Happy Birthday CC!
CC's Custom Cali Choppers
CC was the type of guy that didn’t try to impress people.
He didn’t feel the need to seek out external validation, in his mind you either liked him or you didn’t and he didn’t give a shit either way.
He preferred not to turn heads wherever he went, leaving him with the freedom to do what he pleased, when he pleased, and could handle any opposition.
Nothing stopped CC, but he’d worked hard to keep a good head on his shoulders. He could talk his way out of trouble with a few kind words and a genuine grin, or he could pull a blade out of his boot and back his mouth up.
He had an extra sense for knowing when to walk away before shit got out of hand. He’d been picking his battles wisely all his life and he believed that luck was on his side. At 30 he’d earned the respect of his peers and built a name for himself but it hadn’t been easy.
He began to mod crotch rockets for his buddies in high school and made a few dollars.
He clearly recalled the day a gang of burly assholes on choppers worked his neighborhood into their flight path. He had a greasy rag in one hand and a wrench in the other when the gang motored past his driveway and nearly blew out his eardrums.
There was something about the way the roar of a modded motorcycle muffler echoing through the walls of his empty teenage chest that started his heartbeat; it hadn’t stopped since.
That day had taken him through some tough times, but he almost lost his mind the day his first repair shop was burned down and nobody would rat out the culprit. Insurance wasn’t going to replace the good name he’d built up over the years, now he looked like a victim.
CC was a glass half full kind of guy. He didn’t plan to open a shop again, at least not until he was sworn in to the most notorious biker gang in the world.