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Summerlin Bikers
Having spent the majority of my life in
Las Vegas, I felt I had pretty much seen it all—Female Elvis
impersonators, $4.99 Prime Rib, Susan Anton, even 3 drops of rain flooding
the Vegas Valley. But I never
thought I'd see bikers, big burley motorcycle ridin' bikers, out of
Summerlin.
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It began as a normal evening, some friends and I sipped wine and enjoyed
wonderful food while relishing
in the people watching only Las Vegas can provide. It was your typical
Happy Hour crowd, just slightly
prettier, as this was, after all, Kona Grill.
Then I saw them, well heard them first, then saw them, actually. There
was this deafening roar and as I
turned to see who I could possibly position between me and danger, and
there they were—The Summerlin
Bikers. Oddly more bikes than bikers, which puzzles me to this day, but
regardless, a fair number of both. |
See, we had entered from the north parking area and missed the front
row, orange cone divided, Summerlin
Biker parking area. Through the cloud of smoke, produced by revving
ones engine for no apparent reason, I saw a group of men and one small
Summerlin Biker Babe. (Not as leather laden as your typical biker babe,
but qualified to the moniker, none the less.)
Rude as it was, I was mesmerized by the dynamic. I couldn't look away.
One particularly large gentlemen
was pacing back and forth along the bar, talking loudly to his friends
about the lack of quality women in Las Vegas. I should interject that I
am a fan of motorcycles and often, those who ride them. I say that
because I don't wish this to appear an indictment of bikers or those who
appreciate a great motorcycle. I'm focused more on the goateed
investment banker who dons a do-rag, buys a 1000 pounds of bike and
loudly protests the activities of "The Man" and "Gold Diggin' Bitches".
I digress…
The truly engaging element of this scene was the behavior, not of
Captain of the No-Volume-Control, but
that of his friend, Mr. I-Need-to-Dress-Down-my-Woman in a Public
Forum. I could not hear all of his diatribe, but his body language
clearly told the story. She appeared to defend herself a bit and that
was it, off he stormed to his bike. He jumped on his motorcycle,
clearly furious and revved the engine in anger. Those of us outside
began fighting off asphyxiation. It was at the precise moment I began
to feel consciousness slipping away, that the best thing happened.
Little Johnny Revs-A-Lot popped the clutch and zipped off, right into
the Kona Grill fence.
Now, don't think me overly callous, he was fine and once his friends
stopped mocking him, began assessing
the damage to his bike. Sadly, his female counterpart approached and
the argument again ensued.
So what has this to do with being single in Las Vegas? Well, quite
frankly, very little, but it raises a few
interesting points: - Why do we insist on posturing, often showing our
worse selves, rather than taking the risk of being just us? - What is
the allure of a bad relationship? Isn't it better to face the single
scene and at least have a few stories to share, rather than cling to a
relationship that doesn't suit us? - Why is there such great parking
for bikers at Kona Grill?
I guess that as I've begun to actively look at the life of singles, I
wonder more and more about the choices we make. Do we settle for bad
relationships to avoid the dreaded "single" title? In our daily lives
as investment bankers, do we treat our partners poorly, or is that a
little extra that accompanies the weekend persona? Sure, we all have
our peccadilloes—personally, I could turn the Dalai Lama to a life of
violence if my blood sugar gets too low—but in the big picture, isn't
better to get comfortable with yourself rather than fake it two days a
week? Just a thought.
In the mean time, if you're nervous about a first date, Kona Grill seems
to have some great conversational pieces for the inevitable awkward
silence.
Oh, and Melanie followed my advice and is seeing a great guy, just for
the record. Looking to hear from
you at askpietra@earthlink.net.
Happy Hunting,
Pietra
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