Ya can't kill him

Many folks have asked about Steve Atkins — my old friend, high school classmate and even one-time co-worker at the C-Mart grocery store in Oglethorpe, Ga. Steve's a tattoo artist in middle Georgia and about a year and a half ago was in a bad motorcycle accident and then recently underwent major heart surgery.

He's improving, but I'm afraid he's gonna have a heart attack when all the medical bills come in. Although, it's apparent Steve can live through anything, which means the bills will have to be paid eventually. When I was in the hospital for two weeks after a car wreck in 2000, I'd get bills for months from every Dr. Tom, Dick and Harry who walked past my room and said "Hi."

If you want to help, they're using PayPal to collect donations for the medical fund. Go to PayPal and use the reference ID atkinztattoo@aol.com.

I haven't seen Steve in months -- not since this photo was taken in October at the Angel City Fall Rally. Pictured, from left are my "sister" Laurie, Steve and my friend Mary Ellen.

Head cases

The Georgia General Assembly (in yet another example why they should just take a year off every now and then and save us tax dollars by not meeting) is now considering a bill that would allow motorcycle riders to ride without wearing helmets. Don't know whether I should weigh in, considering the dichotomy of my views on motorcycles (I have friends who ride them and I have a blast at motorcycle paradise Angel City, and yet I hate unnecessary noise and the way riders get a free pass to speed and break traffic laws in Columbus). But what the heck, I'll weigh in anyway.

I guess I'm gonna have to side with liberty here. You should have the freedom to spill your brains on the highway. But know that it won't be a lot of comfort to the family members you leave behind to know that you died free in an otherwise minor accident. I guess we should only legislate stupidity when it begins to affect other folks.

So, let the wind blow through your hair (or around your bald head for my motorcyclist buddy Gregg) but please don't crack your skull open in front of me on the highway.

Return to Angel City

My friend Gregg and I went to Angel City, the motorcycle haven in Unadilla, Ga., for the fall rally this past Saturday. Gregg rides a Yamaha. I ride a Mazda SUV. Yes, I'm born to be mild.

Of course, while I'm at this rally with thousands of bikers, a biker legend came to the Ledger-Enquirer during my vacation: Erik Estrada, who played motorcycle cop Ponch on the old TV series "CHIPS." Read my co-worker Brad's blog to learn about that visit.

While I'm not a biker myself, I do enjoy mingling with the biker crowd. They have a sense of unity a lot like you find among Parrotheads at Jimmy Buffett concerts. Only they prefer beer and Jack Daniels over margaritas and the revving of engines over the revving of blenders. I didn't have my camera with me this time, so Smitty and the gang from back home won't have to worry about incriminating photos on the Internet. I imagine photos from this latest rally will be going up soon on the Angel City site.

An Angel City wedding

I usually hate weddings. The formality. The pretentiousness. The stress. The uncomfortable clothes. The chick food. The non-alcoholic punch in the church reception hall. Somebody's Aunt Gladys pinching my cheeks. Yeah, those cheeks!

But I went to a wedding Saturday that was different from any I'd been to before, and not just because it was 145 degrees with 110 percent humidity. My cousin Shane got hitched in Angel City, a bikers' haven in Unadilla. It looks like a Wild West town, except that the horses can go 120 mph and rattle windows when they get riled up. The wedding party had rented out Angel City for the whole weekend. Angel City is usually open only for motorcycle rallies, which are becoming more frequent.

The groom and about 20 other bikers, including the biker preacher, came roaring up to the altar Saturday night to the tune of AC/DC's "Hell's Bells." (When was the last time a little old lady on the church organ pounded out that tune at a wedding?) And any preacher who'll officiate a wedding that includes the song "Hell's Bells" is cool with me. Of course, the bride, Pam, walked to the altar to the tune of Kenny G's "Songbird," which I kinda like too. Hey, I like rock, smooth jazz and rowdy country, among other things. My musical taste is as eclectic as was this wedding.

Poor Pam was the only one dressed in uncomfortable clothes for this wedding. Perhaps that's why she was prettier than the rest of us, not that she had a lot of competition from folks like me in my khaki shorts and golf shirt. I was overdressed.

Actually, other than the motorcycles, AC/DC, Port-o-Potties, motorcycles and kids running through the swinging doors of saloons, it was a pretty standard wedding. I chatted with a lot of folks during and after the wedding, and a lot of folks just came to witness the unique spectacle. Ain't that a switch! Most folks go to weddings out of obligation. A lot of folks at this wedding actually wanted to be there. What a concept! A fun wedding! Everybody loved it. And most noted how it seemed like a traditional wedding ... what with all the prayin', procession, ring bearin', the standard reception food, the first dance, the father-daughter dance, the mother-son dance.

But the best part, as with anything back home, is being with "my people." Small-town folks. Nobody putting on airs. Everybody glad to see everybody. No rude humans. And it's not just because Rule No. 8 in Angel City's town ordinances is "no attitudes." No one broke No. 2 "no fighting" and not even No. 4 "no nudity," although it was so hot it didn't seem like such a bad idea. I didn't want to give somebody's Aunt Gladys any ideas, though.

There was a lot of family I hadn't seen in a long time. Heck, I hadn't seen Shane in nearly 20 years, when we weren't too far from tramping around Ideal, Ga., playing "The Dukes of Hazzard." He was Bo, and I was Luke. I'd talked to the real Bo Duke, John Schneider, more recently than I had Shane. They've both turned out well.

There were a good many folks I didn't recognize, even after they introduced themselves with the always aggravating, "You remember me?"

"Uh, uh, er, I'm not sure," I respond, or something like that.

"Fred. Fred Jenkins," or something like that they respond.

