Bull!
A friend of mine told me that she admired my creativity. "Imagine being able to come up with a character like Bull," she said. Well, the fact of the matter is that Bull, Ben's rogue biker friend, is based on a real person. He was a bigger-than-life member of Hells Angels*.
I met Bull on a summer's day at Revere Beach when I was 16 years old. I had bought a used 305 Honda Superhawk motorcycle. The Superhawk is a small bike and looks even smaller when parked next to a big Harley. I bought the motorcycle for practical reasons (are you buying that?). In Massachusetts, a teenager can get a driving permit at the age of 16, and a driving license at the age of 16 and 6 months. At 16 years of age, I got my permit, and was then allowed to drive a car in the company of an adult licensed driver. However, with a driving permit, one could operate a motorcycle without an accompanying adult. As a matter of fact, with a permit, you were required to operate the bike solo. Freedom, 6 months earlier than my friends who opted for cars only.
On this summer's day, I drove slowly along the beach looking for just the right place to stop and "hang out." Up ahead I saw that the Hells Angels had diagonally parked their bikes in an impressive formation right at my favorite spot. No problem. There was one open space big enough for my bike. I carefully backed my undersized bike to the curb, felt the back tire lightly touch the curb, and shut down my machine. I could see and feel the HAs looking at me. I got off my bike, walked over to the wall where they were all sitting, and took a seat next to Bull. The conversation went something like this.
"You got balls, kid."
"Why's that?"
"Is that your piece-of-shit bike?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing riding a Honda?"
"That's what I can afford. Why? Are you offering me your bike?"
Bull and I hit it off right away, partly because he liked the way I hung on his every word as he told me stories of his adventures on the road. He was quite articulate and bright and was a great storyteller. When he wasn't terrorizing people, the Texas native was earning a living in the Merchant Marines. He would work until he felt he had enough money to go on the road for a while. It sounded like the ideal life to me. I figured I'd put that idea on hold until after college. Funny how it never really happened for me.
Bull lived in a small dilapidated house in which he had an interesting security system. He perched a shotgun on the kitchen table. It was aimed at the front door. A trip wire would pull the trigger in the event of an unauthorized entry. And it actually worked! One day Bull arrived at the house to find a hole in his door. No blood. No sign of intrusion. Bull figured the gun scared an intruder away. I'm thinking a mouse ran across the table.
* If you're an English major, you might be thinking that Hells Angels should have an apostrophe - Hell's Angels. This was pointed out to the group. They responded that there are many hells and they all have angels. (In other words, hells is plural.) Of course this would mean that the name still needs an apostrophe - Hells' Angels. You can take this up with them the next time you meet them if you would like.
I met Bull on a summer's day at Revere Beach when I was 16 years old. I had bought a used 305 Honda Superhawk motorcycle. The Superhawk is a small bike and looks even smaller when parked next to a big Harley. I bought the motorcycle for practical reasons (are you buying that?). In Massachusetts, a teenager can get a driving permit at the age of 16, and a driving license at the age of 16 and 6 months. At 16 years of age, I got my permit, and was then allowed to drive a car in the company of an adult licensed driver. However, with a driving permit, one could operate a motorcycle without an accompanying adult. As a matter of fact, with a permit, you were required to operate the bike solo. Freedom, 6 months earlier than my friends who opted for cars only.
On this summer's day, I drove slowly along the beach looking for just the right place to stop and "hang out." Up ahead I saw that the Hells Angels had diagonally parked their bikes in an impressive formation right at my favorite spot. No problem. There was one open space big enough for my bike. I carefully backed my undersized bike to the curb, felt the back tire lightly touch the curb, and shut down my machine. I could see and feel the HAs looking at me. I got off my bike, walked over to the wall where they were all sitting, and took a seat next to Bull. The conversation went something like this.
"You got balls, kid."
"Why's that?"
"Is that your piece-of-shit bike?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing riding a Honda?"
"That's what I can afford. Why? Are you offering me your bike?"
Bull and I hit it off right away, partly because he liked the way I hung on his every word as he told me stories of his adventures on the road. He was quite articulate and bright and was a great storyteller. When he wasn't terrorizing people, the Texas native was earning a living in the Merchant Marines. He would work until he felt he had enough money to go on the road for a while. It sounded like the ideal life to me. I figured I'd put that idea on hold until after college. Funny how it never really happened for me.
Bull lived in a small dilapidated house in which he had an interesting security system. He perched a shotgun on the kitchen table. It was aimed at the front door. A trip wire would pull the trigger in the event of an unauthorized entry. And it actually worked! One day Bull arrived at the house to find a hole in his door. No blood. No sign of intrusion. Bull figured the gun scared an intruder away. I'm thinking a mouse ran across the table.
* If you're an English major, you might be thinking that Hells Angels should have an apostrophe - Hell's Angels. This was pointed out to the group. They responded that there are many hells and they all have angels. (In other words, hells is plural.) Of course this would mean that the name still needs an apostrophe - Hells' Angels. You can take this up with them the next time you meet them if you would like.
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