The Bawdy Cloister

At the 9th Annual Hill Country Run

I'm no stranger in Luckenbach, Texas. When the barkeeper sees me walk in, he sets a Shiner on the counter. The guys that work the grounds know that Mrs. T likes a fire, all she needs to do is sit at the pit and before long they'll bring her a mess of mesquite logs to ignite. Luckenbach is our regular weekend retreat. Sometimes they're busy, sometimes they're not. Yesterday they were busy...hosting the Hill Country Run.

Motorcycle runs bring in all types. Realtors, lawyers, pharmacists...I spoke at length with an anesthesiologist. There were a group of Christian bikers excited that Michael W. Smith was touring with Selah. And Mrs. T walked out of the powder room chuckling, "Those girls in there were complaining about their Con Law exam, the same complaints I heard for three years while you were in law school." I talked to guys from Georgia, Minnesota, and California...but there was one guy there last night that left a deep impression.

It was after dark, I was by the fire with a group of friends talking about how when we were eleven years old, me and my friend (whose Dad was a truck driver) would climb in the cab of his Dad's truck when it wasn't attached to a trailer and do doughnuts in the front yard. You could do that in rural Indiana...when the parents weren't looking. It was a light-hearted conversation. Then he staggered in.

He was a grizzly character, about 60 years old...he introduced himself and complimented us guys on the looks of our ladies (a standard Luckenbach introduction.) His speech was slurred and he swayed for balance as he spoke. Pretty soon the bulk of the crowd found reason to leave, he was a little too much for the girls to be comfortable around. They left me alone, leaning on a log next to this guy. Again he complimented me on Mrs. T, then he hung his head down and shut his eyes...organizing his thoughts. I waited. He lifted his head and looked up at the fire and asked me, "You go to Vietnam?" "No." He looked over and squinted, got a better look at me "Ah hell, you're too young."

"Yeah, that was my Dad's generation."

"That was my generation."

"You were there?"

He shook his head affirmatively, "I'm riddled with bullet holes, man."

I let him speak...there'd be long silences. He'd hang his head and close his eyes, he'd look up again and continue. Reflecting on the friends he'd lost. And then he said, "I'm a coward you know." "Why's that?" "If someone scared me, I'd kill them."

I took a swig of my beer and kept my gaze silently on the fire.

Then he asked, "You ever hear of the Hell's Angels?"

"Yeah."

"You're talking to one right now. You know what happened at Altamont?"

"Yeah."

"I was working security that night."

He went on to discuss why things there went down the way they did, why taking that guy down was necessary. So I said, "I take it all those bullet holes aren't from Vietnam?" He looked over at me, "Most of them are."

That's when I asked if I could get him a beer. He accepted graciously. We talked on for a while longer until I saw Mrs. T's group of friends split up...I then told the guy I had to go so she wouldn't be alone. We shook hands and I was gone.

Like I said before, 99.9% of the folks you meet at a bike rally are well adjusted. I just pray that giving that outlaw my ear for a while last night helped temper the demons he's fighting...and maybe allow him to get some rest.