There are limits, even in the world of Outlaws. Or so I thought.
Many things have opened my eyes as I journey through this new century. Every mid-September I pause to remember watching the twin towers collapse from acts of cowards. I have seen something else crumbling too -- the outlaw motorcycle culture, a world I had called home since 1966.
As many of you may know, my family has been trying to come to terms with the loss of my son, George Christie III, who passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago. It has hit me and my oldest daughter, Moriya, hard…The depth of the loss is indescribable and, frankly, inconsolable.
In the midst of our grief we have discovered Georgie's FXRS Harley Davidson is missing. The motorcycle was a gift I bought him the day he graduated from high school. Although he would have never said it outright, the fact that he has kept it all these years tells me it held a very special place in his heart. And it held a very special place in mine. I can still see his face and hear his words on the day I gave it to him. "Thanks Pops" he said, as he looked into my eyes and smiled, showing how much he really meant it.
Fast forward, twenty years later -- Georgie dies unexpectedly and the motorcycle has disappeared. I have been asking myself these questions...
What kind of men would steal my dead son’s motorcycle?
What thoughts dwell in their perverse conscious?
How do they justify their dark act?
Are they men with torn moral fiber?
Or have they always been cowards, flying a false flag of brotherhood and honor?
Have they lived in duplicity so long they can no longer distinguish right from wrong?
How do they justify their actions?
How can they live with themselves, their hearts dark and ugly?
How long will it be before they turn on each other?
And now I ask you...
What has happened to the outlaws? Is there no longer honor among thieves?