Monthly Archives: May 2009

Conversation with Bike Cops: The Setting

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I attended Law Ride yesterday, which is a ride organized by the Blue Knights. They are a club composed of local chapters to which active and retired motor officers belong. Motor officers from around the country and their supporters, like me, gather in a parking lot at RFK Stadium. You hang out for a couple hours, talk to cops, and then precisely at 11am, the ride takes off. See the “take off” in the video below.

The ride rolls through downtown Washington, DC, past the U.S. Capitol, and ends at 5th and E Streets, NW, which is the location of the National Law Enforcement Officer’s Memorial.

Over the next several blog posts, I will relay information I learned from conversations I had with visiting officers. The discussions were interesting, and I learned a lot.

I noticed this year that far fewer motor officers came to the event. Many thought it had something to do with the economy. City and county law enforcement departments are cutting back on activities that their motor officers can do outside the regular job.

A huge contingent came all the way from California: the county and city of Sacramento sent about 40 officers; the city of Folsom sent 7; other cities in Sacramento County also sent a few. These officers loaded their police motors onto semitrailers which were driven cross-country.

There was also a large contingent from the city of Detroit. The riders in this group included the Chief, who rides himself. Cool!

I didn’t see cops from southern states, except a few from the city of Orlando, Florida, and three from Terrebone Parish, Louisiana. In years past, I had seen officers from several Florida counties and cities, as well as other states such as North and South Carolina. Not present yesterday.

Also, I didn’t see cops from New York or Ohio — usually various cities and counties in those states have participants in Law Ride. There was one motor officer from my home county, and a few from neighboring counties. But overall, Maryland was not well represented. There was, though, the usual large contingent of dress instep Dehner-booted Fairfax County, Virginia, motor officers. They, and their boots, looked great as ever.

It was a stunningly beautiful day. The skies finally cleared after almost two weeks of rain. The sun was bright, and the temperature was about 70°F (21°C). We also had a really low dew point, so it felt dry and comfortable. It was a terrific morning.

I didn’t stay in the city after the ride was over for more than about 20 minutes. My partner has a list of “honey-do” projects that won’t quit. I got home by 1pm, and began slogging through the list. Now the lawn is mowed, concrete was mixed and scooped to fit a growing hole under our front stoop, and Mrs. “O” in the neighboring retirement community has a new, working, smoke alarm. All is good.

Check back each day for the next several days for more posts about Law Ride: the ultimate police-escorted ride in Washington, DC. Meanwhile, enjoy the video below which shows the cops leaving RFK to begin the ride.

Dinner with Sneakered Bike Cops

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Last night, I went to dinner with a buddy who is a motorcycle police officer. We joined a group of other motorcycle officers who have arrived in town for Police Week.

The dinner was at a brew pub, which was located in Lower Slobbovia (a term I have used to refer to that state across the Potomac River from mine.) I rode with my buddy in his truck; he doesn’t own a personal motorcycle, and he didn’t want to ride as a passenger on mine. (When you operate a motorcycle all day for your job, the last thing you want to do is ride as anyone else’s passenger.)

When we were seated at the restaurant, the guys ordered appetizers and beers all-around, trying the various samples of microbrews that the pub had to offer. I just smiled and sipped a ginger ale. (I am unable to drink alcohol, and the appetizers weren’t something I could eat.) Dinner — a steak — was okay (not stellar, but chewable.)

I didn’t know anyone other than my buddy, but the others were friendly and easy to talk to. The conversation we had was about the usual stuff: work-related stories and stresses, experiences, family, and motorcycle riding. When the conversation turned to family, those who were married talked about their wives and children as a natural part of the conversation. When I was speaking and mentioning my partner was part of the story, I would say, “my partner, he…”. The other guys didn’t bat an eye or make any comments or seem to care that I’m gay and have a partner. If my buddy vouched for me, that was fine with them.

