It was a South Texas spring, and the roadside along Highway 59 was a sunlit sea of bluebonnets, brightly-accented with dandelions and glaring red wildphox. The colors ran together in a psychedelic mosaic as they whizzed past Ringo on his Shovelhead. The old Harley was loaded down like a pack mule, with bedroll and bags hanging anywhere he could hook a bungee cord.When he passed through Wharton, Ringo saw a roadhouse with a dozen or so motorcycles out front–a lot of bikes for that early in the day. He slowed to check it out and recognized the red Pan-Shovel that belonged to Geronimo, Vice President of the Boppers. Ringo pulled in, his pipes immediately alerting a small welcoming committee, led by Geronimo himself, that met him in the parking lot.
The Boppers M.C. was a small club, but they had a stand-up reputation. Their colors sported a cartoon greaser character with rolled-up jeans, a black leather jacket, and a cigarette behind his ear. Bopper members hailed largely from the small towns and rural areas south of Houston.
“Where you heading?” Geronimo asked, indicating Ringo's loaded-down chopper.
“Down to the border, I guess. I dunno, maybe Boys Town, maybe catch a bull fight,” Ringo answered.
“Well, we're rendezvousing,” Geronimo added. “Gonna make a run down to Victoria. We're holding church inside right now, hang tight.”
After a while the door opened and most of the bros came out and began readying their bikes for the trek to Victoria. Ringo exchanged handshakes, small talk and was introduced to a couple of the members he didn't already know.
“We're headed down to Victoria,” Geronimo reiterated. “The Barbarians are throwing a shindig.”The Barbarians were a much larger club than the Boppers, and their reputation wasn't the sweetest. The Barbarian MC had several chapters, and they seemed to be continually at war with one club or another.
“It's cool with us you want to ride caboose,” Geronimo told Ringo.
Ringo thought about it. Barbarians usually meant trouble. All the same, a party was a party, and this one was on his way. Located about halfway to Matamoros, Victoria would provide a good butt rest from the rigors of his hardtail.
“Deal me in,” he answered.
When everyone was ready they fired up their big twins and one by one, according to rank, pulled out onto the highway, creating two columns. Ringo, as instructed, brought up the rear, behind a club prospect and another “civilian” like himself. The only vehicle behind him was the club pick-up truck that carried the gear, beer, and any scooters too lame to keep up.
The run went well with only one breakdown and a gas stop. On the last leg, as they were coming through Victoria, the road captain signaled everyone off at a liquor store. Ringo picked up a case of Lone Star, a fifth of Turkey, fifth of Crown, and two fifths of Jack Black.
From there it was just a few miles to an abandoned farm just south of Victoria. It was a good location with a large vacant house and a barn, which could provide lodging for the many of the revelers. It was sleeping-out weather anyway.They made their introductions to the official greeters, a group of swarthy Barbarians with the usual beards, headbands and swastika-tattoos.
Even though he was not a patch-holder, Ringo was well received when he gave his hosts the four six packs of Lone Star and a fifth of Jack and the Crown Royal. He didn't like Canadian whiskey personally, but it made for a classy door gift.
There was a live band, a goat and pig roasting, and pots of chili and gumbo bubbling. There was liquor, wine and beer. There were downers, uppers, hallucinogens, psychedelics, pills and powder of every sort. And there were women. Beautiful women. Many of whom took turns getting up and dancing to the hard-rocking band that echoed over the grounds. Most danced down to nothing but their panties and one or two even stripped those, to the crowd's hoots and howls. The same dancers that white and blue collars alike drooled over in the titty clubs, and they were doing it for the cause.
The band was finishing up for a break with “Born to Be Wild”, and bunch of riders peeled in, each with a topless babe on the back. They circled the band with straight pipes blaring and their lovely passengers twirling their halter tops and t-shirts over their head for the finale of the song. It was all like some rebirth of the Summer of Love, a decade earlier.
