As you know, I am a firm believer in "the mental, not the metal." Simply put, you can have the best custom Harley in your state and still be a clueless poser. Here's a true story that demonstrates values, mentoring, and owning up to your mistakes. I believe that the person involved learned what calling himself a 'biker' really meant.

"Back in the day," our club meetings were on Tuesday nights. Considering it was a bike club, we held to Roberts Rules of Order. I'm not sure most folks have even heard the concept now.

During the 'new business' portion of the evening, our founding prez stood up (none to happy, I might add) and singled out a relative newbie full patch holder with the handle of 'Cement.' It was the play on words of his name, and a comment on his lack of brains. The biker came forward and stood sheepishly next to the prez.

It turned out that our member had been living off his brothers. He would borrow a buck or two at a time from the members, such small sums that no one noticed or cared. At some point everyone shared their experiences about his conduct. As you know, our prez had no tolerance for that behavior.

The prez told him to state his case. Clutched in Cement's hand was a stack of white envelopes. Each one had two or three dollars and was labeled with a member's name. As he handed out the envelopes, he had to apologize, and promise all of the money would be paid back. Yikes, just hearing the story both scared and surprised me. This was 'tough love' if nothing else, and I was shocked that Cement wasn't covered in bruises and scabs with plaster covering broken bones.

In the end, our prez hurt him a lot worse. He had to stand in front of the +30 full patch members he had hurt and admit he was a thief and atone.

That's 40 years ago. But when I look at my old rags I remember the incident and realize it has guided the rest of my life. Still scares me. A few months ago I found out that a barista had made me a latte with 5 shots and only billed me for four of them. I went back the next day and paid her.

Yeah, it's a life lesson for me, too. And time has not erased the look of the face on the prez. Being a brother isn't all about chrome and parties and chasing women. It's also about a code of conduct. I am a suburban tourist now, and no longer can I claim the title of biker in its truest sense. But I also believe the life lesson was more important than any title.

I see this term too often here - Real Biker...

I pee standing up.
I ride for the pleasure.
I own.
I wrench.
I fight.
I demand the respect I deserve.
I'm a biker- a real biker and by the definitions I see here some say I'm not.
If I was sitting on a bar stool next to any of you and was insulted like that you'd me layin on the floor.
So enough of this crap.
You want to feel bigger and badder cause you once did this or that...
My last fist fight was a week ago, and even though I'm getting old and slow I can still kick the living crap out of 99.9% of the people on this earth I don't go around doing it.
Real biker? Bad Azz? Tough Guy?

I own, I ride, I live the life, I am a "Real Biker" with or without your permission or approval.

It's a cool story, but IMO "Biker" is a general term that all motorcycle riders hold. There are all sorts of biker's, my dad was called a biker 40 years or so back, and he never wore a patch. Somehow the public is more likely to call you a biker if you ride a Harley. Wearing a patch doesn't give you soul right to the term, it was most likely used well before the clubs adopted it.

RK, you missed the entire point. It's not about being tough, it's having tough values.

My position as an MC member was the socialization portion of the equation. Some guys were into scouting, some joined the football team, some served in the army. I was a biker. Same dealie.

If I criticize anything you feel it's that "knocking someone off a barstool" somehow enhances your credentials. And it might, for roughly seven seconds. Then fifteen of their brothers will show you the linoleum. But in death or in living in a wheelchair, you'll be a hero. Or maybe the butt end of every joke they ever tell.

Is that the way you want to live, and more importantly, is that your criteria for everyone else? That's another attribute of my beliefs. The 'bikers' I see need to spend a few years in a club to straighten out this attitude. In fact, the best thing they did for me was in knocking that stupid grin off my face. We don't teach that now, at all. Again, and for about the tenth time, it's the mental, not the metal.

I didn't miss the point, that is the point.
I was taught those values long before I ever rode a motorcycle, so saying that those values make you a real biker mean nothing to me.
As for the fifteen that come to the rescue of a big mouth, I rest my case.
If that ONE got his azz knocked to the ground because he insulted me and then FIFTEEN had to come to his rescue then the ONLY Real Biker there according to your definition would be ME.

I don't know what your problem is lately. Take it to PM.

Let me expand on this issue of "mental, not metal." And you know guys just like this.

I meet dozens of guys who ride real-deal Harleys and have done so for decades. Everything they own is stamped "HD." They can quote Michael Parks trivia better than Michael can, himself. They probably own more 9/16s wrenches than Playboys.

However, let a guy who's comfortable within himself, and in his club, and in his job and his marriage stroll by, and this Harley groupie goes berserk. He starts in with a litany of common nonsense on how he "marches to his own beat," or he doesn't need a patch, or sounding like an addicted smoker, brags that his ego is not invested in the bike. He can "quit" or live his own life without the machine.

And frankly, I do not know why they feel this way. No one is pointing the finger at them, least of all me. But I do know that I have set off this 'BS gripe meter' just by walking into the shop and buying bike parts. Most times I don't even know the guy, or which bike he rides. He implies things that no one is accusing him of, despite the fact he has a $30K Harley parked in the lot.

