The Real Problem With Child Abuse

Is, its damn hard to catch.

When I first got involved with BACA, I was pumped.   Good guys vs bad guys.   Bikers against Perps.   Save the kids, They know who we are and the kids move on.

Then I started going to court.  I started seeing lying parents, making up stories and custody battles to protect their own interests, not so much their kids.   I gotta say, any parent who uses their kid as a poker chip in a custody deck of cards?  thats Taliban shit.   Thats putting your WMD’s in a school, because you know NATO can’t bomb there.   Thats the biggest pussy of all.   You’re barely better than a perp to me.    The whole point of this mission is:  Let kids be kids.   Don’t put bullshit pressure on them while theyre trying to grow up and figure out who they are, and who they want to be.

But heres the biggest problem:   It’s damn hard to prove child abuse, and the perps know it.

They know if they leave visible bruises, teachers will see it.   they hit below the belt and shirt lines.

They know how to find weak parents, or struggling kids who need something.  the watch, they learn, they infiltrate.   They are the most worthless, cowardly fucks in the world.     They are the flotsam and jetsom of society.   They hide in shadows, and take advantage.     They also know what they are doing, and how to do it.    The bold ones tell little johnny or suzy that they will kill them if they nark.   This shit gets buried deep, and its all on the backs of children.    They strip cogs in these kids brains, and sooner or later it changes them.   Some, end up thinking its actually normal.      The cycle continues.     Consider the average perp gets over 100 kids, and you’ll see this is nothing short of an epidemic, and getting worse.

So the ones we get, are the obvious cases.

Then they go to court.   YOu have to understand, that you need evidence to prosecute.    You need witnesses at least.   You need something.   When I was a  young kid, my father’s lawyer told him something that I over heard and its always stuck with me:   The law isnt about justice, its about order.     There can never be justice for what happens to these kids.   All you can do, is round em up, and put em in prison or put them in the chair.  Even putting a bullet in their head, It doesn’t level the field for a kid who’s had years of secret abuse.     It just doesn’t.   Its damage control.     We’ve all got scars, but these kids bear em way too early, when they’re not ready or capable of handling it.    Our job, is to help them overcome it.   Protecting them helps that.

Back to court, and evidence….    How do you prove it?    On the word of a 5 year old little girl?  of a 10 year old boy?    You need a witness, or evidence.     I’m not going to go into evidence, because I barely know shit about it and don’t want to think too much about it, but a doctor can tell when a child has been raped.      You get the drift.   Whats it take to get to that point?    It takes a mother who is willing to throw a marriage away, has the financial or family resources to move to somewhere else, and the courage to put up with the threats from the perp who will do anything to stay out of prison.     So many women have been conditioned to do just the opposite from years of their own abuse, and sometimes selfishness.   Face it, life is tough.   it goes back to the fact that some people are willing to sell out their own kin to find some ease in life, or save their life.    Man, this is a tough gig.

Filter it all down, and the ones we get are truly special.  Timing, the family, the situation are all right.   Sometimes they’re not.

My chapter had 2 cases of sexual abuse of a child today, and the judge sentenced the pricks to 3 years of probation, and 90 days in jail on weekends so the abuser could keep his job.    his boss even came out and plead his case.

I don’t mean to get you discouraged.   Man, you CAN’T GET DISCOURAGED.    It means you have to be wise, and swing harder at this problem we have, because we’re the only guys who can fix it.   We need  to write more letters, raise more awareness, Ride to more kids,  not ignore any sort of abuse, and be stronger than the perps are sneaky and the courts have sympathy or lack of evidence.

Wear your patch, and shout this shit from the rooftops.    You’ve earned it.   A BACA member doesnt get that patch easily.   In my state, its a 2 year commitment at least, and a FBI background check saying you’ve never abused kids or women.   It’s also a unanimous vote by a board who has been watching you and your family for 2 years to feel good that you’re BACA material.

It means we need to do more.   Goddammit, the innocent are depending on us.  the only real innocence in the world:  our kids.

Also know this:  My whole life is worth one or two kids we save and empower.       Most of us have helped way more than that.

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You’re born a biker

I follow very few blogs out there. I find most to be trivial and full of shit. the ones I like are the ones of people who really ride, love riding and think about why they love it. Maybe its because I question everything, and I’ve never nailed that down.

Rob Dale is a guy I follow his blog. We couldnt be more opposite: he’s a christian preacher, and I’m an atheist. He’s a Canadian, I’m an American. He’s a senators fan, I’m a penguins fan. But at the end of the day, we both love riding. I’d like to meet him some day and buy him a beer.

Anyway, his blog post today got me once again wondering why we do it.     Seriously, I have no fucking clue why I’m so drawn to 2 wheels over 4.     I can’t pin it down, other than a few reasons:

I watched an old Hells Angel Documentary from the early 80s that had an HA member saying “there’s that one kid in every school, who never fit in, who couldnt be told, and he’s the guy that ends up a hells angel.  He fits here.”.   I’m not 1%  (maybe I’m 2%), but I get that.     I’ve never struggled with popularity that I cared too much about, but I know I don’t fit in the standard hole of a standard peg.   I’m good with that.   Maybe that has something to do with it.