"Oh yeah. I knew that. You were one of those Jenkinses."

"Yeah!"

But I knew most of the old friends, although it would have helped if I'd have had my high school yearbook with me. I chatted with Cleveland and asked how his daddy's breakfast operation was going. The last time I saw his dad, he told me "the only problem is sometimes we get the orders a little wrong, but I tell 'em you just eat whatever I put in the bag because whatever I put in that bag is good." I guess his daddy's embraced that style of service because Cleveland said he had a sign that read: "Order what you want, eat what you get." I don't know if you can operate very long like that in Columbus, but he's been in business a couple of decades now.

My wife was glad that I didn't bump into any of my old girlfriends. It seems like every time we've been to Macon County or Americus since 1990 or so, we'd bump into some old flame. That really wasn't that hard to do. I didn't date hardly anyone more than two weeks. It's not that I was a playboy. Far from it. Ladies, look at me: Would you go out on a second date with this guy? I didn't think so.

I introduced myself to Mary Ellen. I hadn't spoken to her since, well, ever. She was a smokin' hot senior cheerleader and I was a freshman dork nearly 20 years ago. I knew my limitations. (I don't now, but I did then.) Talking to her could have gotten me run out of Macon County High School. She said she remembered me. I almost choked on my cocktail weenie. Man, I bet she'd lie about other stuff, too. At least I'm not a freshman dork anymore. I'm a 37-year-old dork now, by golly.

I chatted with the preacher in the Angel City Saloon after the ceremony and asked him about the dichotomy of officiating a "Hell's Bells" motorcycle wedding. He asked me, "Where would Jesus be?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. He wanted an answer.

"Um, here?"

"Exactly." He had a good point. I just can't fathom Jesus in a three-piece suit. I don't recall any "Sermon in the Saloon" either, but I agree that Jesus would likely be out there with the "one-percenters." The biker preacher was a great guy, and it was nice to see a Christian who's not the least bit judgmental. He said he was saved in 1986 and the Lord told him to get off his bike. Ten years later, the Lord told him to get back on the bike and spread the Gospel.

I chatted with Wayne, the co-founder of Angel City. They've got a slew of musical acts coming, and hopefully sometime next year they'll have city sewer service and the Port-O-Potties can hit the road. He encouraged me to come back, whether I've got a motorcycle or not. Maybe I can borrow my co-worker Brad's scooter. You can find out more about Angel City here.

I know a lot of folks with sticks lodged in unfortunate places of the body who would have felt terribly out of place on Saturday night. I never really felt like I fit in back home, nor have I ever felt like I fit in anywhere. Guess that's the price of being an anti-social loner. But I know this: I was damn homesick when I left Unadilla (and then the Huddle House in Montezuma.) I guess my wife summed it up best:

"Why does it seem like everybody's so much happier when we go to small towns?"

Maybe small town folks have got it all figured out. One thing I've learned for certain over the years, the bigger things get, the stupider they get: Government, colleges, businesses, corporations, cities, Rosie O'Donnell. I reckon we've been out of the small town too long. Maybe we could shrink Columbus. It would be nice. Politicians and business leaders embrace "growth" at all costs, even under the guise of "smart growth" and other such oxymorons.

I also know that the bar has been raised for the next wedding I choose to attend or get dragged to. And to Shane and Pam, here's hoping the rest of your life together has as much style as your wedding night.

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Note, here are a couple of shaky videos of the groom arriving for the ceremony and one of the happy couple (And check out the photos in the following post):

PHOTOS FROM THE ANGEL CITY WEDDING

Here are a few photos from Shane's wedding, mentioned in the above post ...

Angel City is in the Unadilla city limits, believe it or not

Shane and I, about an hour before he lost his freedom.

In case you were wondering, that drink in my hand has zero alcohol.

Aunt Clarice, Mom and the wife. The spots on the camera are from the misters. (It was hot.)

I told Uncle Gary, Shane's daddy, to act natural.



The stage is set.

The groom has arrived. The bearded man is the biker preacher.

You can't have a wedding without cute kids.

Here comes the bride, Pam.

It's not often you can watch a wedding from the vehicle that brought you there.

The bride's cake.

The groom's cake. I had a slice. It was good.

Keep your horses outside the saloon.

After the wedding: The wife, left, meets Laurie, my second grade classmate, and Mary Ellen, who was a senior cheerleader when I was a freshman. She finally talked to me Saturday. She said she remembered me. She may lie about other stuff too.

I think this little feller had enough wedding fun for one day.

I'm going to Angel City

No, that's not some euphemism for dying. Angel City is a Wild West-style motorcycle crazy town in Unadilla, Ga., not far from my hometown of Oglethorpe and my old stomping grounds of Americus. And, yes, I still hate the sounds of motorcycles. But this is their turf, and I'm OK with that. Rev 'em up and make all the noise you want guys and gals. Just don't do it by my house.

Why am I going? My cousin, Shane, is getting married ... or I guess I should say "hitched" since he's getting married in an Angel City saloon with music, drinking and dancing afterward. My wife's worried about dressing down for this event. She doesn't want to appear too casual. "It's a Dixon wedding," I told her. "Shane's wearing jeans, and his bride's rolling in on a Harley."

While my Dad's side of the family goes to church on Sunday mornings and has prim and proper wedding performed by preachers in churches, my Mom's side of the family sleeps in on Sunday until the Falcons game comes on and gets married in saloons and clubs where the brides enter on Harleys or in Corvettes.

I'll be sure to report on Saturday night's events. There are numerous events that happen in Angel City that draw thousands, but this shouldn't be a busy weekend there, so it should look nothing like the photo of Angel City above. Still, I'll be sure to post plenty of notes and photos and happenings from Angel City.