I've come to the conclusion that the problem is just a matter of spelling. He spells it "loner," but I spell it 'loser.' For all of the hardware, the street creds, the chrome polish and the bragging, he's got a chip on his shoulder as big as a cinder block. My guess is that this anger has nothing to do with me or those like me, but just how he views himself.

Having been a dumb kid doesn't eat up my self-esteem. But staying a dumb kid might have. I had to change, I had to improve. And climbing on the treadmill of "buying more chrome will make me a man" is not the way to go. You change the man you are, then you climb on the bike.

You don't want a patch, then don't strive to own one. With that attitude they won't vote you in. They want brothers, guys they can trust. They don't want a guy whose whole world crumbles if they run out of chrome polish. Toughest? That's not it either. I weighed 140 pounds and got my nose broken, twice. But while there were tens of thousands of 'boomer bikers, there were only 35 of us.

It ain't the bike, folks. Quick! Name the best four NFL quarterbacks of the 2011 season. Without knowing each of you personally, I'm certain that you all named the same four guys. You also know twenty guys in your neighborhood with beer guts and that claim to know better than the pros. Same deal here.

I was trying to think about an analogy to better explain my position, and voila, today's Wisconsin State Journal was delivered. In two unrelated pieces, the paper showed exactly what I'm talking about. The same principles take place in the non-biker world, as well.

For example, the first part of this analogy deals with a mother's letter in one of those "Dear Abbey" style columns. She writes in that she was taught "not to get your hopes up," but then relates her four children accuse her of "sucking the joy out of everything."

Two things here. First, just because her kids have taken a different path in life, and have their own opinions, clearly they are 'not doing what she has told them to do.' They have repudiated her life goals--obviously repeatedly--and secondly, they had the audacity to succeed anyway. So she continues to act in the same fashion year after year and then wonders out loud why grinding down their hopes isn't working.

The next story is a feature here. We have a foodie column where the newspaper interiews a local chef. Today they had a Q&A column with a chef from an Italian restaurant.

In one question, they asked if he went to culinary school. He responded, "No, I had the privilege of working under some very driven chefs and business owners, all of whom helped shape my career."

In our lives, we meet these same sort of people. One group will continue to rain on your parade no matter how great you're doing because you steadfastly refuse to follow them. Then you point out that if there is any failure in the room it's on their side of the line. In every case I know, whining ensues. The etiquette columnist here responded, "Sometimes people do get the date, get the role, get the job, get the medal."

As for the chef, it's clear he had raw talent, tenacity and great mentors. He succeeded in a skill and a lifestyle not many of us can pull off. I work for some chefs, I cannot do what they do, but I openly admire the skill and I do not attempt to knock them down.

But I refuse to give the whiners, the naysayers and the killjoys the benefit of underlining "their lifestyle." They have no lifestyle. They take the same 24/7 we all are granted and decide that the only way to uplift themselves is to knock the rest of us down. And the mentality is not just in bike circles, but everywhere that people strive to succeed.

When I meet a 'biker' who denigrates my MC experience, it's good bet that he's a griper at his job, he's on his third marriage and he's a "lone wolf" biker because no one wants to ride with him. My success is not his failure, rather he's sinking his own ship. I used my chance to grasp life, and I had to stumble over 'loners,' a drunken mother, an authoritarian college dean, a CFO that was sinking his own company and a cavalcade of chubby apologists who won't work-out at a gym because their knees hurt.

Enough. Find a way to succeed. The rest of us had to. We survived, proving it can be done.

Within 1% and some other type motorcycle/riding clubs there are serious consequeces for being the joker who takes advantage of what you described,that behaviour is not as happen stance as you'd like to think. However if a club member is minding his own business and some self ordained tough guy tries to make a point and causes the issue and which is usually the case, its on.

Boy that is upsetting when someone does that, you know, cause trouble cause he knows he has back up. Its happened to me a couple times and I handled it pretty good. Chuckling now thinking about it.

I am selective who I associate with for that reason. If me and you decided to run the roads for a couple days.....I got your back and I expect you to have mine. I won't intentionally cause issues and usually walk away from most and I expect that from whomever I'm with.

So do I. This was the painful part of this thread, even though it had to be said. Clearly, I spoke about 'life lessons,' and not "MC lessons." However, it did clarify things I suspected and felt about deeply.

For one, in the circle of long time members here, my goals are clear, my discourse plain, and my intentions transparent. Or so I thought. Owning a Harley isn't even half the equation in that regard. Like the old adage, "Even a widow owns a Harley."

But I do not wish to speak to RUBs and posers. I came here to talk to bikers. I clean my own lint trap. After six decades on this planet I have earned the right to speak the truth without affixing on a dozen disclaimers.

I had to add to my "ignore list" today. I had typed the same thing over several times, and offered analogies. I seek the world of brothers and shun the world of motorcyclists. I have repeatedly stated that if I am ever given the privilege of meeting Sonny Barger, I will shake his hand and thank him for the life I have led. An existence without fear, a desire to seek something beyond myself, to be taught how to live in the world of men, and show up as I have promised.

The rest of the bunch just waste my time. BI63, if you ever find yourself on the wrong side of a barroom dust-up, tip your head back, inhale through your nostrils and discern the scent of the wind. It will be the aroma of pasta and gym socks, my friend, coming to your aid...