The director of the HOG chapter was Bob G. A federal government employee by day, heavy duty biker by night, he seemed to have a friendly relationship with the local Outlaws. Although HOG had plenty of guidelines for running a chapter, Bob added a bit of the one percenter influence to the mix. For example, one of the chapter's executive positions was entitled "Sergeant at Arms", and filling that position was a former Satan's Choice, John G. Unlike many patch holders today who look more like stockbrokers and businessmen than bikers, John filled the outlaw stereotype to a tee. He didn't speak much, and when he did, he tended to be soft spoken. Dressed in traditional biker garb, he had a presence that hinted of what might lay below, and he certainly didn't look like someone who could be messed with. (Perhaps as someone suggested, his chapter position could have been better described as "Sergeant with Arms".) More of this "Easy Rider" influence could be found on the chapter's membership forms. We could check off a box if we wanted to have the chapter provide us with a motorcycle escorted funeral procession. That is, I assumed, should we ever encounter an unexpected and sudden demise. Our monthly meetings took place in downtown Ottawa. The previous and founding chapter director, Andrew, was of Polish heritage, so it was not surprising that the meetings were held in a Polish hall. I personally liked this location because it offered us many benefits. Not only did we have a large private room amply supplied with stacking tables and chairs, but downstairs there was a small bar selling cold beer. Outside, our bikes were parked in a neat row along the sidewalk and although we couldn't see them from inside, they were never tampered with during our time there. After the meeting we would continue to socialize on the street while checking out each others bikes; listening to them warming up for the ride home. One time we got a complaint about excessive noise from neighboring homes. Our leader, Bob, had spent five or ten minutes repeatedly twisting the throttle, the open pipes blasting the area with massive sonic waves. He later explained that he wasn't trying to antagonize the residents, he was just revving the engine trying to keep it alive. Apparently, he was having difficulties keeping his bike firing on two cylinders, and it took a while before it settled down sufficiently to ride away. So he said.
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