After the club broke up I rode with a member of the Third Rail (Harley Charlie) off and on. He eventually suggested I join the Third Rail. He told me that since I had already prospected for the Free Riders and half of the Third Rail were ex-Free Riders, they were willing to forgo the required Prospect initiation. I gave it some thought and ended up riding over to their clubhouse one afternoon to check it out.
The clubhouse was located somewhere on Queen Anne Hill in Seattle. It was decent with a bar, pool table, and shop under one of the member's homes. Harley Charlie was introducing me around and led me back into the shop where "Scab" (the ex-Free Rider president) was building a rat bike. It seemed odd, I thought rat bikes were created overtime through wear and tear. Scab was actually building a new rat bike.
You might think Scab was a little off center because of this. He was. I had witnessed him pull his pistol out and fire it off in a house while everyone was sleeping just to make sure it still worked. He hadn't changed. After showing me how he had sand blasted every bit of chrome from his bike and replaced the already oversized rear tire with a meaty car tire, he pulled his .357 Magnum out and waved it around threatening to shoot anyone who didn't like his rat bike. I have to admit I was a little put off by his behavior but it's pretty typical for some outlaws.
Afterward, we went back into the bar where we were drinking beers and watching a couple of members shoot stick. I noticed a round-jagged hole in the bar where my beer was sitting. I asked about it and the guy next to me yelled at one of the pool players, "Al! Al! Show this guy (referring to me) your back." Then to me, "You're gonna love this, man."
Al walked over, turned his back to me, and lifted his t-shirt. There was a 1 1/2" wide X 1/2" deep groove running diagonally across his back. He informed me that a few months before my visit he'd been sitting where I was currently sitting when someone had bumped the bar in a wrestling match. The bump knocked the butt of a loaded shotgun off it's hook which was kept below the bar in case of emergencies. When the butt hit the floor the shotgun discharged up through the bar and left the groove in Al’s back. This was a real badge of courage for Al. I was proud of him too, however, a bit shaken considering the seating arrangement.
It dawned on me that I was out of my league. I did not like the idea of getting shot. I've never experienced it but I'm sure it's not for me. I also considered the situation. I was attending working on my degree in preparation for a career while these guys were building rat bikes, getting shot, and pretty much not going any where. I was convinced the Third Rail was a bad idea and I never returned.
I continued to ride with Harley Charlie. He was cool. |
