We laid Billy to rest yesterday fulfilling all his last requests. Billy’s problems are over; ours continue; for the living suffer. A thousand-or-more friends, family and brothers buried Billy in biker tradition. He wore his colours and charter pin. His gravestone engraved with his club patch. After the service and before putting Billy in the ground, 350 Harleys, two miles long, formed the pack to escort Billy around the hood past his favorite bars and his dad’s house. The wolf pack snaked through Toronto with what the famous author Hunter S. Thompson described as “poetry in motion”. These ungainly, ill-fitting outcasts become as one; fluid and cohesive; the moment their legs straddle their beloved motorcycles. We escorted Billy to the grave. We bury our own. No strangers throw dirt on our caskets. Billy’s dad threw the first shovel load followed by Billy’s three sons, and then we all took turns til the burial was complete. The owner of the local bar that Billy frequented had a free bar-be-que for his and Billy’s friends. Then, off to the clubhouse for more food, drink, and whatever to continue the celebration of Billy’s life.
Posted on: Thu, 29 Aug 2013 13:13:40 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015