Chapter 3

I pulled off the freeway at the next reststop, to allow Eliza to put on her chaps- as much for protection from the hot muffler and potential road rash as for warmth. Good leathers are as an important safety feature as a helmet. Thick palmed gloves are also good to have. While Eliza was in the lady's room getting suited up, Trouble arrived. I heard the multiple rumble of an approaching pack, and started to center myself. reaching down for my conflict resolution skills. I made sure that my bike was firmly on the kickstand, and tried to present as relaxed an apearance of noncholance as I could. I didn't look around much, just enough to acknowledge, as 15 assorted members and pledges of the Las Vegas chapter of Satan's Minions rumbled into formation around me. The pledges had white denim rags with red lettering and icon, while the full members had red rags with black and gold lettering and icon, of a grinning devil's head in outline, and a distinctly piratical air. This could be bad, but I was careful not to let my trepidation show. I only hoped Eliza would be smart enough to see what was up, and to stay out of view- a mixed pack full of pledges was the worst, as they would be trying to prove up, and were more likely to cause trouble. I didn't stiffen up and get victim posture, despite the potential threat, nor did I get relaxed enough to seem insouciant and sassy, disrespectful. I didn't want to seem brash or hopless. Hoping I had the right balance, I waited for their move, so I could verbaly counter and deflect, as much as possible. I intended to survive, without crippling injury, but I wasn't certain I could go unscathed or without a certain level of humiliation. They were an assorted bunch, and looked strange, mishapen somehow. They all had deep sunburns, giving their skin the color of a northern tourist who has spent half the day in the tropical sun without any sunscreen, even the ones who were bald. They were of all sizes and forms, some short and squat, some tall and lanky, some short and scrawny, some huge like trolls. Their teeth were nightmareish, as if they were examples of the worst of English Dentistry, and yellowed fangs poked out of their mouths at odd angles. When two of the leaders spoke to one another across me from where they were parked on either side, discussing me as they might a particularly interesting roadkill, their voices were like slabs of rough granite scraping together, deep, rumbling, gritty, powerful yet understated.

I glanced back and forth between them as they spoke, enough to keep my personhood despite their objectifying manner, yet not enough to be challanging, as I tried to stay centered and relaxed while still showing I understood and respected their threat. It was a difficult balance to keep, but I had a lot of training in conflict avoidence and defusion, and I had been in situations almost this bad before. One time, I had talked or listened, or defused a situation where I was challanged in a testostorin filled redneck bar over the smile of a harried waitress, and I was allowed to leave after being spat upon by most of the patrons, who didn't want to touch me because I came across as just a little gay, not enough to trigger their homophobia, but enough to defuse the threat I offered as challange for their footsore barmaid's affections, as 'handsome stranger'. Instead I became despised woossie, and was allowed to slink out. In this situation, any weakness would trigger a feeding frenzy, yet any challange would trigger dominance/status struggles. I decided to take the initiative, to keep them from deciding without any input from me, carefuly inserting myself into their conversation, without quite interupting, and without being too deferential. Christ this was hard! oops, I was going to stop using that.