Bikers that is.
Every autumn and every spring, Myrtle Beach falls prey to an influx of motorcycles. Three weeks long at three different times they arrive. One by one. On trailers and with RV’s. Not just a few- but, rather what appears to be thousands. They are everywhere and they are extremely loud. They wreck, they get drunk, they even die. In our quaint little beach town. Now, I have nothing against bikers, in general unless you count the traffic jams, the inability to leave windows down in the car at anytime of the day and listening to bikes through your front and back doors…around the clock for 4 straight nights.
The 3 festivals of bike rallies here are horrible. So horrible that local ordinances are being tested as I type, with various strategies and regulations in the works to prevent their ‘free for all’ in our lovely little beach communities. I don’t mind that they are here- I mean it does bring in revenue and like I said I have nothing against the ‘husky smoking long haired -cut in front of me- bandana wearing leather pushers’ that arrive twice a year. Unless you count, the motorcycle that almost hit me as I was driving my newborn home one afternoon and he was crying hysterically at their LOUD A$$ motorcycles. Nor, do I have any beef for the ‘big black booty on the back of bikes’, either. (Try saying that one three times in a row!) But, I could do without seeing a thong and nothing else RIGHT in my face as I sit waiting for the light to turn green. Anyway, point is- they are welcome here.
Yet, with that welcome is the need to respect our communities and awknowledge that PEOPLE actually LIVE here with FAMILIES and believe that no matter what has been said, it isn’t a 24/7 brothal! Although, today I did ponder if it might be close to one. (Insert the AD on the radio for an ‘Amature’s Night’ at a local gentleman’s club for a free rack {=a.k.a. headlights, grill, boobs, breast} to the best dancer.) Yah, so very stylish and ever so sophisticated is my current residence.
Naturally, when I hear these things I wonder many times a week why we still live here.
See, and that’s the thing- that part of Myrtle Beach is secluded to say the least. Hidden, along with a sleu of other places I hope Garrett never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, sees. (And yes, that was me that frequented the bars lining Broadway- once coined by a friend as the ‘Red Light District’ of the U.S. many, many months ago. Ages actually. But, we will not go there.)
Let’s be honest though, I know he will ‘see’ these things, these places- despite my attempts to shun him from them. I only hope when he does see them they do not corrupt him and that he has enough moral character to resist their temptation or fascination.
In retrospect, I suppose this post is as much about my desire to find a place that is ‘family friendly’ for us to call home as it is about bikers invading the one we have now. I know they are here on vacation, but when they arrive they muddy the waters and make me rethink my sanity for living here.
I guess, I secretly hope these regulations will remind them that the person in the car beside them isn’t on vacation. Neither are they a stripper at a club to be gawked at from the sideview mirror. And that person you are staring at, has a baby in their car and the noise is infiltrating the glass bubble in which that baby lives and this mommy is simply NOT ready for YOU of all people to bust it. Because, we live here in this beautiful beach town unlike you, your bikes, the bandanas or the thongs.
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