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Religion: |
Sig Sauer or S & W |
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Introduction:
I ride older bikes, like to work on my house, shooting, country and rock music. I'm divorced. I've one boy to finish raising, he's 16 and comes first. Deal with it.
I’m a rider…r-i-d-e-r...and I’ve figured a few things out lately. First off, your new kustom bike and tailored leathers don’t make you a biker. Some fucked up design on your spiffy new vest doesn’t make you a 1%, or my “bro”. Those who know me, really know me, know I’m a rider, a wrench (of sorts), a poor working slob who’s half crippled, abandoned by the one try at a normal life, and in no frame of mind to be a social flit-about or somebody’s patsy. I’ve spent my time as a patch holder, lived the life, and now am content to ride, do as I feel like, hang with those that don’t have to prove anything, be seen at the “right” gatherings, or haul their shit around on a trailer. Give me an old bike I can wrench on. Let me wander. In this day and age, I no longer care for the definition or name of “biker” as it’s become. Let me ride...the rest is just bullshit.
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Turn ons:
ShovelheadsPanheadsRedheads |
Turn offs:
Drunks, Drug Addicts, Know-it-alls, Wannabes... |
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Activities:
Guns, bikes, and working on bikes. Oh yeah, redheads...
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Interests:
See above
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Favorite Music:
Country, rock...no rap!
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Favorite TV Shows:
Why would I waste my time?
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Favorite Movies:
Too busy
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Favorite Books:
Shop manuals
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Favorite Quotes:
Age & Treachery will always overcome Youth & Skill. What are you like the other 28 days of the month?
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About Me:
Divorced, and no one or any plans for ever going there again. Enjoy my sons, working around my house, working on my bike, truck or one of the locals tractors/bikes/car/whatever. I work about 50 hours a week and get up too damned early. My only long range goal at this point is to get as much saddle time as I can. Riding's about the only pleasure I get anymore aside from time spent with the 23 yr old and the 16 yr. old, and there isn't a whole lot of that Warning! I'm 5'-2", about 190-195 lbs, walk with a bad limp. Motorcycle wreck. To you; the limp should be unimportant, I never was a dancer anyway. The fact that I got back on should be.
And now, about your friend requests...all of you. If you've got 500 friends, I know you're not talking to all of them. I like some interaction. Don't bother with me if you're just stacking numbers. Matter of fact, if you're further than 50 miles from Morrow Ohio, you better be REALLY, REALLY special. Time for a beer...
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