Minutes of the Very Last Meeting
minuteS of the very last meeting
ROGER HULL
IT MAY HAVE been mentioned before, but there has been a great increase in the number of motorcycle registrations over the past few years. That growth, in turn, has caused an increase in the number of motorcycle clubs around the country. As a result, there are more people who are M/C members now than there used to be. It’s all a matter of logic. (All of this is not news, of course, except to news media people who still manage to convert one kid on a chopped Vespa into “The Charge of the Bike Brigade” in less than two paragraphs.)
All this logical progression leads up to the latest social phenomenon—a mounting number of ex-club members. At any gathering of two or more motorcyclists there are overheard remarks like, “I used to belong to the Saddle Straddlers, but...” or, “Yeah, I was a Bent Spoke until...” (Meanwhile, the first speaker is considering joining the Bent Spokes, while the other is up for Saddle Straddler membership.)
In short, resignations and general club-hopping is rampant. At a meeting of an Ohio club last year, a disagreement ended with all the members quitting simultaneously. With nobody left to accept the resignations, there is still some question as to whether the club remains in existence.
But what is behind all these defections from the good things membership in a club offers? Why is there such an emigration away from the Em-SlashSee’s?
Assuming that it requires a hunk of the unconventional to ride a motorcycle (as opposed to merely owning one), it follows that these road riding mavericks want to ride roads. Attending a lengthy club meeting just does not get many bugs on their teeth.
Often a club requires 25 or more pages of a constitution to govern only eight members, and most of the groups operate (sort of) under Robert’s Rules of Order (which isn’t the correct title in the first place). Henry Martyn Robert, a military man (obviously), called it “A Pocket Manual of Rules of Order for Deliberative Assemblies” when it first was published back in 1876. “Deliberative” is the key word; it’s a synonym for “slow.”
Anyhow, all this parliamentary procedure creates an atmosphere in which each individual member tends to become just another chip off the old Establishment block. Except for his boots or jacket, he could be attending the weekly Rotary luncheon or the Ladies Aid Society’s tea. Take the average M/C meeting for example.
Usually the group convenes at the order of the vice-president (the president couldn’t get his cycle started and his son has the car), and the secretary begins to read the minutes of the last meeting. “The meeting was called to order at 8:35...” (That was a good half hour later than scheduled, but 15 minutes earlier than the meeting before that.)
The treasurer’s report follows. It carefully details all sources of income (if any), who is how far behind in his dues, the total expenditures, and all the unpaid bills. The whole thing is summed up with “We’re broke!”
“Well, here comes the old assessment bit again.”
All the committees (and everybody is one) then report that they have nothing to report—frequently requiring up to 10 minutes each to do it. Next, correspondence is read. “We have a notice from the Sprocket Ruiners that their annual Father’s Day run will be held a week early in order not to conflict with Father’s Day.”
And then, to old business.
For the next hour or so, members attempt to resolve the problem concerning the design of the new club uniform (which has been discussed for seven months now) and the proper color of underwear (which was mentioned as a joke four meetings ago, but now has become a subject for solemn debate). Finally somebody who is losing his point makes a motion to table the discussion until the next meeting and it’s new business time.
“Should we start thinking about a club flag?”
“Forget it!”
“Hey, when are we going to have that Sunday run we discussed last fall?” “You’re out of order. That’s old business.”
“Yeah, I know. But when are we?” “Well, we can’t go next weekend because my sister and brother-in-law and all their kids will be here.”
“Two weekends from now is the High Speed Wobble’s Poker Run-in case anybody decides to go.”
“The week after that is out. We’ll be out of town.”
“My vacation starts about then and we’re going to Canada.”
“I’m scheduled for surgery in October.”
“Well, nobody goes anywhere in the winter anyhow. How about sometime next summer?”
Somebody in bored desperation yawns a motion to adjourn. Motion carried. The hostess insists everybody have another cup of coffee (she just bought a new 30-cup percolator for this very occasion) and a cup cake. For another half-hour, little discussions ripple around the room...
“Isn’t there anybody over your way who might want to join?”
“You know, I’ve been thinking. We could probably get more members if we didn't require them to ride motor cycles."
...before everybody finally rides off into the dawn.
The riding rider heads for home, mentally composing his letter of resigna tion as he goes. Probably it consists of just' words which he translates into a more acceptable "I quit!" before he mails it.
With his resignation turned in, this malcontent joins the ranks of the out riders (which is not, as some people believe, a type of Tahitian canoe). In happy anticipation, he h1*S the high ways-only to discover that solo traveling i~"not always the delight he imagined. The loner, it turns out, often is lonely.
.Then he hears about another club not too far away and joins. it is a different club only in itsnameind the color of its underwear. Soon another resignation is in the mail. One rider went through 14 clubs in less than a year (including the one he organized himself). Finally, he is forced to con clude that motorcycle clubs, wives, can't be lived with-or without. e's got a problem.~
Until t seemed there was no way to resolve his enigma. Now a possible solution is on its way. Around the country a new form of motoráyding rgafliutiQn is appearing and, for lack ?~ot a b'eUrrname, is becoming known as the "non-club."
