It’s Fun to Wear a Patch

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So last year The Lovely Rhonda and I attempted to join an iconic women’s motorcycle club.  We learned of a local chapter and we were excited.

Oh.  The disappointment.  It was awful.

In the middle of this attempt a group of the club’s members split off and we found ourselves swept up in the drama.  It was like a soap opera, complete with arch-villains and intrigue and stuff like that.  I’d say more but these are litigious folk.  So we’ll just leave it at that.

In the end, we opted not to join and instead became friends with the women who had split off.  We have found them to be loyal, compassionate, strong women whom we are proud to call friends.

A while back we decided to form a rider’s group.  This is not a club — a club has to have rules and dues and all kinds of things.  We are just a group of friends who thought it would be fun to wear a patch.

Recently the patches arrived, and most of us went out to a leather shop to have them sewn on vests.  (Sadly, we just put a new roof on the rental house and it was not cheap, so we will be getting vests at a later date.  And TLR had to stay home and write a paper.  But I went along.)

Patchy!

Patchy!

Biker names

Biker names

Brute!

Brute!

Some of the so-called ladies

Some of the so-called ladies

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