There’s something about the road that just resonates with me.   My dad loved to fly.  had a plane.   He found peace in the sky.   I liked flying, but I remember tracing the roads from the plane through the clouds, and imagining myself on them.     Who knows where that came from, but its a real memory.

I also remember my first real street bike.  It was 1988.   I’d had a dirt bike since I was 11, and I remember heading back from living in Long Beach CA on it, and about the time I got out of Cajon Pass it hit me:   Holy shit, there’s  peace out here.   Something happened.

I remember getting emotional as I pushed that bike off the back of my truck at the dump, and thinking it was like an old girlfriend:  If I cant have it, no one can.   It had given up the ghost.   I didnt have the money to fix it anymore, and I’d thrown 2 engines in it already.
So here I am, wondering if bikers are born, or they’re made.   Maybe I was made, but I think Bikers are born.   I have friends who own bikes and barely care.   I know if I go 2 days, no matter what the weather I start going nuts.   I need to see the world from that bat wing faring.

So the question is:  Are bikers born or made?    Are we a dying breed?   I’m not talking about the guys who own a bike and love the occassional freedom of a saturday ride.  I’m talking about the guys who have to ride.    I can tell you, I know I have to ride.

But thats just me.  What do you think?

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B.A.C.A. Utah 100 Mile Ride – April 24, 2010

If you’re a member of Bikers Against Child Abuse, you know what the 100 mile ride is. Each year, we get pledges, however we can, and ride at least 100 miles for child abuse awareness.

Last year, My president and friend Shots volunteered us to do it this year. we’re in the southernmost part of the state, and it made sense. We’ve prepped all year for it.

So friday, my brothers and sisters started riding down. From Moab, from Ogden, from Salt lake, From Tooele and every where else. Someone from at least 10 chapters showed up. We drank whiskey, beer and tequila in my garage, and the next morning we headed out to do our 100 mile ride. At least 100 patches. At least 170 bikes total.

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I don’t know shit from shinola.   I’ve made a conscious decision my whole life to be loyal to my wife and family, learn as much as I can, and become more than I am.     Life is deep to me, and its deep to alot of people.

All I know, is that seeing 200 or men and women, with background checks and a commitment ride through my town was moving to me.   We’re an army.   BACA is the answer to the plague of child abuse.   My mission in that area is clear.

Wife took this one as well, she’d found the tour pak vodka at that point:


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some days

been working a lot lately.   Doing something B.A.C.A. almost every night it seems.  on some level or another.

Doing the 100 mile ride in 10 days.   That means every chapter in utah is riding to St. George to ride, plus the public.   we’re planning the whole thing, and its going great.     We’re on top of it.

Then, 2 weeks after that is the mexican Hat party.  I can’t take any credit for it, other than it was my idea and plan.   Everyone else ran with it from there.    Especially drifter, from the moab chapter.   He took the bull by the horns and got it done.

Once all this is done, I’m going to ride somewhere and see something new.   Somewhere I havent been, and get a whole new point of view on life.

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Ride conflict

First off, I don’t give a fuck whether you think I’m a biker or not.   I may be, I may not be, based on how you view bikers.    I don’t weld for a living, work in a mine or am a hand on an oil well.      I’m not a 1%er, even though I have a lot of friends who are.    I may not ride the bike you think a biker would ride.

Fuckit, all I know is I need to ride.   It’s not a want.  Straight up, it’s a need.

I’m also a father.   A business owner.   A husband.   I’ve also made a pledge to protect abused kids, even at the sake of my life.   I’ll do all four.

So last night I scoped out ballarat California and death valley as my late winter ride.   Man, I want to go.   I stare down the barrell of my calendar and I see the whole state of utah coming to my chapter in a few weeks for our annual 100 mile ride.   I see a party in mexican hat that was my idea, for my B.A.C.A. Brothers and sisters on an idea I had last year.     I see child rides, to help abused kids that I’ve sworn to be their sheild.    I’ve got 120 employees who depend on me to get things done and to make the right decision.  I’ve got mothers day.   Not to mention, I’ve got kids who need a day to day with their old man.

But dammit, I’ve got to ride.    I thought on the way home… I’ve got pressures in my life that I’ll never tell you about.    Riding gives me the focus to get my rockability back.   Gotta keep all the balls in the air, and at the same fucking time, I gotta be happy about chucking those balls up.    I gotta live.

This weekend, my plan was to ride to California.   I may or may not end up going.    I might take my wife on the bike.  My kids might go in the truck.    Hell, I don’t know now.  It’s gonna be a game time decision.

Responsibility is a bitch.

But I’m probably no different than you, am I.   You balance your life and pressures and at the end of the day, you throw your leg over your bike, point it somewhere, and find your soul in some way or another.   Riding is truly freedom.   People that don’t ride will  never truly  understand.

