The Pusillanimous Motorcycle Gang


Since it was family night, my assignment was pretty straightforward: take photographs of families, moms, dads, and kids having fun. But before the evening was over, things would take a decidedly nasty turn for the worse.

As I looked for my next shot, I found myself cornered by three men wearing faded denim vests and motorcycle gang colors. No, not the Hell’s Angels, but a Christian Motorcycle gang.

“We’ve been watching you taking pictures of little kids?” the leader said.

“No I haven’t,” I said

“Prove it.”

“And who are you to make demands of me?”

“A concerned citizen.”

“Not good enough.”

Several expletives passed between us before he threw a punch at my throat. The strike missed and landed in the pit between my shoulder and the bones that connect that area.

My response was to pull my lock blade knife and go full Marine. Then the second one rushed me from the left, nearly blasting me off my feet.

Recovering my footing, the third one tried to grab the knife from my hand. He ran off after getting cut.

As I returned my attention to the guy that punched me, security arrived, threatening to chicken-wing me if I didn’t put the blade away. As I started to comply, a fourth member came up behind me.

“No,” he said, holding his hands up and showing me his palms. “No, I’m here to apologize and pray for you.”

After the dust settled, I left, knowing I would be back the next day, but I was kicked out for my “inappropriate behavior” instead.

Being escorted out, I saw five or six members of the same gang enjoying seeing me booted. I left without a fuss, even though I had to force myself to smile through it.

It could have been worse — they could have been an all-girl motorcycle gang.

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