I can remember, about 20 years ago, being snowed in, up in West Va., about 1/2 broke from partying away 6 months of shutdown pay, and I had to sell everything I owned except for my car, bike, bike trailer, TV, stereo, coffee maker, alarm clock, my clothes, and moved to Georgia.
The first thing I did was score a job (I’m a welder by trade – 30+ years) and a shack to lay my head down in, and secure the bike.
I had nothing else except for a plastic spoon, fork, and knife that I had saved from a convenience store where I bought a chicken dinner.
I found out where the nearest ABATE chapter was, made the meeting and ponied up my $15 for membership, sat through the meeting, and after it was over, I stood an introduced myself and told the entire membership of what I had just gone through, and asked if anyone could help out.
I told them where I lived.
The following evening my little ol’ 12’x 70′ mobile home was filled with so much stuff, people, beer, grub, and above all, an ever more growing, extinct measure, of Brother and Sisterhood.
Man, I suddenly had furniture, a bed, towels, asswipe, mismatched silverware, crazy plates, grub, and beer in the fridge.
I think back to those times whenever I want to find out where an MRO or a crew of bikers are, in case someone is in dire need and can only turn to their own kind for hope.
This sounds mushy as hell, but it happened that way, and used to be that way.