During a recent trip to a national bike rally in South Dakota, I hit a slick spot on the road and barely managed to pull my bike out of a skid without going down the mountain. As I stopped along the road to regroup and thank my lucky stars, I looked up and saw a tattooed biker in ripped jeans and scruffy shirt with a strange ethereal glow. He gave me a small salute and then disappeared as unexpectedly as he had appeared.
I had heard the stories, but never quite believed them. But here I was, the recipient of the protection of Saint Urgis. This site is dedicated to the history and help of this guardian of bikers and babes... come back soon as we add stories and images of thankful bikers and friends.
There are old bikers and there are bold bikers, but there are few if any old, bold bikers.