continued…
Bikers in general are a strange lot. They come in basically two flavors in my experience. There is the full-time biker; often a dangerous thug with a mighty thirst for sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Then, there is the weekend warrior; usually a nine-to-fiver with a wife, kids and a mortgage. I’ve been hired to play for both types. They usually don’t mix unless there is some kind of mutual history between individuals on each side.
The weekenders will often do a “run” that consists of riding 50-odd miles on their “hogs”. Their bikes are usually new, clean well-dressed machines. The purpose of the run is something along the lines of Toys for Tots or a Relay For Life Cancer Research Fund Raiser. They plan their ride so it will end at a picnic ground or park which has been designated as the spot for the concert. There will be children, families, perhaps a concession stand and several bands hired to play for entertainment. By the end of the day everything will be cleaned up and everyone will go home. They are low-key and enjoyable events with a solid guarantee of money.
The lifers are another story. There are already enough reports and stories that have been written chronicling the drunken debauchery that surrounds full-time bikers. I don’t need to go into it in any depth. Imagine the worst you’ve heard about them…make it a little worse and that’s what I’ve seen a bit of…enough of. It is essential the polar opposite of the weekenders events. They ride in from hundreds of miles away (sometimes a few will ride in from a couple of thousand) and plan on staying a few days to a week. The area they use will be completely destroyed and unfit for human use for months. There are rarely children, huge bonfires, no concession stands. The bikes are run-down scrapped together ancient Harleys and Indian Chiefs. They will be worked on the whole time like an open air repair garage. When they are put back together bikers will ride and race them around the grounds in a wild and reckless manner. People will be hurt. Will you get paid? Don’t count on it; just hope you vehicle is still present and working when it’s time to go.
Once I was playing in another 4 hour gig (mostly blues, country and classic rock cover tunes), when a guy approximately the size and shape of a refrigerator with a giant head came over to glare at me. It was a small joint and my Marshall half stack was crammed up against one end of the bar and I stood about 2 feet in front of it all night. This guy came over to my end of bar and stood there for about 30 minutes glaring down at me. Whenever I did a solo he would bend down a little to watch my fingers and then rise back up and howl loudly in between slamming beer after beer. Finally, when he had his fill he slapped me on the back, slammed a $100 bill on the top of my amp and yelled in my face, “Damn good playin’, boy!” Then he walked out the door never to be seen again.