As things progressed girls were showing their titties all over the place. Ringo was occasionally greeted with a wink and a yank of the halter top, or sometimes a group of girls would all line up and all count, one-two-and-three and whip up their tops. It was all in fun. More intense encounters, be it for romance or for profit, evidenced by couples coming and going to the house or barn warmed the night. Ringo, in fact, happened upon one such incident.
He stepped behind a shed to piss and there they were. The girl had corn silk hair, baby-doll skin, a pert nose and perky tits. She was on her knees sucking off some fat, bearded oaf. She looked like she belonged at a sorority party or maybe even a slumber party more than she did at this bash.The incident stopped Ringo dead in his tracks. He knew he shouldn't look. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl. She was beautiful. The hairy troll was sitting on the ground with his back leaned up against the shed and his pants down around his chubby knees. He grinned up at Ringo, but the girl, never swaying from her task, glared up at him through fiery emerald eyes. Ringo said his apologies and beat a hasty exit.
He later learned the girl was working at the behest of her boyfriend, who had negotiated with the troll for a new-condition brake caliper in turn for her services. After seeing the merchandise, Ringo considered haggling a deal too but in the end decided his wallet was too thin: a new-condition brake caliper went for around $75.00.
He did, however, manage to strike up conversation with the wallflower of the party. Her name was Sabina. She was Mexican and damned cute, but she didn't drink much, doping much or socialize much.
“Tammy talked me into coming,” Sabina said with disdain. She pointed to her running partner, a fleshy redhead who was sitting on the tailgate of an El Camino parked near a copse of pecan trees. She was drinking and getting high with several guys wearing Barbarian colors. Sabina informed him that Tammy had come to the party with one of the Barbarians, a guy named Snake. “He really hounded me about coming,” Sabina said pointing out Snake, a lanky fellow with a dirty-blonde ponytail and pork chops. He downed one lemon, salt and tequila shooter with Tammy after another.
Unlike Sabina, Tammy seemed to be having loads of fun. Instead of putting the lemon and salt on their wrists, Tammy and Snake were putting it on various regions of each other's bodies. Ringo watched body shooters before at Wurstfest in New Braunfels.
She smeared the lemon on Snake's neck and salted it down, licked it up, then downed her tequila. Snake responded by smearing the lemon around the cleavage, of her well-filled tube top, adding the salt and licking it off then draining his glass. Tammy laughed and the guys all cheered.As the party wore on, so the inevitable alpha-male monkey syndrome popped up.
Grady might have modeled for the cartoon greaser on the Bopper colors. His hair was greasy black and combed back, hood-style. Along with the straight-leg jeans and black boots, he wore a white T-shirt under his denim colors. He was low center of gravity stocky. He looked rough for his size but Nightmare purely dwarfed him. Before they started, each guy removed his colors and handed them to a confidant so that the colors wouldn't touch the ground. That would be a sacrilege.
Nightmare charged, Grady sidestepped him and kicked straight out, driving his heel into one of Nightmare's tree trunk thighs. Furious, Nightmare turned and renewed the attack, albeit with a limp. Grady backed away from Nightmare's rush, staying out of range. He moved in and out, scoring with solid kicks and punches, then retreating, leaving the giant frustrated and flailing at air.
Nightmare was enraged by now. He let out a high-pitched yell as he waddled into Grady. Grady kept up his hit-and-run tactics, launching hard shots, including a jackboot to the nuts, but Nightmare kept coming. He closed on Grady and finally managed to pin him up against a van. At that point, it all turned into a wrestling match, which was bad news for Grady.
Grady furiously struggled to free himself, but Nightmare hung on and drove him to the ground, landing with all 350 pounds on top of him. Sitting on top of Grady, he pinned his arm with a massive knee. Grady couldn't deflect Nightmare's massive hams as they slammed into his face.
At that point Nightmare's Barbarian bros decided Grady had enough and pulled Nightmare off before any serious damage was done. The party was on again.
