YOUNGSTOWN, Ohio – If there were a moment that validated Biker BrewHouse, it came a few years ago for owner Larry Wilson. He and his wife were in Las Vegas, checking out a Harley-Davidson dealership. They approached a staffer to buy t-shirts. “My wife mentioned something about owning a brewery in a Harley dealership,” Wilson said. “She (the cashier) stopped. ‘You’re the one they talk about.’” “I said, ‘What do you mean?’” “You’re from Youngstown, right? Biker BrewHouse? All our patrons want to know why they can’t have that here.” That kind of fame follows a person, and Biker BrewHouse remains the only brewery within a dealership. “We pretty much paved the way,” Wilson said. READ MORE Biker BrewHouse Inside Harley Davidson’s Evolving Supply Chain SATANS CHOICE MC FIREBOMBED THREE TIMES A Bimbo Named Candy: Swingers Superstar Biker News weekly wrap up for Jan 31st 2026 to February 7-2026

Dear Bandit… How’s it hangin’? I’m writin’ to let you know I’m alright. I am also sorry I decided to take this little vacation from South Dakota. I mean, you know I am an old California broad… I just couldn’t take no more of that South Dakota winter. When I left your place, I eased on over to Iowa to check on Clean Dean… But now I’m mad at him. See, I decided to spend Christmas with him in his bank he lives in. I gave him a Christmas list with only TWO THINGS on it, Bandit… and he still messed it ALL up. I guess he read my two requests as one word.. he went and bought me a dadgum Crockpot! Then. he wouldn’t even give me any safe sex in his vault… So I loaded my ol’ dog Jack up in one saddlebag and that Crockpot in the other, and I headed on South, lookin’ for some warmer weather… and wouldn’t ya know it? About the time I got halfway across Arkansas, a damned snowstorm hit! I tell ya, I shoulda just stayed holed up in Sturgis with you! I found me a fleabitten pay by the hour motel in Little Rock that allowed dogs… and the sleet was startin’ to stick to my Panhead as I paid for my room. The toothless old hag at the desk had the tv on full blast on the Weather Channel… and she asked me if I had my milk and bread. What do I need with milk and bread, I says? She got all excited and flustered and goes to telling me how i HAVE TO have milk and bread to survive the snow storm.  Well hell, Bandit, I ain’t ever been through no snowstorm. I ran out to my scoot and headed for the Walmart down the street. Have you ever been in an Arkansas Walmart right before a snowstorm, Bandit? Jeeeeezus Christ in a sidecar. They was a pushin’ and a shovin’ and grabbin’ up that milk and bread like they lives depended on it… So I just jumped on in with the rest of the fat ugly old women and elbowed my way to a coupla gallons of milk and a loaf of bread. I also grabbed the fixin’s for a pot of my famous pinto beans.. figured I might as well make that damned Crockpot earn its keep… I got back to that hotel and it was snowin’ pretty good as I carried my gear into a room that smelled like cigarettes and desperation.  I let ol’ Jack outta the saddlebag and he lifted his leg on a few tires before we holed up to wait out the storm.  I dug out the bean fixin’s and put ‘em on to cook… then I curled up on the crunchy bedspread with my dog and a doobie to watch a lil’ porn. Next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to the smell of beans and could see the sunrise a’ peepin’ through the curtain.  I opened the door to let Jack do his business and there was snow and ice out there knee deep to a tall giraffe! It was gonna be a coupla days before I could leave that room, for sure. We went back inside and I dished us up a coupla coffee cups fulla them beans for breakfast. Jack lapped up his beans and rolled over on his back with his crusty nads in the air.  and was soon snorin’ and kickin’ in his sleep. I curled up with him and was almost asleep too when all of a sudden, I smelled something… something bad. Something not of this earth… this was a smell like what comes out of a demon’s ass after a night drinkin’ tequila. I jumped up outta that bed gaggin’ and coughin’ and ol’Jack just laid there on his back with a grin on his face, tail waggin’… he was PROUD of that fart..and lemme tell ya, I woulda been too. Just about the time I was able to breathe, he blasted off another round of toxic ass waste. I ran and got the air freshener in the bathroom and emptied it.. and now it smelled like a dog had shit out a rose bush. Then, my own flatulence started. Me and that poor ol’ dog, we was about to suffocate one another with all the ass blastin’.  I decided I wasn’t havin’ them beans for lunch, and so I figured I’d have to figure out how to save myself with that milk and bread. So I drank the milk and ate the bread.. then my ol’ belly rumbled. Then it rumbled again and I broke out in a cold sweat as I ran for the shitter. Yup.. ol’ Mutha is still lactose intolerant.  I bet that ol’ heifer way up at the front desk could smell us. I considered callin’ the fire department to save me, for real.  Between the two of us, we could knock a buzzard offa shit wagon. Between the drizzlin’ shits and my fartin’ dog, I ain’t slept a wink. I’m afraid if I go to sleep in this haze of shit, they liable to find me in here naked and dead like that Marilyn Monroe. Thankfully the snow has melted enough that maybe I can head back your way soon. I ain’t hangin’ around down here in Dixie no more.  Sendin’ you my bean recipe… eat at your own risk. See you soon! —Mutha Mutha’s No Soak Pinto Beans 1 pound dry pinto beans  2 cups 1/4 lb salt meat 1 large yellow onion chopped into 1/4-inch dice 1 jalapeno cored, seeded, and finely chopped 1 ½ teaspoons salt 3 cloves garlic minced 1/4  teaspoon cayenne pepper 4 cups chicken broth 1 tablespoon sugar 1/2 teaspoon cornstarch Dump it all in the crockpot, and add water to almost the top. Cook for 8 hrs on low…. Enjoy, but  don’t feed em to your bulldogs! –above article contributed by Wicked Bitch The post Mutha Cooks Beans appeared first on Bikernet.com - Online Biker Magazine.

