo artist. However, the brand has to be delivered by a brother else its just a tattoo. His back was a swollen red mess but underneath was a beautifully wicked emblem that would forever define him. I had to admit, I envied him.
The next day began early for him. It was a day long bike ride to the other chapter to pick up his Harley that was being custom fitted with official club emblems. He had to ride "bitch " the whole way being careful not to ruin the ink still healing in his skin. If this happened they promised to cut it off of him with a hot blade. Once there, the members took pleasure patting him on the back congratulating him. This nearly sent him to his knees.
The party that followed was in his honor. We ate steaks cooked on the grill, drank and listened to music until nightfall. I was getting kind of tired having not slept and I knew my friend had to be exhausted as well. We unrolled our nap sacks and the club members stepped over reminding him he had to protect the ink. We were somewhat confused but they informed him they had already made sleeping arrangements for him. They roped his wrists to a tree and hung him there with is feet planted on the ground. I gave him water and the ladies hugged and encouraged him. As the night went on I promised to stay up with him. but the others told me to get rest. I would have to ride him back home on my bike.
He was cut down early the next morning and he fell to his knees. I was concerned he wouldn't be able to ride. But on a happy note, his back was healing well and the brand was beautiful. We went to eat breakfast and as we stepped into the restaurant some people got up to leave. There is a noticeable difference between the dentist that owns a Harley and bikers. After breakfast, my friend felt better although he hadn't slept comfortably, he admitted to sleeping some. He felt he was good to ride back.
We made several stops along the way to let him walk it off. His Harley was tied on the back of a truck that followed us and, even though he was in pain, he so wanted to ride it. This was refused for his safety and I began to understand that my friend was in no real danger. This was a trial of endurance but he was in good hands. Nothing bad was going to happen to him. One of the ladies was actually a registered nurse and she applied an ointment and replaced the bandaged over his brand as needed. Each time she revealed his back everyone peered to see it.
We arrived back and it was already late afternoon. My friend had not slept for three days and was finally allowed to lay down. I admitted to the others that it was difficult for me to see him in this state but they assured me this was how it had always been. I had witnessed the party before a member was joined in but outsiders were made to leave for the actual endurance trial. As I mentioned earlier, had I not gone to the military and then to college I probably would have been one of these guys myself.
The rest of my friend's week was not quite so bad. It was more of a celebration among his family and friends. It settled down to what I was more accustomed to in college. He pointed out all the pictures on the wall of all the past members that bore the cut and named them. He told us all who they were and what they had meant to the club. When he had gotten to his own father's picture he choked up and bowed his head. We all cheered and gathered around him. He patted me on the back and asked if it would be okay if I represented his last telling. They agreed and I was honored to do so. I pointed to the picture on the wall and stated, "And this one was the father of my best friend, the husband to a woman like a second mother to me, and a sergeant in the US Marine Corp that laid down his life for everyone in this room. "
I was proud to see my friend earn his cut and join the family his father had so dearly loved. Would I ever take my place among them? I don't know. But I'm honored to know them.
Previously Posted on FullofKnowlege.com
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