Back in the early 80’s, Northbrook had a Harley Davidson dealership. It was on Milwaukee Ave. where it merges in with River Rd. It was the headquarters of the biker gang the Wheeling Wolves.

When I was about 19, I rode with the Wolves a few times. Now, the only reason that I “qualified” to ride with them is that my girlfriend’s older brother Bill was a charter member. These were rough characters, the kind that never were without a gun on them or another weapon.

So, one night, we are in Northern Wisconsin, prowling the countryside looking for someone to hassle or a tavern that hasn’t previously thrown us out. We find the latter.

A few hours later, after a lot of pool and way too many beers, we head out to the bikes. The parking lot is lit by orange hued sodium vapor lights. Bill and I hopped on our bikes and kicked them into life. The biker Alex to my right is kicking and kicking and swearing. All of a sudden, he jumps off the bike shouting “this isn’t even my bike.” And he starts to kick the tank in and the other sheet metal.

I know the problem here… I pull my bike ahead and turn around so that my headlight is hitting him and his bike full on. The bike is red in white light, orange in the sodium vapor lights. I couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders noticeably dropped. He turned around without a word and went back into the tavern. I never did see him again.

About 2 hours later we’re heading South towards home. We all stop at a rest area off 41. Everyone parks and shuts off their bikes. Bathroom and flask and joint breaks accomplished including a few cans of beer that I still don’t know where they came from, we all mount up. I hear about half the bikes fire up right off. Some take a couple kicks. To my right is a guy kicking like heck and cursing. Someone yells at him to check the reserve fuel. He does.

Now here is where it gets comical; after checking the fuel petcock, he decides to check to see if there is any fuel in the tank. Well, the rest area isn’t too well lit, so he can’t see into the tank. So… out comes the Bic lighter. The next thing we saw was a fireball consuming his head.  His beard, long hair, everything was aflame. Someone took a jacket off and put him out, but I could see he was badly burned.

So, what does the guy do? He has a bike that won’t start and a face full of at least 2^nd or 3^rd degree burns. What does the club do? The ideal thing to do is have him ride on back of someone’s bike to a hospital or somewhere to get help. But no one would offer to do that. No one wanted to get involved with taking him to a hospital and possibly get involved with the authorities. I looked at the gaggle of bikers and realized I had no respect for any of them. I turned to the man and said “Get on back, next stop Glenbrook ER.” and that’s where I took him. To the assembled bikers around me, I said “you are all a bunch of useless pussies.”, and kicked my bike to life and roared off Southbound towards the Illinois line.

He spent 2 weeks in the hospital with his burns. His face was a mess. Where the beard was kinda melted into his skin. It was agonizing for him. He never rode with the club again..

That was the last time I rode with them, though I kept in contact with Nick.

Bill and I went to the Harley shop one Friday morning a month or so later to pick up some parts for his bike, we were there for about an hour. As we left, we saw at least a dozen unmarked cop cars pulling into the parking lot and surrounding the shop. We found out the next day that those cars were all feds. Everyone in the shop was arrested on various charges from drugs to gun possession. The shop was closed, never to reopen again. On that lot now stands an H-Mart Korean grocery store.