The Legend of Tumbleweed: A Great American Drifter (#8)

I was out Christmas shopping this weekend when a thin gentleman of average height and advanced age with a long, scraggly beard and even lengthier ponytail walked into the same store as I. He was carrying two heavy motorcycle jackets with him, which he was trying to sell.

"These were my old lady's, and she's passed away," he told me. I had to know something more about him - here was an old biker, one of the last vestiges of a bygone generation, and I knew I had to speak to him.

He told me that he began riding in the '60s, back when Easy Rider was popularizing the biker culture. He said that life on the road was not much different than that which was portrayed in the film; many people disliked bikers just because of who they were: drifters. Many gangs had bad reputations, but those who rode solo or with maybe one other person were often out just for the adventure.

"I rode cross country a couple times," he told me. When I asked him what made him ride, he said, "My grandmother, she was a very wise woman, she told me that anything you want to do in life, do it while you're young, because when you're old and you've got the money, you're not going to want to leave the living room."

One story he told me, though, struck a particular chord:

When he was down in Texas - "back in those days, it was like cowboys and Indians down there" - he had stopped at a convenience store, looking to buy cigarettes. The proprietor and customers didn't even look at him, completely ignoring his business simply because he was a biker.

Now, having gotten to know him, I'd say he was a pretty harmless guy, but because of how he dressed and the reputations that other people with the same hobby as him had, he was not allowed business at this store. Not only was this an instance of moral injustice, but a foolish loss of revenue for the convenience store.

This just goes to prove how much clothing and style says about a person - sometimes how you dress can cause greater prejudice than race. Had this man walked in wearing a suit and tie, having driven up in a Cadillac instead of on a Harley, I'm sure the situation would have been different. Prejudice and profiling wears many different masks, some of which can blur the lines even further.

As I was getting ready to leave, the man gazed ahead and said (to myself and the lady behind the counter, though not directly to either of us), "My name's Tumbleweed. Everybody calls me Tumbleweed. Even my kids. I guess I'm just a drifter."

And off he went, tumbling into the distance.