While few care to admit it, we tend to beat ourselves up over the bonehead things we said and did in the past. Even when we make amends and cease that sort of behavior, sometimes your mind re-lives those weaker moments. With plenty of lax winter time on my hands, I've been doing that.

Recently I realized that many of those moments--even the serious ones--were 30 to 50 years ago. I had owned up to them, taken the hit, made amends and in a very real sense, moved on.

This year marks my 62nd birthday. While I still intend to work-out, ride, hold a job and participate fully in life, this age usually marks 'retirement' in the American society. I decided to use that heritage as a line of demarcation. Sort of a voluntary exile to The Group W Bench.

I'm writing a book, and even that is a valuable catharsis. But I do drag along some hurts, some regrets, lots of anger, fantasy plans of scorched earth revenge, and many odd memories.

Well, no more. If you live this long--and still have most of your marbles--you come to realize that society doesn't care. In fact, one minister told me that if something happened 24 hours ago the majority of people forget. For example, the fourth Sterling Hall bomber was never caught. Not even the FBI is concerned about finding him, even telling the public he's most likely dead. Heck, he killed somebody.

So here's my proclamation. Living 'the lifestyle' brought me many wonderful insights, but also some darker memories and I sometimes acted coldly. I made up for it. I try to mentor. And as for modern society, I don't really care what happens to them. If they won't work, develop a trade, treat their wives decently, think taxpayers owe them a living or try to 'level me' with some false sense of entitlement learned in their mom's basement, they'll find I won't accept an unearned guilt.

But that also applies to all events dating before about 2004. I'm retiring. I'm happy. My bikes run. I had enough common sense to quit smoking over 40 years ago. I've buried enough old brothers. I've seen just how society treats the military veterans of my era. I keep my lawn mowed. I don't cheat on my wife. I get up and I go to work because that's what men do.

Based on that, I'm laying the entire burden down. If the statute of limitations has freed me from punishment, that also applies to my own self-image. And to you, as well. You might find that I respond less often and help out very little. In other words, act like the world does.

Don't cry for me, Argentina. My life is good.

As a newb here you might not know that BI63 and repeatedly tried to sell the idea of biker brotherhood to a population that was less and less interested in that old idea. Okay, fine, I got the message. And frankly, I think I wasted my time.

If chrome and paint are more important now than the reason we started riding, then live that way. However, if an old graybeard cruises right on past your broken scooter parked on the shoulder, it's because you've demonstrated to him that being a brother is for suckers.

I sinned and broke laws. I atoned. I even made up for the wrongs, that means on the street, to friends and accepting punishment in court. Now college athletes rape co-eds for fun and 'bikers' wear rags for a status symbol. And now my code is finally over for me. I have attained the age where society allows me to be as unattached as they are.

My guilt and life plan is over, so is my role as mentor. Yikes, I no longer have to type ideas on the old codes and mentoring. Right now my main concern is finding a choice new style 4.5 gallon EFI fuel tank for a Sportster.

And the benefit is not having to get out of my chair as my beer warms up to help a loudmouth 'biker' being beaten up by drunken townies. Let his FaceBook friends come to his aid. I'm retired.

No, it's not a selfish view at all. In this day and age it's a prudent and necessary fact.

For example, people used to stop for motorcycles at the side of the road. In my case, it's most often an Electra Glide-ish bike on the slab. This guy has clothing of all sorts, a GPS, probably an android phone and some form of AAA auto service. And in most cases his wife just wanted to stretch her legs and he had to pee.

My predicament is more dire. Yes, technically I have +80 miles of fuel. Technically. But I have a download to enrich my engine. I have electronic gizmos inside my tank. I'm burning fuel on the slab. I cannot help him if I strand myself.

If my fuel warning light is on, my need is to find fuel. If I already have +50 miles on the trip odometer, and it's eight miles to the next ramp and possibly another eight miles to back-track down a frontage road I'll wind up stranding both of us. Not to mention getting a Kenworth jammed up my keester for stopping amid traffic.

I'll raise my thumb. If he returns the gesture I'll move on. If he signals a problem, I'll call the Troopers from the next gas station. After all, he's not bleeding.

Just like in the case of carrying a concealed weapon, I'm just a citizen, I'm not required to do anything.