I enjoyed listening to they way they described how they use their motors on their jobs. Interestingly, six of my eight dinner-mates do not ride a motorcycle off the job. And further, none of the eight motormen gathered for dinner in casual wear (jeans, t-shirts) had boots on. Each one wore sneakers — even my buddy.

As the night went on, I finally asked about wearing boots. Almost all of them said, “fine for work; off the job, I want to be comfortable,” or similar. They said that the boots they wear for work were okay, but the boots were part of the uniform, and that was that. I guess that’s about the same as what I see among the members of my motorcycle club. They wear boots while riding, but often when they’re not riding, they wear sneakers.

Me? I was the only one in boots last night, but then again, I always wear boots. I don’t own any shoes. No one noticed, cared, or said anything. But no one ever does. Shown are the boots I wore (short Wesco harness boots.)

Life is short: wear your boots!

Still The One Who Can Scratch My Itch

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I am still thinking fondly of our Friday night “snuggle night” last night. This is for my partner — the lyrics from the song made famous by the group “Orleans” back in 1976. These words remind me of my ongoing love for my guy, who is “still the one after all these years,” (and he’s pretty good with scratchin’ all of my itches, wherever they may be! Woof!)

We’ve been together since way back when
Sometimes I never want to see you again
But I want you to know, after all these years
You’re still the one I want whisperin’ in my ear

You’re still the one I want to talk to in bed
Still the one that turns my head
We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one

I looked at your face every day
But I never saw it ’til I went away
When winter came, I just wanted to go
Deep in the desert, I longed for the snow

You’re still the one that makes me laugh
Still the one that’s my better half
We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one

You’re still the one that makes me strong
Still the one I want to take along
We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one

Changing, our love is going gold
Even though we grow old, it grows new

You’re still the one that I love to touch
Still the one and I can’t get enough
We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one

You’re still the one who can scratch my itch
Still the one and I wouldn’t switch
We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one

You are still the one that makes me shout
Still the one that I dream about
We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one…

If you are not familiar with the song, here is a video of it:

Life is short: love the one who scratches your itch.

It Hurts to Watch

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It sure has been raining a lot lately. It has rained every day since April 29 — so much so the U.S. Geological Survey has officially pronounced our drought is over. The trees are tall, fully-leafed out, and everything is green as green can be. Including the lawn, which is a mile high.

However, when it rains, there is low barometric pressure. While it’s controversial, and many professionals say that there is no relationship between low pressure and feeling pain, there are others who say there is some sort of relationship. Regardless of what the professionals say, I see it. My partner is disabled, having had major surgery on his hips. Ever since then, when rain is on the way or falling, I see his pain, which is sometimes quite severe.

Man, that hurts to watch. To see him struggle to get up from a seated position, to see him grimace as he sits down, and to bear with his being irritable and grumpy because the pain won’t quit. He doesn’t use drugs, but he has found that prescription topical Lidocaine pads help… sometimes. He says that without them, he couldn’t move on rainy days.

He struggles, but doesn’t complain. He tries hard to help out and do things around the house. I really don’t mind picking up more than half of the physical labor. I can use the exercise, and he does a lot of things to make up the difference, anyway. But when I travel, he does it all, from mowing the lawn to cleaning the house, and everything else. It hurts me to know what he is dealing with when I’m gone. But he doesn’t whine, moan, or say, “you shoulda” or “I had to…”. He just carries on.

My partner is a trooper, and does the best he can. But man, it hurts to watch.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them, each and every day — especially when the days aren’t good for them.

Support Your Local Motor ?

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Okay, time for another poll on this blog. I have decided to create a new bumper sticker. Instead of one that went over like a lead balloon (those that say “Real Bikers Wear Boots”), I have decided to create one that displays support of motorcycle operating law enforcement officers.

And that’s my question, which appeared on a poll on this blog. I asked, “what should I say? Support Your Local Motor:

  • Cop?

  • Officer?

  • Police?

  • -man (as in “motorman”)?

  • -cycle cop”

The results are in — “Support Your Local Motorcycle Cop” is the winner.

Bumper stickers will be made soon.

