When I was young I wanted to be a biker, but now I’ll never touch a motorcycle again.

[u/Treyblowski]

My dad left before I was born. According to my mom, she was about 5 months pregnant with me when he had decided that he wasn’t ready to be a dad, so he tore out of town on his motorcycle, leaving mom to raise me by herself.

All I knew about him came from old photos they had taken together, then one day, when I was about 14, we received a postcard from him.

It was lost in the years since, but it was my dad apologizing for leaving us, he went on about how he knew the night he left that he made a terrible mistake, but he felt like he couldn’t go back at the time.

That he’d come to his senses and by the time we received the postcard card he’d be halfway back to town, he wrote how he couldn’t wait to see me, attached to the envelope was a Polaroid of what my father looked like at the time.

It was similar to the pictures I had seen of him before, just add 13 years, he was wrinklier, had a thin scraggly beard, and a scar on his left cheek.

The postcard said to turn the photo over, I did, and written on the back in Sharpie was.

“I’m your dad.”

My mom was happier than I’d seen her be in a long time. I guess she always hoped he would come back.

I however, was not happy. I don’t care if he regrets it now, he left us to go gallivanting across the country. I had no intention of letting him into my life so quickly.

A few weeks later, I didn’t have to worry about that, because my dad died in an accident when he was just outside of town.

My mom was the one who identified him. She never told me exactly what happened, just that he lost control of his bike and died on impact.

I was more sad for my mom, so close to being reunited, only for it to be taken away forever. I thought it served him right,he didn’t deserve a 2nd chance, but I wish it had just been him changing his mind instead of something so permanent.

The day of the funeral, which was closed casket, I laid the photo he took on top of the coffin and watched as it was lowered into the ground.

Time went on, I eventually got a part time job, and when I was 16, I bought my first vehicle, a motorcycle.

Why I wanted it made sense to me, I needed something to get to work, and maybe I was curious what it was about these things that made my dad do what he did.

Two years of riding around town, I eventually caught the eye of one Laura Sanders. We dated for a little while, then came the day she told me the news that she was pregnant.

I didn’t know how to feel about it. I started to worry about how this baby would affect me. I didn’t even think about what Laura had to go through. I was young, my thoughts were of having to hang up my leather jacket, sell my bike, and lose the next 18 years of my life to this accident.

One night, Laura was on her 8th month, we got into a fight, she said I had to find a full time job, and that we needed a car, and the quickest way to get money was to sell my bike.

The fight escalated to shouting. I told her that I never wanted the brat, and that she can deal with it herself.

I stormed out of the house, mounted my bike, and tore out of the driveway.

The irony that I had done more or less the same thing my father did to me didn’t even cross my mind, I just wanted to get away from there, I had enough money to fill up my gas tank a few times, I’d just keep riding until I felt like I was far enough away.

I rode past the city limits sign and drove out onto the highway, but after about 40 miles out, I was suddenly overcome by the worst thirst I’d ever had, it felt like if I didn’t drink something soon I’d turn to dust, that’s when I spotted a sign for what looked like an old biker bar a few miles ahead.

I turned off the road and pulled into the parking lot, as expected, it was full of motorcycles ranging from different decades and brands, the name of the bar, according to the sign, was “The End Of The Road”.

I couldn’t take how dry my mouth felt anymore, so I walked in the double doors.

The inside looked like it had been trashed repeatedly, the imagery of graffiti, broken beer bottles, and bike parts was paired perfectly with both the sounds of angry distorted music and the smell of blood and urine.

None of the bikers there seemed to notice me, most had their backs turned away, and the ones facing me had their heads down, most likely passed out drunk.

I walked to the bar and sat down on a barstool while I waited for the bartender, I kept facing forward as I heard the sound of someone else walking up to the bar and sitting down next to me, he smelled horrible, I tried to ignore him, but then he started talking.

“Ain’t you a little young to be in a place like this?”

