Rebels MC Picton Poker Run

At times misfortune shapes one’s future — and the Picton Poker Run was such event for me.

THE POKER RUN started on a good note — the weather was warm and the beer cold. I was wandering around taking pics of happy riders waiting for the poker run to head off. Thinking I would get some great pics of them up the road, I wanted to leave early and set up my camera just out of town. I was even smart enough to park my bike away from the others so as not to get stuck in amongst the other bikes. So far so good.

I mounted the bike ready to fuck off when disaster struck. In slow motion, my V-Rod fell on top of me. I was hopelessly buried beneath it.

There were plenty of hands to help get bike up and I scurried to safety. Bewildered, I looked at the sidestand — it had broken off.

Instead of being pissed off, I felt extremely lucky. If I had parked my bike with the others, can you imagine the domino effect as my bike knocked over a line of club Harleys? I had heard stories like this; my biggest nightmare.

The Rebels organised someone to push my bike inside the clubhouse and for yours-truly to be doubled-up to take pics of the run.

The rest of the Poker Run went as planned; it was a great ride for the boys. Sitting on the back of a Harley allowed me to take some sensational pics of the riders as they cut loose through the countryside.

Back at the clubhouse, the boys attached the sidestand temporarily before I left for home. Somewhere between Picton and Sydney, I lost the stand and left cover of the radiator; I didn’t bother to stop as there were no trees to lean my bike against. Now I better understand dogs when they need a tree.

At a petrol station, I leaned my V-Rod against a pump and started to take petrol. The station attendant ran out of his snail-house wildly gesticulating and screaming I could not do that.

”No problem,” I said. “Can you hold it for a moment?”

I didn’t wait for an answer and leaned the bike against him. Then I filled it up.

“Wait here,” I said to the guy. “I’m going to pay for the petrol, and I’m not a thief!”

At home, I gently laid my bike on the front lawn as I don’t have any trees in my driveway; opened the gate and garage door, picked the bike up, wheeled it in and leaned it against a wall.

The next day I rang the Boss about my bike (he organised to have the sidestand fixed) and planted a tree in my driveway. One never knows when it will be needed.

PS. There were winning hands but I was too indisposed to record them. If you want to know more, you have to come with me next year. I might need you.

words & pics by George Lang

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