As you might have guessed, I'm not politically correct. Nor do I shave everyday. I'm the kind of guy who scrubs the bottoms of his motorcycles but usually needs to scrape sharpening swarf and dog-spit out from under his fingernails. I consider jeans "good" if the patches are nicely sewn on.

This is about one of those mentor's "life lessons."

So, anyhoo, my wife and I go to the gym this morning, and while sliding our membership cards through the security slot in front of the desk girl, we continue to talk. As usual, I said something gnarly, and the girl responses, "Well, it's a good thing this desk is between us..." It was a stern faced implied threat.

Now, I think I can take her, that's not the issue. In an academic sense I don't give a flying fig what she thinks. Most Madisonians think the Vietnam War is still going on and would sooner vote for Ho Chi Minh rather than any conservative. But the episode bothered me. I've been thinking about it on and off all day.

First off, being bipolar I usually have to 'watch the room.' Meds make me feel great, but I still have OCD issues, my mouth gets me into trouble and I'm either the life of the party or your worst nightmare. That's not an excuse, just a fact I must deal with. I monitor my behavior by the tone of the citizens in my vicinity.

Granted, there are some people I go out of my way to wind up. Folks who have a false sense of entitlement. Employees a bit too quick to spout "It's no my table." Idiots texting in automobiles. Drunken townies. That's the short list.

But this was just a nice woman. Over the years I've gotten to know she's a respectable married mother. We don't do coffee, but she knows me enough to ask about my wife and if my bike ride was warm enough. I offended her, and in this stage of my life it bothers me.

Being a biker is many things. In the scope of brotherhood it's also just being a good guy if the situation calls for it. Things like walking out onto a frozen parking lot when a frightened little old lady realizes her plight--and twenty other "cultered folks" walk right by her. It's getting up in the grill of some wannabee 'banger because he parked an Escalade in front of a 90 year old man's car door. And most times it's just using the right fork, meaning not offending the good people in your life.

I feel I did wrong. *sigh* It also means I'll have to carry it without doing a thing about it. Previously if I did something like this I'd find the guy the next day and make amends. Some folks shake my hand. All too often it makes them uncomfortable, or it won't let sleeping dogs lie. Many people just want to compartmentalize these dealings, and will smile in your face the next day and pretend nothing happened.

This is the part of being a biker that is the hardest for me to tolerate. Sometimes you have to take the blow. Sometimes you've screwed up, the deed is done, and nothing will ever make the sin go away. Speaking of being OCD, I told a lie decades ago, hurt some people. Made amends, called them all back, 'fessed up, took the sins before God, and laid the trip on my cognitive therapist.

I still pray about it, and the harpoon will never come out.

Well, I had a good night's sleep, and I feel somewhat better. Usually the first time I return to "the scene of the crime" is the most stressful period of these things for me. I'll be going to the gym soon.

Like I said, I'm not good at discerning the mood of the room and I look for social clues. This could all be in my head or a serious breach.

Oh, another thing. I don't know if this happens to you, but sometimes people are spoiling for a fight. That's my current state of mind with this gym. It stems from the owner, a guy who likes to cash my monthly fee, but will often leave broken machinery sit for several weeks. In fact, about one month ago I got tossed off of a machine and got some minor slices across my shins.

The guy did pay for the check-up, but as his demeanor, I had to rag on him three or four times. In like manner, he cut the hours of his mechanic in half to trim costs. (I know the mechanic, he rides out of the same shop I do, and I got the background info.)

So my mental state is a confusion of shame, uncertainty and smoldering anger. As we joke here, "Well, that's Chico on a Tuesday."

Seriously, this overall condition is sometimes a hurdle for 'boomer bikers. Society as a whole doesn't make sense anymore, at both polar extremes. I mentioned the 'banger who felt everyone owed him a parking slot. However, I ran into the same consternation in dealing with a younger person at a Best Buy when I insisted on paying the "correct amount" making him back out the wrong info he had typed. His attititude was 'take the free money, I'll have to get a manager to clear the error.'

And you wonder why I like to get lost on the slab with only the wind and the clattering gallop of a Sportster engine...

I feel you tourist. Im 63 and in general tired of all the bs out there. I am a nice guy but sometimes I too let my emotions get me into trouble and then regret what I did or said for the rest of the day. The only way I know of to deal with it is to apologize to the people who I hurt and then forget it and try to do better next time. You got to let go and get the harpoon out. You cant change the past only the future. There was only one perfect person and look what we did to Him. Stay safe.

Thank you. That "letting go" part of the equation is the hardest part.

The reason I write these types of treatises is that I believe most people feel the same way you and I do. The problem is we are "bikers." We are always to be victors of every ice-pick fight, always a pretty girl on the bike, never cold, never hungry, and the perennial pickle-jar lid remover. Bulging biceps and courage to match.

Boy, there's a topic for the truth in advertising law! Most of the real bikers I know have had a few broken noses, scars on their wrists, elbows and knees from wrecks, a painful divorce or a woman they feel was "the one that got away," and strangely some deep spiritual conflicts. You wouldn't be able to build big organizations like the CMA if all of us were the happy hell-on-wheels rogues we claim to be.

However, we never speak of things like this. So I do. I come here, relate some problems in my life that I've also seen in the guys I ride with. Kind of the dark dirty secrets of the macho crowd. Stuff breaks my heart. For example, one of the 'boys' I used to ride with is now 69 years old. The best engine builder and custom bike designer in my neck of the woods. A happy go lucky skirt chaser back in the day. Now his Alzeimers is so bad his wife can hardly cover for him.

Bikers. We weep a hundred tears for every one punch we throw.