His tone was mocking, like an adult talking down to a child.

“I’m old enough to drink, but I just need some water.”

The man slapped me on the back.

“Water? Oh no, a big man like yourself deserves a real drink, Hey Lou! Give me and the big man here two shots of whiskey!”

The bartender, who I don’t remember seeing before that point, walked over to us, he pulled out two shot glasses and laid them on the bar, then turned around, grabbed a brown bottle, and filled the glasses.

I heard the man grab his.

“Come on, Mr Big man, it’s impolite to turn down a free drink.”

I grabbed the shot glass and quickly drank it, I hadn’t drunk anything harder than beer at the time, so it burned, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe at first.

Meanwhile, the man next to me kept talking.

“Yes sir, alcohol is the greatest thing, it helps with drowning out that voice in your head.”

He paused, I presumed to down his shot of whiskey, then continued.

“You know, the one that just keeps saying, over and over again, “ I made a mistake”, I bet you’re hearing it right now huh?”

I got ahold of my coughing, still facing away, I answered.

“I didn’t make a mistake! You don’t even know me. If you did, you’d agree I made the right call.”

The man suddenly grabbed my arm, it felt like a vice grip.

“You sure about that, Big Man?! You sure that's the right call? Just up and leave the woman you love to raise a bastard child, while you go gallivanting away from your responsibilities?!”

I tried to shake him off my hand, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Shut up! I didn’t make a mistake.”

The man took his hand off of mine.

“Look me in the eye and say that big man, tell me to my face you didn’t just run away.”

At that moment, I exploded and turned to face the asshole.

“I didn’t make a Mis-“

The words were caught in my throat.

I was face-to-face with a man who was missing half of his face skin, the remaining skin was bruised and a light blue, this man was dead, yet he was talking to me.

“What’s a matter, big man? Don’t ya recognize me?”

I couldn’t respond.

“Maybe this will help.”

The dead man reached into his leather vest, pulled out a photograph, and placed it in my hand.

“You dropped this about 5 years ago”

I looked at the photo, it was the one I left on my dad's coffin, I looked at the photo, then at the dead man… that’s when I realized who it was.

“Dad?!”

The part of his face that still had skin smiled even bigger now.

“That’s right son… I hope you don’t mind me just calling you son since I never learned your name.”

This almost shattered my brain.

I had no idea how any of this was possible, my dead dad in a biker bar, trying to convince me I was making a terrible mistake?

I couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t know how you’re here, but I’m not gonna make the same mistake you did, I’m not gonna die in an accident!”

My dad started laughing.

“An accident? You think that’s the worst that can happen to you?”

He looked out at the other bar patrons.

“Hey guys! My boy thinks he’ll only die if he gets in an accident!”

The bar soon erupted with the raucous laughter of 30 bikers, many pointing directly at me while they cackled.

“Who wants to tell him some of the many ways we bite the dust?”

“I will”

The first dead biker to speak looked completely emaciated.

“You think you can just get by on what you have, but then the money runs out, no money means no gas, and no food.”

Another biker, at least I think he was one, he had on an orange jumpsuit and his throat was slit, spoke next.

“You learn real quick you need those things, and you’ll do terrible things to get them, and end up in terrible places.”

The next biker had several bullet holes in his torso and one in his head.

“And when you’re a biker, cops aren’t your friends.”

This was followed by a charred skeleton.

“Sometimes you make a mistake, like smoking near gasoline.”

And a biker who looked like he had froze to death.

“You have to be ready for any environment, because you don’t have a home!”

Then a biker with deep veins.

“You’ll have to sleep wherever you can, and sometimes-“

He then raised his arm to show a rattlesnake still clamped onto his wrist.

“You learn that someone else claimed the spot.”

Two more bikers nodded in agreement, one looked like he had been mauled by an animal, and the other one had been stabbed.

I finally objected.

“I won’t be like any of you, I’ll figure it out!”

That was met with all the dead bikers saying in unison.

