Chardonnay was a tiny little lady, being maybe five foot in her prime and eighty pounds; she was very quiet, almost shy, a mom of four, grandma to ten, great-grandma thrice. She in many ways looked like she walked out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Unlike most of the resident women she wore jeans, tee shirts, and Ked’s sneakers, like her style had stopped in the 1950s, but she had a secret that I accidentally stumbled upon.
Now as mentioned Chardonnay was tiny, and someone unencumbered by the thought process decided all of our closet rods should be six feet off the floor. She mentioned to me that she needed a step stool anytime she had to use them. Now step stools in a retirement home are a big no no and the rods were not complicated so I offered to lower them to her shoulder height. Her face lit up, and she accepted the offer for the next morning.
I arrived the next morning and began moving coats, jackets, the few dresses she had, and there in the back was a heavy black leather jacket, chaps, and above them a pair of well worn biker boots. I took the jacket off the rod and saw a logo that stopped me “Hell’s Angels” she saw my face and hers went as red as a ripe tomato.
Me: “You rode?”
Her: “Yes, that’s where I met Bruce.”
Bruce was her husband that much I knew so okay, I had heard too many odd meeting tales from the residents so no big deal…right?
“So he rode too?”
“Yes…he won me in a poker game.”
My face must have looked as confused as my brain because after a pause she kept going as I kept at my task.
“I left home because dad drank all the time, and mom just took whatever abuse from him be it verbal or physical. Dad came home from the bar late on a Friday night, mom was busy with my baby brother, so he forced me out of bed to cook him dinner. There wasn’t even much to cook as we were out of money so mom hadn’t bought anything…he took it out on me. Once dad passed out, I grabbed what clothes I had, shoved them in my pillow case with my hairbrush (she kept that same brush on her dresser still), then rolled up my blanket and pillow, tied the bed roll, and walked away. I had no idea where I was going, how I’d eat, no money, but I knew life had to be better than home.
I walked all night, found the highway, and headed West. Everyone who was anyone lived West so that’s the way I went carrying my clothes and bed roll. I’d toss my roll way off the side of the road, sleep, start walking again. Found I could swap doing dishes in dinners for a meal. One had their cook not show up and asked if I could cook, worked all day, got two meals, and five dollars! Dishes, cooking, bussing, waiting tables, cleaning gas stations, that’s how I made cash, but I never stopped walking…why should I? I was seventeen, free from abuse, and seeing the world. The problem was I hadn’t made it to the Rocky Mountains yet and Winter was already starting to show up. I was spending more nights under bridges because of the weather and was getting worried.
It was on a cold morning that I heard the bikes coming down the highway and soon they were within eyesight. They slowed down, pulled off a bit ahead of me and a few of them walked up to me. They offered a ride, I saw several other girls about my age with them so I felt it couldn't be that bad, but I had no idea the back of a bike would be colder than walking so I took the offer. One had a spare helmet, another an extra jacket, a pair of way too big chaps, and a few coin tosses put me behind one of them. Honestly, they treated me better than my family and in time they became my family.
I'd been riding behind Chris for most of a year when he had a bit too much to drink and was losing a poker game badly. I saw my dad all over again, and this was the first time I’d been afraid with my new family. He added me to the bet so he was confident in his hand. Two guys folded, but Bruce looked up at me standing behind Chris, winked at me, and laid out a hand of all four aces and a joker…an unbeatable hand. That’s how I wound up riding with Bruce. Obviously I knew him, he was friendly, kind, caring, he made sure I ate before he did, he got me my boots, the same ones you just moved, got me that jacket, he took care of me like I was special, priceless, the best care I’d ever had and not once did he use me in a poker game.
About eighteen months later Bruce and I had an issue; I was obviously pregnant to the point of showing. We decided we couldn’t keep riding with a baby. We were in Ohio when Bruce went up to a steel mill and got a job. We camped until he had enough money to rent a house. Then with an address we went to the court house and a judge married us. A month later Ellie was born and she took residence in the only piece of furniture we had, her crib.
Over the next year he bought a truck, it wasn’t much but it sort of ran. He’d walk to work unless the weather was bad so I had the truck to drive…I didn’t have a license but until I got pulled over for rolling a stop sign I had no idea I needed one. The deputy followed me to the DMV, walked me in, explained the situation and watched Ellie as they tested me. He let me out of the ticket. I told Bruce about it and he arranged time to get his own license. The big thing the truck did though was let me hit yard and estate sales so we started to have furniture.
Bruce would leave at five in the evening and come home at six in the morning, he was grumpy that Ellie was growing up and he was missing it. The mill paid too good to just leave, but it would be years before he could cycle to day shift so he would get off work covered in coke, ash, and soaked in sweat then go to school. Before he could cycle to days, he was a bookkeeper. With his fresh diploma in hand he started looking for a better job, but his plant had one in St. Louis and that’s how we wound up here.
When I pass away I have it in my will that I want to be buried in that jacket and boots. I’d love to see my kids and grandkids' faces when they see it because I’ve never told them exactly how I met Bruce.
When she did pass, I got to see Ellie’s face as she had been told “Maura knows what to put me in.” As I handed her that jacket her face was pure shock. I ended up staying late that day and retelling Chardonnay’s story to them. The final proof for them though was when a portion of the gang showed up for her funeral. Somewhere around fifty bikers escorted her hearse from the funeral home to the cemetery.
Did Chardonnay embellish her own story? I’m sure she did. Did she leave things out? I can feel confident to say yes. Did I leave things she told me out? Yes, but overall I felt her story needed to be shared and maybe somewhere her and Bruce are riding together again.
Maura out