Last Impressions Linger

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My travels this week brought me to Wilmington, Delaware. I had to drive there through slogs of rain, both directions. It is about a two-hour drive from my home, but with the rain and road spray, the traffic was a bit slower. Most people drive with caution, especially the truckers.

When the conference I attended was over yesterday afternoon, I offered to drop off a colleague at the Amtrak (passenger rail) station so she could return to Richmond where she lives. And that’s where the trouble began….

As I drove up to the station entrance, which was wide open with no vehicles anywhere in sight, my friend said goodbye, got out of my truck and went to the back to get her luggage out. Then this platinum-dyed-blond old female Wilmington cop came to the passenger side of my truck and signaled me to open the window. I did, and this is what she yelled into my window:

“Starting soon we are fining people $90 for stopping here. You can’t stop here. This isn’t a place to stop! We will fine you $90 for stopping here! The place to drop people off is down there around the corner. If you come back, you will get a $90 ticket!”

She said this in her most officious tone and demanding posture with a screechy, nail-scratch-on-the-chalkboard voice.

Oh cripes, dingbat, if I stopped in the wrong place, don’t you think you could have told me that politely — and I would have moved? But noooo… you had to behave in a rude and ugly manner. I’m sure this cop sees people stop in this wrong place regularly. However, her behavior was uncalled for.

It got me to thinking about how last impressions linger. For example, last week, I was annoyed by being selected for “random extra screening” by the TSA while boarding a flight from Kansas City for Charlotte. However, the kid who wanded me just did his job and didn’t say anything. His colleague, an older woman, tried to relieve my annoyance by at least trying to be pleasant, even if I were unhappy. Come to think about it, she was leaving me with a last impression that I will remember. I was mildly annoyed, but mostly because I was delayed getting on my flight for what I thought was an unnecessary screening.

Yesterday afternoon, however, was a different story. What will linger in my mind is that a cop, who willingly or not, serves as a representative of the City of Wilmington, left me with a very sour impression of the city. Will I ever want to return? No… not unless I absolutely have to. But the city is rather decrepit and seedy, so I really have no reason other than business to return if I must. I just hope I don’t have to.

And I hope this cop gets put back into a training course on dealing with the public, as I recommended in a written letter of complaint to the Chief of Police. There are a variety of ways of dealing with the public, and this cop did not demonstrate any ability or knowledge of how to behave appropriately.

Life is short: lighten up, and remember, you may be the last person someone from out-of-town talks to, and they may remember your short encounter for a long time. This is why, for example, I don’t make rude comments to visitors to Washington who stop at the bottom of Metro escalators (they are called “escalumps” in local lingo). They just don’t realize what they’re doing. Smile, show them the results of their action in a light manner, and move on.

From Fetish to Function

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Okay, okay, okay, I hear ‘ya! When I have blogged (see May 2 post) about the term “fetish” in the strict definition of the word, I get feedback that is appropriately saying that I am too clinical in the use of the term, and that it is a generalized word to use when referring to those of us who like to wear leather — for whatever reason.

And yes, my partner could take me to my gear closet, pointing out what some may consider to be an inordinate amount of leather, and say to me, “be honest with yourself: you have a leather fetish. As long as you can afford it and it makes you happy, enjoy.” The commenters are correct, and thanks for the feedback.

Back in the 1980s, when I was acquiring much of my leather gear, I was also beginning to go out to leather-oriented events, bars, and other gatherings of the Leather Tribe. There I was, decked out in full leather, from Muir Cap to boots and all in between. I felt a thrill. And yeah, a certain member below the waist was frequently excited. The leather felt great, and I felt sexy in it. I felt the sexual energy of a mob of leather-clad men equally decked out in full leather.

After I met my partner, when he was a bit more sociable, we frequently would go to the Baltimore Eagle and DC Eagle on a Saturday night. I’d leather up completely, and so would he. We would hop on my Harley and be bad leather-clad biker dudes for the night. We enjoyed it. It was thrilling to be surrounded by other leathermen, especially to watch their envy as we roared up to park the Harley out front in the designated “motorcycle only” parking.