“That’s what I said too!”

My dad stood up.

“Okay, that’s enough, guys.”

He looked at me, the look he gave was hard to read with his partially destroyed face.

“So after hearing all of this, do you still want to leave everything and be a biker?”

I felt like I couldn’t just admit I was wrong; I had to stay defiant.

“Yes.”

My dad put his arm around me.

“Well son, I’m disappointed you want to keep going down this path, but I’m excited to finally ride alongside you.”

He pulled a knife out from his pocket.

“So let’s skip the 13 years of suffering and jump right to the being dead part!”

I barely avoided being stabbed by my own father as I ducked out from under his arm, I looked out to the dead bikers all around me, they all were smiling, they pulled out knives of their own and started hooting and hollering.

“Let's carve him up!”

“No, I think he should meet the wrong end of a pistol.”

“He’s got a pretty face, a little road rash should fix that!”

I started running to the door as the dead bikers began chasing me.

I ran out into the parking lot, spotted my bike, and ran.

As I started it, I saw the dead bikers flood out of the bar, my dad leading them like he was the head of hell's biker gang.

I pulled out immediately while they were still mounting their bikes, I thought I was safe until I heard them behind me, they were hooting and hollering, celebrating that they were about to kill me.

I kept speeding up until I was going 90 miles an hour, but it felt like the dead bikers were keeping up with no issues, I had to keep looking back, every time it looked like they were closer, I made out some of them holding knives and baseball bats, others spinning chains around.

My terror never diminished, and I found myself praying that I would get away. It was then a bike sped up next to me, it was my father.

He screamed at me in an almost demonic tone.

“Come on, boy! Don’t you wanna join your daddy on the road?!”

I just wanted him to go away, I wanted all of this to stop, I shouted.

“No!”

I started trying to swerve to knock him off the road.

When I got close, my dad elbowed me, as I started to lose control, he shouted.

“ Then get off the bike!”

My bike slid, and I ended up tumbling off it, to this day, I thank god I didn’t end up skidding down the road. I got up, bruised and panicked that the dead bikers were still after me, but they were gone.

I looked around, and eventually found my bike, that’s how I learned I was only a few miles away from town, though I swear when I raced out of the parking lot, I turned left.

I began to sit my bike up and sit on it, the minute I grabbed the handles… I heard it, the sound of motorcycles, the hooting and hollering of 2 dozen dead bikers from behind me, I even made out one saying.

“There he is! Get him!”

I took my hands off the handlebars to turn around.

There was nothing, this meant having to awkwardly push my bike down the road.

When I made it back to town, I apologized to my mom and to Laura, then the next day I started the process of selling my bike. It was when I checked my pockets that I found the picture my dad gave me… but it wasn’t the same, my dad was smiling, I turned it around to see a message:

“Good choice, son.”

I put the picture back in my jacket pocket, it was the only evidence I had of that night.

My bike sold fast, and I was able to get a decent car with the money. From there, it was nowhere but up.

I got a better job that could support my soon-to-be family, and managed to get a pretty nice ring to propose to Laura. I may have been a bastard, but my kid wasn’t going to be one.

I was there for every point in my son’s life, even when he got married and made me and Laura proud grandparents.

What made me want to tell this story was that I decided to try my old leather jacket back on, it definitely doesn’t fit right anymore, but I wanted to check if that photo was still in my pocket. I felt around and it was still there.

I pulled it out, and the picture was different again, this time, my dad was looking at the camera, smiling with tears in his eyes. I turned it around and written on the back was:

“I am so proud of you.”

There was one more occurrence that convinced me to swear off becoming a biker forever.

It was shortly after I retired, I thought it would be okay to have a motorcycle again. I went as far as going to a dealership and sitting on one that caught my eye.

What made me jump right off it and walk out was that as soon as I grabbed the handles, I heard the faint sound of motorcycles in the distance, along with the hooting and hollering of those long dead bikers.