Angels Amongst Us

The other morning at the Irving while I waited for the bus to take me to Moncton, I noticed a lot of really nice motorcycles coming in to gas up for the day. Some were local, others just passing through. There do seem to be a lot of really nice bikes here. My street is one of the major ones, pretty busy, so I see and hear them going a lot.

Anyway, I was reminded of the first time I went to the biker's clubhouse in Cains River. It was during a two week vacation home from Toronto around Christmas. I was 21 years old, obsessed by news and politics, and inquisitive to the point of cocky arrogance. It was one of those harsh winters when the frost rolls in knee-deep like fog every time you open the door. That was the year of the longest train ride ever from Montreal to NB. We were something like 8 hours late getting into Miramichi.

An eventful trip -- I befriended a girl from PEI who was returning to the Island to attend her sister's funeral. Her sister had been brutally murdered by her spouse after years of abuse, peace bonds, hiding, etc. Terrible story. We partied with a boy from Jacquet River, who had lost two fingers on his right hand while working with heavy equipment, and another boy from Chatham, who was moving home from Kingston to take over the family business.

I got on the train completely broke, knowing I wouldn't have anything to eat or drink for at least 24 hours, no cash for emergencies. But the boy from Chatham had left a good job in Kingston and he had some serious cash on his person. Nobody resisted when he bought round upon round of drinks and ordered snacks for everybody.

In the bar car I asked a Quebecois what he thought about separtism and a bunch of other questions which brought raised eyebrows and tight lips from several other patrons who seemed uncomfortable about discussing these things while on a train whistling through the heart of Quebec.

Later, I snuck away with the boy from Jacquet River to the dome car in the middle of the night and kissed him under the stars. Later still, the train derailed and we were ushered onto school buses and driven for an hour to another train down the road. The new train did not have enough passenger cars, so a bunch of us slept in the bar car. The staff were kind enough to keep it open, serving only coffee and soft drinks in the wee hours of the morning, but by then everyone was too drunk to notice.

There was something very freeing about traveling by train back then that you don't get now. Now it's more like being on an airplane or a bus, bar service in your seat, lights dimmed for sleeping, everyone with blankets and pillows. There was more passenger interaction in those days.

Anytime you meet and interact with strangers that you know you'll never meet again, it's very liberating. It's almost as if you're another person when you're taken out of your familiar surroundings, completely on your own, without any of the people or things around you that normally identify and help define who you are. Sometimes I would even pretend to be someone else. Invent a new background and name for myself, test it out on the stranger sitting next to me to see if he or she would believe me, believe I could be that other person.

But I'm way off track, I wanted to tell you about the clubhouse on that trip home.

It all started with a dance at the Legion. I went with my parents because they were heavily involved in such things then, serving on the executive. I met up with an old boyfriend and then left with him. Like so many people in my past, he is an alcoholic. At the time he was fighting it, trying to give it up, but on this particular night he had lost the battle. He has since totally sobered and become one of the town's most upstanding citizens. But back then he was always in a lot of trouble. We left the Legion and went to the clubhouse, where they served drinks at all times of the day and night regardless of the law. It was my first visit.

At first things were going along just fine, there were a lot of people there, men and women. Other than an incident where I asked another one of the patrons whether he carried a gun . . . the wee hours of the morning passed without incident.

Along about 4:30 a.m. I looked around and noticed that the crowd had lessened. My friend was passed out beyond waking and there were five big burly biker dudes looking at me like I was a pork chop and they were ravenous. I couldn't leave and walk out of there because of the freezing temperatures and we were miles from any sort of civilisation. Oh, oh, I thought. Quickly I assessed the situation and decided the best route of action that might save me from a not so pleasant incident I had heard lots about but never imagined I might find myself involved in.

I excused myself from the table and went to the jukebox where the biggest guy in the bar was playing music, and I began flirting with him most openly and shamelessly. He was the biggest guy but he was also one of the few actual club members on the scene, he was important and I hoped respected. I figured if I needed anyone on my side, he was the guy I wanted.

It wasn't too long before he had his arm around me and everyone else backed off, the tension went out of the air, guns were put away, and I felt okay again. Now I only had one man to deal with instead of half a dozen. Pretty soon he asked me to go upstairs with him to the private room . . . I'd heard about that room . . . but I didn't want him to throw me back to the wolves so I just smiled and followed him on up.

When we were alone he mixed me a drink and said that things had been pretty tense down there, I could've been in a nasty situation. I could've disappeared off the face of the earth that night, he warned, because sometimes people do, especially silly little girls who ask too many questions. He had a soothing gentle caring way about him, and I wasn't afraid. He said I'd done exactly the right thing to come to him, if I had gone to any of the other guys it wouldn't have been good for me. There could've been a fight, I would've been lucky to get out of there after being passed around.

He said we'd finish our drinks and then he'd drive me home. We chatted for awhile, had a couple of drinks and then true to his word he drove me home. Never laid a finger on me . . . though I'm sure the boys downstairs were supposed to think he did. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be last time that I would believe I found an angel just in time to save me from a potentially devastating situation.

Mood: Chipper
Drinking: Coffee with the last of yesterday's expired skim . . . still good though, I think, hasn't turned yet
Listening To: Billie Holiday
Hair: I'm getting good at the loosely bundled deal