We would attend Mid-Atlantic Leather and a few other local leather-oriented events. While we did not go with other men we met at these places for more clandestine or private activities, we knew what was going on and felt the sexual urges that gay men normally have. We quickly took care of those passions as soon as we got home behind closed doors.

Then, things changed. It happens when you get older and settled into a monogamous relationship. My man turned me on, but I found those turn-ons to occur at times when I wasn’t in leather. My man wore leather less often, yet doing so wasn’t necessary to get me excited. Thus, leather became less and less something we had on during sex. And these days, hardly ever at all.

Further, my partner had several surgeries which made it difficult for him to walk. He could no longer ride as my passenger on my Harley. We stopped being interested in going out for several reasons:

  • leather bars morphed to being a “y’all come” bar, where fewer patrons wore leather, or even boots. The number of guys in shorts and sneakers at these places made them less interesting to me.

  • My partner didn’t want others to see him limping or in pain.

  • My stamina for being able to stay awake late into the night has never been good, and has decreased as I have aged. That bed at 9:00pm looks awfully tempting.

  • Since we couldn’t take the bike to get to a leather bar, the whole process of getting into our truck, driving all the way into town, hunting for a parking space, and then hanging out with sneaker-clad dudes became more arduous than it was worth.

Yes, then, I admit that I had a leather fetish, but now that fetish events, however classified, and fetish venues, however they have changed, are not places we choose to go any more.

Therefore, the leather investment I have made is used to provide protection and warmth for riding my motorcycle, which is still a passion I enjoy. While I may not choose to attend leather fetish events or bars, I am not ready to give up the gear I have acquired which can still be used for a functional purpose while riding my Harley.

That’s really that… from fetish to function.

Life is short: wear your leather!

Bizzare Airports and Airline Incidents

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On Saturday, I had flights from Kansas City to Charlotte, then from there to Baltimore-Washington International Airport, which is my preferred airport in the DC area. I was on USScareways, which once upon a time was a great airline to fly (not any more)… but I digress.

What they call an international airport in Kansas City qualifies, technically, since there is one non-stop a day to Toronto, Canada. But otherwise, this cheesy third-rate airport is outclassed by all the rest. Oh well, it’s small, easy to use, and not well-traveled so there are not crowds or long lines anywhere.

What was plain old dumb to me at this airport is that while I went through full screening by a metal detector and my luggage went through an x-ray — which was observed by four people no less — when it came time to load the plane, the gate agent said, “some of you will be asked to go through a ‘random’ additional screening.”

Their idea of “random” is, “we’re done with this one, who’s next in line?” Of course, I became “the lucky winner.” The kid who wanded me was probably all of 18. His partner was an older woman whose chatty nature, trying to calm my annoyance, even made me more annoyed. The best way to deal with such a situation is to smile and speak only when spoken to, even though what I wanted to say was something along the lines of “how many terrorist have you caught playing these games?” But I didn’t… however, I strongly suspect that they do this for no real reason. They haven’t caught anyone carrying anything onto an airplane that shouldn’t be carried — because he has already gone through the magnetometer, stupid! Arrggghhh… gimme a break.

I finally get on the blasted plane, and of course, all the overhead storage is taken by people who laughed as they walked past me onto the plane. I had to stick my bag way in the back, and then wait for everyone to get off the plane to retrieve it when we landed. But that was not really a problem, this time. I had a 1:20 layover, so I had a margin to accommodate a delay this time.

But wait, there’s more! At Charlotte, a large, spacious, first-class modern airport, I was people-watching. I rolled my eyes at two women who were wearing surgical masks. They’re afraid of catching the flu that’s making the hyper-scare news right now. What they really don’t understand is that masks keep your germs to you — not prevent you from breathing in viruses sneezed by other people. But don’t try to explain science to believers of media hype.