Another fight broke out between a Barbarian and a guy who was an independent, like Ringo. The guy had slapped a Barbarian on the back, inadvertently, apparently, touching the sacred colors. The Barbarian summarily slugged him and the idiot struck back–big mistake.
Two patch-holders can duke it out but outsiders get rat-packed: that's policy. This guy was no patch holder, and that was another matter altogether. The Barbarians simply kicked the shit out him and his bike, leaving both intact enough to make it to the emergency room with broken ribs and facial fractures. He'd survive.
Tammy was stone drunk and lying half in, half out of the cab of the El Camino. Snake was on top of her, pulling her tube top down around her waist. Tammy protested, wanting privacy from the guys who were still drinking at the tailgate of the truck. In spite of her protests, Snake balled her right there in the El Camino.
While Snake was humping Tammy, the other brothers gathered to watch, some even laughing and commenting. Tammy protested in a whiny voice, but it didn't change things.
“Aw baby, these are my bros; don't worry about 'em,” Snake muttered thrusting away. Sabina looked at Ringo, as if expecting him to step in, but he couldn't and gave discomfited shrug.
A dogfight broke out nearby. A big red Chow that looked like a cross between a baboon and a lion jumped on a nasty Pit Bull. The Pit was called Panda, presumably because of his black eye patches. Panda was smaller than the Chow, but his first lunge caught the chow right in the face. He hung on for a bit then released and immediately lunged back at the Chow, managing to bite down on the Chow's lower jaw.
The Chow was angry but helpless, his muffled squeals indicated the Pit's jaw strength had taken over. Extricating the Chow from Panda was a problem, before crushed the Chow's lower jaw.
The owners of the dogs tried to separate them, unsuccessfully. They only aggravated the Chow's wounds, causing him to howl in pain.Panda's owner, a wiry little character called Gypsy, was pissed. He shook the pit and yanked on the choke collar, yelling, “Out! Out Panda! Out! Let go, you fucking cocksucker!” Panda was oblivious, voicing his rebuttal by growling and thrashing his head back and forth, clinching his jaws and bringing further cries of agony from the Chow.Frustrated, Gypsy released Panda and went in search of aid. He returned brandishing a rubber tire mallet.”Won't out, huh? I'll get that motherfucker off!” He said to no one in particular as he strode towards Panda with the mallet.
Just as he was about to brain Panda, a big curly-mane fellow wearing Barbarian colors stepped in between them. He smiled and held his hand up, waving the Gypsy off. With an air of confidence, almost a cockiness, he was a thinker.
He reached down and grabbed Panda by his stubby tail and lifted his hind legs off the ground. Panda grunted disapprovingly but held fast onto the Chow's face causing the howling pitch to crescendo once again.
Still holding Panda up by the tail, the Barbarian balled his hand into a fist with his thumb stiffly extended.
Panda let out a staccato of indignant yelps, which instantly freed the mangled Chow, who was quickly dragged to safety by his owner. Panda just stood there, trance-like, making low grunts while the Barbarian held onto his tail and kept the thumb up his ass. Gypsy immediately got a close rein on Panda and yanked him away.
There was much jubilation and congratulations for the Barbarian who had separated the dogs. At one point the big Barbarian extended his hand to Gypsy, who gratefully, shook his hand, thumb-grip soul-brother style, then realized that he was grasping the thumb that had been up his dog's ass.”You nasty motherfucker!” He yelled as he jerked his hand away. Everyone laughed.
Ringo's attention drifted back to Tammy, who was, very reluctantly, pulling a train.”Come on guys, I didn't come for this,” she said, in tears.
Tammy didn't sneaked away from the covenant. Still she was getting more than she bargained for. Someone yanked the ice coolers from the back of the El Camino and replaced them with a dirty mattress.
All Tammy had on was the tube top, which was pushed down around her waist. Two guys lifted her up from the cab of the Camino, carrying her in fireman-rescue fashion with her freckled arms draped over their shoulders and their forearms hooked under her knees. Her panting breasts flopped and her bottom swung as they rushed her to the back of the truck in her gynecological pose.