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Why I love Riding.

Thats one of the things I love about riding:

First, it drains your stress… this takes the longest.   There’s a whole lot of bullshit in life that gets built up.      Sometimes, it takes hours for it to all go away.   The road will fix it eventually.   Just keep riding.   Cracked blacktop, open throttle and good music at 75 mph will cure about any evil I know of.

Then, It opens your mind. You start to see things how they are.   How you want to make em.   The ideas flow again.   Ideas about family, life, work.     That’s stage 2.   once stage 1 is fixed, stage 2 goes quickly into stage 3:

Then, it opens your soul. In my experience, I start feeling again.   Imagining.   Loving life.    Feeling Life.   Man, its the best part.   You start breathing it in, ready to kick ass again.   Ready to be a good dad.   Ready to make some money.   Ready for whatever life is gonna throw at you, because you’re not young…. you know life is gonna throw shit.   Life…. bring that shit on.   I’ll own you.

That’s when music starts sounding good on the road.    I don’t care if its from your ipod, or your batwing faring stereo.

Once those 3 are fixed, man… youre a human being again.

It’s been a long winter.   I need to be a human being again.   Real Men get life pressures that only a man might know about, if he’s a man.

I think I’m heading out to ballarat this weekend, after my BACA child ride.   I’ll go cheap, and hopefully get all three.   I’d be happy if the first one happens, but what will power me up for weeks is if the other 2 happen.   Only the road knows if that’s gonna be.     Can’t wait.

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Ballarat California, Easy Rider

Ballarat, California, 1969.   Theres some history there for a lot of things.    It’s one of those spots that maybe I need to head out this weekend and visit again.

Here’s some pictures of Easy Rider, from Ballarat California

Easy Rider Screenshot.  Ballarat California, Death Valley 1969
Screenshot from Easy Rider, 1969
Same shot in Ballarat, Today

I’m riding out there saturday night If I can pull it off to go see what it looks like, take some new pictures and get me a 3 part ride in.

This is the part of the movie before the credits.   This house in 1969 was where Wyatt rolled up the dollar bills, put them in a plastic tube in his gas tank, and put a cork in them.    It’s also where both Billy and Wyatt threw there watches on the road.

Here’s some more scenes from the house, sent to me by a friend who made a film about the movie, on replica panheads like the bikes in the movie.   This was Shorty’s house, from the film, and what it looks like today.

I’m heading out to ballarat.   Call it a tune up ride.  I need me a tune up.    It’s gonna be good.

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Pine Breeze Inn From Easy Rider

Pine Breeze Inn - Click for more Pictures.

The Pine Breeze Inn is the first famous Icon from the movie Easy Rider. This is where after leaving Ballarat California, Wyatt and Billy Rode till dark, almost to flagstaff where they asked for room at the pine breeze, and the proprietor immediately walked back in and turned on the no vacancy sign. They left, and billy shouted “you asshole!”, to head down route 66 a little further and camp by the road at some old ruined shacks. The pine breeze inn is still somewhat famous. For years bikers we’re still allowed to camp there, where the hero’s of easy rider we’re denied. It’s still alive, and in Bellemont Arizona. The famous NO VACANCY Sign has been altered somewhat since 1969 when Easy Rider was made, and it’s hanging at the entrance of the bar just a short distance down the street, still flashing no more rooms for hippies.

The Pine Breeze Inn
Cabins at the Pine Breeze Inn
Cabins at the Pine Breeze Inn
Cabin at Pine Breeze Inn
More Cabins
If Billy and Wyatt would have gotten a room, it would have been one of these
Pine Breeze Inn
Looking south. Thats route 66 in front of the Office there.
The no vacancy sign hangs in the bar a half mile up the road. They’ll claim its the one from the movie but it’s not.    It hangs prominently in the front of the bar.
Easy Rider Movie Route 66 Bellemont Pine Breeze Inn
The Pine Breeze, at dusk. 1969
Hey Man! You got a room??
Cabins at the Pine Breeze Inn

Where wyatt and billy were denied!

Pine Breeze Inn From Easy Rider
Pine Breeze Inn, Route 66
Billy and Wyatt headed on down this road...
Route 66 heads off in the distance. Billy and Wyatt slept up this road.  If you’re a fan, grow a pair and sleep here too.   You’ll tell your grandkids about it.

 

Signs of Life...
Easy Rider Poster on the Door
Easy Rider

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Morganza Cafe from the Movie Easy Rider

Easy Rider Cafe
Easy Rider Cafe in Morganza Louisiana

For those of you who have seen the movie Easy Rider, you may or may not know the iconic cafe in Morganza, Louisiana.   It was torn down a few years ago, but here it is in 1986.    A friend of mine emailed me this picture.   If you lived then, you could have gone in and got service where they got none.   Hell, you coulda ordered kidney beans, because you left yours on the freeway.

I’ve got several pictures of the Easy Rider Cafe in Morganza, but they didn’t match up.   This one is the real cafe, taken before it was torn down.

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