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In the Heart of the New York Catskill Mountains, there is a place called Nicks Waterfall House. I have been there many times and it has become one of my favorite places of all time to ride to.

There are times when the stress of our lives and jobs can get even the best of us a little down. If you are a straight lace citizen you go to a Doctor and get some pills or maybe see a shrink. If you are a Biker you hop on your Motorcycle get the motor running and you head out to a place like Nicks Waterfall House.

It does not matter where you are or what direction you come from. The ride threw the NY Catskill Mountains is going to relax the stress away from the depths of your very soul. As you ride to Nick’s threw long winding roads up over and into the heart of some of the worlds most majestic Mountains, with the Sun shining down on you and the fresh Mountain air filling your lungs you will start to get a feeling of what one can only describe as pure joy.

As you get near Nicks Waterfall House located on Route 990v, Gilboa New York 12076, either alone or with a group of friends. You will feel as if time and space are no longer a factor in the Universe, and it only gets better from there! As you ride in the first thing many think is they have reached some old time lost resort, but have no fear Nicks is a Biker bar.

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A few weeks back I received an email from a girl Kim about a Charity Motorcycle event she was working on for Bide A Wee an Animal shelter I worked at when I was younger. As I read the info I was looking forward to attending the event only to find it was being held at Jugs and Strokers the only “Biker Bar” on Long Island that does not allow Motorcycle Club Colors. I was pissed to find out I would not be welcome at this event. I then saw the email had been sent out to many other Motorcycle Clubs on Long Island. Pissed Off, I started writing a reply to the email and sent it out to the MC’s here on Long Island. Here is what I wrote.

Hey everyone this is LJ James.

You may not know this but I worked at Bide A Wee in Wantagh for many years. I have some great memories of my time working there. As much as I love the place and think Bide A Wee to be a truly great organization, I will not take off my Colors to go inside Jugs & Strokers to attend this event.

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It was a quite day in a small Bar in upstate New York . The girl working behind the bar was young, she had just turned Eighteen and had only been bar tending a few weeks, this was her first time working alone. Everything was going fine with only two of the regulars in the back shooting pool it was nothing she could not handle she thought to herself.

Then the front door opened and in walked ten of the biggest men she had ever seen. They talked loudly and as they walked over to the far side of the bar, She got a look at the back of their jackets. She could easily see that the markings on them where all the same. The men ordered pitchers of beer and their talking only got louder as they drank more and talked about things she did not understand. Then the men went quite as the front door opened and in walked seven more large men, at first she thought these seven men where with the first Ten as they looked and dressed similar but as she looked at the markings on the backs of these new comers Jackets she could tell while they where similar the markings where different, By the way the two groups where looking at each other she guessed the difference must mean a lot to them.

The Seven men sat up toward the front of the bar and also ordered pitchers of beer. The young girl did her best to make sure both groups where kept happy, but it was just a matter of time and Beer! When one of the men from the first group called out to her, “Hey Honey don’t worry about those guys, there losers! Come over here and hang with some real men.” That was all it took, the fuse was lit. “Who you calling losers pal we are good enough to beat you any day of the week!” Yelled back a guy from the second group. “You may think your as good as us but you never will be!” Yelled back a man from the first group.

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