They resumed, one biker after the other climbing up into the bed of the truck for another turn. Nightmare brusquely cut the line and grabbed Tammy by the ankles and pulling her off the mattress towards him. He roughly flipped her over on her stomach, with her legs hanging off the tailgate. Nightmare took her from behind, then pulled out to reposition himself. Tammy squealed in surprise. Snake stood by the tailgate, downing a beer, grinning and saying something to another Barbarian, as Tammy laid there listlessly with her head pressed against the foot of the mattress while Nightmare sodomized her.
Sabina looked up at Ringo again. He sighed and looked back at her helplessly. He wasn't about to jump into the middle of a feeding frenzy. Soon, two guys were in the bed of the truck with Tammy, then a third climbed up.
Finished the bikers abandoned Tammy as abruptly as they had swarmed her. She ran around in her sandals and tube top, which she had pulled into place to cover her breasts. She searched frantically for her cutoffs and panties.
As she hunted her attitude bounced from frantic to listless, to hysterical. Sabina and Ringo joined in the search and Ringo finally located the cutoffs. Apparently, someone had playfully stashed them behind the seat of the El Camino. They never found the panties.
Sabina left to help Tammy clean up. “Fucking bastards,” Tammy spat sobbing. “I didn't ask for that. I know girls get it here. I saw it once, but I didn't ask for it.”
Tammy wanted to leave. Sabina was definitely cool with that idea. They were forced to ask Snake for a ride. Sabina was cool with that too. Tammy approached Snake, who was sitting with several of his bros. “I need to get cleaned up,” she pleaded to Snake, embarrassed. The bros snickered as she demand a ride home. Snake suppressed his chuckle better than his fellow Barbarians, but told her sorry, no way. “Some might be headed back that way in the morning,” he said without concern. “Catch a ride then.”
She was stuck.Ringo shared his bedroll with the two girls in the barn. Sabina wedged between Ringo and Tammy. Even though they were all dressed and she had her back to him, Sabina's curves felt good as Ringo pulled her against him.
They awoke after daylight and Tammy was gone. They asked around. She caught a ride at daybreak, leaving Sabina there without a word and without a ride.
Sabina freaked. She pleaded with Ringo to pack her back to Cuero. “Fuck that,” he told her, “Cuero's way out of my way.”
Preacher, one of the Barbarians, a real unctuous character, said he'd take her home. She reached up, grabbed Ringo by his denim vest and strode off with her eyes forward, angrily pulling Ringo's lean frame behind her.
“Look, just get me out of here, wherever you're going is fine, just get me out of here, ok?” she said.
He nodded and ditched his bedroll to make room. They rode all the way to Sinton, where they grabbed lunch and received stares from the straights in a small, Giant movie like cafe. Worn out from the party, they rented a cabin alongside Highway 77. It had two double beds and enough room to wheel his hog inside. They shared the same bed, but she kept her clothes on. Ringo tried to get something going, but warm kisses were the extent of his action. She turned her back to him, sleeping spoon fashion, as they had the night before. They were soon dead to the world.
He woke up in the wee hours and started kissing on Sabina again, waking her. She cooperated some, but once she was fully awake she seemed more interested in talking than in making love.
She told him family history, how her dad had headed out to California when she was a baby and about her mom's boyfriends and about running away. She talked about Tammy too.”I met her at the unemployment office a couple of weeks ago,” Sabina explained. “I knew that she was some sort of a groupie with the Barbarians. That's all she talked about. She's balled some of them, before. She told me that. I shouldn't have gone. I'm not like her.” Then she reached out and touched his nose with her index finger and said, “After last night, that whole thing. It just . . . please be patient, OK?”
Ringo nodded, “Okay.” But when she went to sleep, or pretended to sleep, he nestled close to her and tried to kiss her and feel her up all over again. She was unresponsive. With her back to him, all curled up in a tight fetal position, she was as stiff as rigor mortis.
