How It Started
Alright, so this idea popped into my head after chatting with my neighbor Dave at the pub last Thursday. He’s got a cousin who’s a “prospect” – yeah, those guys. You know, big bikes, leather cuts with patches. Got me thinking: what’s behind all that? So I went home, poured another coffee, and scribbled down a question: “Could inviting them over change anything?” Stupid? Maybe. Curious? Hell yes.
The Setup
First, I had to actually ask. Next time I saw Dave, I leaned in, kept my voice low: “Hey man… think your cousin and maybe one or two of his… friends… would come over for burgers Saturday? Just casual.” Dave stared like I’d grown another head. But two days later, he texts: “Be there 3pm. Don’t freak out.” Too late.
Spent Friday cleaning like a maniac. Wife was pissed, asking “Why?!”. Kept saying it was “research”. Hid the fancy china, locked the good whiskey. Just kept imagining bikes roaring up and things getting… messy. Key things I prepped:
- Double-checked insurance papers. Seriously.
- Bought industrial burgers – figured big appetites.
- Told neighbor Bob I might need help lifting something later – just in case.
- Decided no politics, no gangs. Just talk about their bikes.
The Day Of
Heard the rumble before I saw them. Three massive bikes roll up, loud enough to rattle the windows. Two guys, one woman. Leather cuts covered in patches. Big boots. Beards. My palms were sweating buckets. Opened the door, tried not to gulp.
“Uh… hey! Dave’s friends? Come on in! Burgers are almost ready!” One guy, call him ‘Bear’, shook my hand – grip like a vise. “Heard you liked bikes,” he grunted. The woman (‘Patch’) just nodded, scanning the room, probably checking exits. Awkward silence while they sat. Felt like hours.
Flipped burgers on the deck. They stayed out there with me. Weirdly, the ice broke talking about engines. Bear’s Harley needed a new cam chain tensioner? Had the exact same issue on my old Honda! Suddenly we’re swapping mechanic horror stories. Patch even cracked a tiny smile when I burned a burger patty. Offered them beers. They declined. “Riding,” Bear said. Respect. Drank lemonade instead.
They talked normal jobs (one’s a welder!), awful road construction slowing them down, how annoying “cager” drivers are. Zero gang talk. Zero menace. Just… regular folks who wear different clothes.
The Unexpected Part
Halfway through, my garbage disposal died. Loud grinding. Clogged sink. Disaster. Bear just got up. “Lemme see.” Squeezed under the sink. Five minutes later: “Gotta clear this gunk here… got a wrench?” Patch handed him one from her own pocket! Fixed it in ten. Explained what he did like he was teaching a class. I was stunned.
Leaving
They stayed about two hours. Shook hands again. Bear actually looked me in the eye: “Appreciate the grub. You fixed bikes?” “Yep,” I managed. He nodded. “Cool.” Then they roared off down the street, loud as ever.
Wife walked in. “Well? Still alive?” She eyed the fixed sink. “Did they…?” Yep.
What Actually Happened
I was the idiot here. Expected scary outlaws. Got three people who:
- Talked about bad gas stations messing up their engines.
- Gave legit advice on weatherproofing leather.
- Made fun of bad reality TV shows.
- Fixed my damn plumbing.
Felt like a total overthinker. The patches mean something, sure. But underneath? They’re just people who ride together. Loudly.
Main takeaway? Don’t judge the book by its leather cover. Sometimes, just ask. You might get burgers. You might get your sink fixed. Either way, it’s a story.