An Outlaw’s Confession You got it all wrong. Kathy was 13 and I was 23. I would fly to her elementary school on my metalflaked chopper where all the girls fought to climb on board. Kathy, the redhead, clawed through the mayhem up the chromed sissybar and the fish-tip pipes fired a salvo forcing the others away. We jammed into Hollywood where she worked the long nights away stripping at the nastiest glitter-filled, gangster clubs on Sunset. Moved by her polished brass pole vibrations I bent her over a trash can in the dank alley and had my way with her. As the sun rose every morning, she stuffed all her hard-won earnings into my leather saddlebag and I rode her back to the ghetto, barbed wire protected elementary school where cops and protective service folks waited at the entrance pointing guns, waving subpoenas and screaming. I couldn’t hear them. All I heard was the gyrating rock and roll from the night before and my fish-tips calling me to escape. My wife waited for me in North Long Beach with perfectly scrambled eggs and steaming hotcakes while clutching her bible and crying tears of dire hope. –Renegade  The post An Outlaw’s Confession by Renegade appeared first on Bikernet.com - Online Biker Magazine.

TMMR: Where Motorcycles, Music, and the Road Come TogetherTMMR: Where Motorcycles, Music, and the Road Come Together For riders who live for the long way around, some gatherings don’t need hype — they speak for themselves. Tennessee Motorcycles & Music Revival is one of them. Every May, riders and music lovers from across the country roll into Loretta Lynn’s Ranch — a legendary 3,500-acre property founded by the iconic country singer and songwriter Loretta Lynn. What began in the 1970s as her family home and creative refuge has become hallowed ground for music lovers and road warriors alike. Rolling hills, wooded trails, wide-open fields, and a creek cutting through the land — it’s terrain that feels made for engines, campfires, and nights that run long. TMMR isn’t something you rush through. It’s a gathering you settle into, built around motorcycles, music, and the people who show up for the real thing. You wake up to bikes purring and coffee brewing in the campgrounds. Days are spent riding, watching nonstop moto action, kicking back to live music, wandering the ranch, studying hand-built machines, or grabbing a seat and taking it all in. When the sun goes down, the energy rolls on — main stage sets, late-night jams by the bonfire, and conversations with folks you just met but already feel like old friends. Johnny Humphrey in front of the BC Moto invitational bike show at the TMMR (Tennessee Motorcycles and Music Revival). Hurricane Mills, TN, Saturday, May 17, 2025. Photography ©2025 Michael Lichter. The motorcycle action is woven into every corner of the weekend. A hill climb that’s equal parts chaos and skill. Track racing, drag races, games, burnouts, competitions, and group rides. Wooded trails that let you stretch a bike’s legs. The BC Moto Invitational is another standout — hand-built machines showcased barn-side, with builders from different generations and styles sharing the same space, swapping stories, answering questions, and letting the bikes speak for themselves. It’s not about trophies or trends. It’s about craftsmanship, originality, and riding what you build. And the music isn’t background noise — it’s half the heartbeat of the weekend. Country, outlaw, rock, bluegrass, and sounds you might hear here first, long before the rest of the world catches on. Performances at TMMR are raw and up close — no distance, no pretense, just artists playing close enough to feel it. Acts like Red Clay Strays and Grace Bowers played TMMR before breaking wide, while Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top and Matt Sorum of Guns N’ Roses have taken the stage at TMMR, delivering moments you don’t get at arena shows. Located just outside Nashville, you never know who might show up — or step on stage. Custom bikes are on display in the BC Moto show at the TMMR on May 18, 2024. Photography ©2024 Michael Lichter. TMMR was built to be different — not another cookie-cutter moto event recycling the same bands and the same DNA from event to the next. TMMR is authentic. You feel it when you arrive, like Loretta Lynn’s spirit and southern hospitality is still opening the gate. EasyRiders has always been about real riders, real machines, and living outside the lines. Tennessee Motorcycles & Music Revival lives in that same lane — raw, unpolished, and built for people who ride their own road. Some places still feel right. This is one of them. — we’ll see you on the Ranch in Tennessee. May 14–17 | Loretta Lynn’s Ranch Tickets, camping, and info at motorcycleandmusic.com The post Tennessee Motorcycles & Music Revival appeared first on Bikernet.com - Online Biker Magazine.