Pissed off, he got out of bed, rolled a fat joint, jammed outside and sat in one of the rusty lawn chairs to sulk and smoke in solitude. The night was clear and the stars magically came in view. His mind cleared. “Fuck this,” he thought. He had the whole day before him, if he rolled out now. He would leave alone.
He showered and was loading his bike when Sabina awoke.
“You leaving?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah, baby,” Ringo said, “I gotta hit the road.”
“What time is it?” She asked, rubbing her eyes.
He looked at his watch, “Quarter past four.”
“Wait for me, just give me a few minutes, OK?” There was a hint of desperation in her tone.”Look, there's bus fare,” Ringo pointed to the twenty he placed on the end table.
He sighed. “Look. . . just catch the Greyhound when it comes by, just ask the clerk . . .”
“No,” She made a placating gesture. “Wait, please. I want to be with you, can't you tell that? Look, I like you. You're a gentleman.”
“A gentleman?” Ringo made no attempt to hide his disdain.
“Yes, you are,” she replied firmly, “and I like that about you. I like that a lot. Just give me time, OK? I keep telling you, this whole thing, Tammy, everything . . . I'll help in Matamoras. I know the place well. I speak the language.”
Ringo knew it wouldn't pay to argue. He sighed in feigned resignation and flopped down in a chair. Sabina sprang from the bed and held his cheeks in her hands and roughly melded her lips to his.She ran off to the bathroom.
When he heard the shower running, Ringo got up. He slid his chain wallet from his jeans and fished out another twenty and dropped it on the table, then quietly began wheeling his Harley out the door.
The chopped '68 didn't sport electric start. Ringo tinkered with the idle on the Bendix carb, then stood to the side, gripped the handlebars, and gave it one kick with his right foot. The old Shovelhead fired right up, coughed out the excess gas, then started warming into her rhythm. She was just about ready to rumble when Sabina came running from shower.
She stood in the doorway, dripping, waving frantically with one hand while holding the towel to her chest in an unsuccessful effort to conceal herself. He let it the engine idle down so he could hear her.
“Motherfucker, you aren't leaving me here!” She yelled.
He looked at the highway. If he just twisted the throttle, he would be on the way to Matamoras. He looked back at her in the doorway. The towel fell between her firm breasts and ran downward, nearly concealing the sudsy nest between her legs.
He killed the engine with a flourish of irritation. “Hurry!” he yelled back at her. “We woke the whole fucking place!” She looked at him suspiciously. He looked back at her in exasperation. She pulled the towel up to better cover herself and just stood there, staring at him.
“Really, I'll wait this time, honest,” he promised.
She still didn't move. Finally, he sighed, snatched the key from the ignition and tossed it to her.
The towel fell away as she grabbed the key from the air. She flashed those pearls at him, turned and walked back towards the shower. She didn't scamper this time. She just walked, seductively swaying her hips and let the towel dangle from her hand. He twisted his body and leaned way over on the saddle so that his eyes could follow her round wet ass. Sabina stopped and turned back to face him. She looked at him with mock sincerity beckoning.
“What's your hurry?”It was a decent Mae West for a brunette.
Ringo stepped off the Harley and looked around to see if they had, in fact, awakened the whole park. It appeared they had not, or at least no one complained. He attempted to stroll casually back to cabin, although his strides, especially the final one, as he stepped through the door, may have actually been a bit too long for casual.
It was early sunrise by the time they rolled out of bed and into the shower together. Motel towels were all used up. They dried off with bed sheets. Sabina stashed her blouse and underwear in Ringo's bags and donned one of his tank tops. He could skip Boys Town this trip.
She stepped up on the peg, swung her leg over and pressed herself against him. They'd stop for a big breakfast in Kingsville and make it to the Rio Grande before noon. As they pulled onto the highway Ringo felt the cool dampness of her hair on his neck as she kissed him.