But wait! There’s even more! My flight to BWI was late to be boarded because of all things, a passenger on the previous flight got stuck in the aft bathroom and they had to break the door to get him out. Don’t ask me how that happened. And thank goodness Charlotte is a hub for USAir, so they had mechanics available who could fix or replace the bathroom door.

In all my millions of airline miles traveled, that was the most bizzare reason for an airline delay I have ever heard.

Oh well, I made it home to the arms of my man. That’s what’s most important.

Life is short: keep smiling, despite annoyances.

Chain on Muir Cap?

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A traditional all-leather cap made by the Muir Hat Company has been long-regarded, especially by the “old-guard” who enjoy leather, as the finishing touch to a head-to-boot leather outfit. I have had my Muir Cap for a long, long, time and it still looks and fits great. I wear it for a lot of photos that appear on my website, but that’s about it since my partner and I no longer go out to leather-oriented events, parties, or gatherings.

I continue to see that there is a lot of interest in Muir caps by the number of visitors to that page on my website. It really has a classic, tough-looking appearance.

When new, Muir caps come with a mylar band across the front and top. The company calls it an expansion band. I’m not quite sure of its purpose, but I guess it might help the hat keep its shape when worn.

I replaced both of the plastic expansion bands that came with my hat with metal. I have a chrome band across the front, and a chrome chain across the top. I got the front band from a leather fetish store in Los Angeles in the 1980s. I got the chain in Melbourne, Australia in 1995.

Why did I add these metal items to my hat? I do not remember. I guess perhaps I have seen other guys with metal chains or bands on their hats and thought their hats looked better that way. I noticed a Google search the other day asking a question, “leather cap chain meaning?”

I got to thinking, just what is the meaning of a chain on a Leatherman’s Muir Cap? Is it because the bad-boy biker image includes chains and knives for rumbles? Certainly, that isn’t my image or style. Is it because it makes the hat and its wearer appear to be more tough, like the hat worn by James Dean in some of his classic bad-boy biker movies of years ago? Is it because the contrast of shiny metal against black makes the hat stand out better? Is it because you can see metal on a hat in a dark bar better than a hat that is all black?

Probably a combination of these … but there could be more. What do you think?

Grrrrr: life is short — wear your leather!

Is the Choice a Message?

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I am tagging off a blog post I read on the ‘net written by a man I have not met, but whose analysis was interesting to me.

What he said and also from a comment he received on this post is this:

It is once again the time of the year when motorcyclists begin to populate the roads of Finland. More often than before I find myself pondering whether a leather-wearing motorcyclist is trying to hint at his fetishistic interest in leather. Modern non-leather riding gear with all the technical innovations (Gore-Tex, Kevlar et cetera) is very practical. Choosing leather gear is no longer the obvious default choice it may have been in the past.

Further, the comment he received said:

anyone still wearing the old style gear raises the question of fetishism.

The observations shared in the blog are interesting to me, especially when it is pointed out that more men these days wear riding gear made of practical technical innovations, and not leather.

I got to thinking, then, when I wear full leather, from motorcycle jacket to leather breeches and tall boots, am I attempting to signal my interest in leather? Is such an interest “fetish”?

I point out as I have before, that by definition, fetish means a sexual admiration of an inanimate object. Yeah, I have had sex in leather with my partner. But he’s animate (especially in that situation!)

But I wear leather regularly on my motorcycle (and off) because I find it warm, protective, and I think it looks good. Plus, I have a closet full of biker leather gear, and I want to get the most use out of it. I call it “functional” leather gear, because it performs a function to provide protection and warmth while I ride. I also like the tall boots for the same reason.

Is this a message about a fetish interest? To me, it’s different from that. The message I feel I may be giving is that, perhaps, I am old enough to be among the “old guard” bikers (as well as leatherman) and prefer to wear leather, that’s all. I don’t really care what other people think about me being in full leather when I ride on a cool day. No one says anything anyway. I know I am warm and protected in the gear, and feel that I am getting the value from it for the investment I have made acquiring it.

Your thoughts?