These non-clubs have an entirely di! ferent approach. For example, in one large Texas city there is a bunch of ex-club members who call themselves the "X's." They have no formal OxganI~ zation, no formal meetings, no formal set of rules or constitution, and no formal membership roster. Everybody is president. Nobody has any duties. But they do get out and ride; solO, in couples, or en masse. It all seems to be working out pretty well.
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Continued from page 79
A similar band in Florida is known as the Zeros (after the amount of their initiation fee and dues). They make it a point not to have a meeting at least once a year. Their uniform isn’t very; it consists of whatever each rider prefers for himself. The Zeros tend to agree that they prefer their present state to their former M/C condition.
Not too surprisingly, Southern California has a goup which came up with an even stranger solution. Known as the Chapman River Yacht Club, their namesake tributary is about two blocks of storm drainage canal in Fullerton. It is not necessary to actually own a yacht to be considered for membership, but a rider should own a motorcycle (supposedly for pulling a boat trailer to the Chapman River Marina, which just plain doesn’t exist). In fact, nobody knows who is or is not a fellow Yacht Clubber. This permits one member to pass another on the street without recognizing him.
“You’d be surprised how much that decreases intra-club strife,” reports one member, who prefers to remain anonymous.
Unlike some non-clubs, the Chapman River Yacht Club does have dues, 27 cents for each three-month period. It used to be 25 cents, but that arrangement—a quarter per quarter—only confused everybody. Currently, they are having a big dues drive. To entice payment, the first member who pays his 27 cents will be awarded 27 cents. The drive has been in progress for 11 months now, and the prize remains unclaimed.
When Yacht Club members go on a run, each is allowed to bring all the camping gear he can get on his machine. But camp equipment is not essential because members, who like their comfort, invariably check in at motels. While on the road they stick to the freeways and interstate routes, and stop every 50 miles for a rest, preferably at a cafe, bar, or gas station just in case somebody is hungry, thirsty, or out of gas. Should there be a cloud in the sky or should the predicted temperature fall outside the 70to 75-degree range, any proposed run is canceled. So far, the group operates on theory; they have yet to go anywhere.
They do, occasionally, schedule a meeting and since there are no officers in the club, any member may call for a conclave. However, members must receive notice of that meeting at least three months in advance. That provides adequate time for everybody to find an excuse for being absent-which everybody always is.
There are other non-clubs emerging here and there, but because they don’t wear colors or patches, don’t stand up for best dressed or largest club judging, and never possess a flag (although one such group does carry a naked staff), the non-clubs are hard to locate. Nevertheless, a little careful detective work will disclose representatives at almost every motorcycle event open to the public.
Now it appears that one non-club may become a coast-to-coast (disorganization. Out of Colorado come rumors of the National Motorcycle Notclub (NMN) which, by taking a negative attitude, has its hindquarters in Denver. The NMN consists of non-members who pay non-dues with checks written in invisible ink. They also have non-membership cards (invisible, of course, which also serves as the NMN’s unofficial color), a non-existent non-clubhouse, non-meetings, and a non-uniform (which they wear when the mood misses them). NMN non-members consider themselves nobility; all others nonentities. They are governed by rules which are, of course, unconstitutional.
Unlike the X’s and Zeros, not everybody in the NMN is president. Instead, each member picks the office he doesn’t want and then becomes, for instance, the non-president or the anti-road captain. The members of the Denver chapter get along fine inasmuch as they rarely see one another except at nonmeetings (where they are unconcerned with irrelevant subjects). Unlike the Chapman River Yacht Club, nobody in the NMN is notified about anything. As a result, the non-members don’t have their feelings hurt when nothing happens-particularly when they don’t know about it.
The NMN doesn’t plan tours or runs (which they call ex-peditions) until after they haven’t taken place. Currently, they are disconsidering an un-scramble, maybe some timeless trials and, perhaps, even a valley climb, hill descent, or other non-competitive event.
The unsuccess of the Denver NMN chapter has discouraged everybody. Reportedly there have been ««quires from out-of-state people who are uninterested in disjoining the group. In fact, if this trend continues, the NMN may even apply to the AMA for a non-charter.
“So far, the response has been underwhelming, and so our entire future is ’batable,” claims one ’lighted nonmember who drops all his “de’s,” “but it is rather ’pressing when you ’cide that the whole NMN thing seems ’stined to make us all non-noncomformists.”
That is the major threat facing the non-clubs; they will end up just like all the others —particularly as their notoriety is extended.
Meanwhile, more and more disillusioned outriders are popping up daily. One ex-ex-ex-non-club member who claims to have “listened to my very last minutes of my very last meeting” is about to try a more radical solution. He stroked his new growth of beard as he disclosed his feelings the other day.
“Maybe them outlaw gangs got the right idea after all,” he said, practicing his snarl. “If you can’t join ’em, beat ’em!”
