When the last Biker falls
The old ones stand out now, their numbers dwindling down.They are a sad loss to the American scene, these individualists with the worn down clothes and faces.
You can still see them sometimes, the real ones. Some in packs, not as large as a while ago. Sometimes alone. The ones alone are best. One who's been there a long time, staying in the life he loves, never giving into a system that sucks you up like a vortex if you slip just one foot into it. He's got his connections, a few just like him, that care for and protect each other. Hanging onto the only unique lifestyle left. Like old dinosaurs, their faces are leathered and rough by forty, but their eyes still sharp and knowing. Some are gray in the beards and braids, some are limp in the step and some with pain in their kidneys.
Still they know no other life is life, but merely a dreary journey into everyone else's monotony. He looks at the new ones, then turns away, knowing they will never know of life on the road and the women who can take it. Wild, loving women who will hang in with them, because they love it too. A woman with a wild heart and a loyal soul, that's what's needed here. The new ones are young and shiny and a bit too clean. They are born into a system that has an iron grip now. The new ones will never know and couldn't take the life.
I think it's a mystique, even to the old ones, why this life is theirs, but it is, and it's the only one. When the last Biker falls, like the dinosaur, the sun will go down on a breed of heart-of-gold, tough-as-nails, free spirited men, who even at their worst, love what's theirs and protect it.
In a world wide system that is making all people as alike as manufactured dolls, the earth will be a duller place.....
When the last Biker falls.......