A couple of years ago I was booked to perform a solo gig at the legendary Luckenbach General Store in the Texas Hill Country. I was excited because it was a historic pad for Willie Nelson and the boys. Little did I know that it was also a Hell's Angels hangout. I had driven for nearly five hours from Dallas to get to Fredericksberg, Texas and on to where the turn-off for Luckenbach was supposed to be, but low and behold, there was no road sign indicating the location of this historic town. (I later found out that county road officials have tried to erect "Luckenbach, Texas" signs but, because of the Chips Moman/Waylon Jennings hit song, country music fans steal them as fast as they are put up.)

I finally took a shot in the dark and headed south on an old Texas farm road. After some searching I found the venue hidden alongside a creek behind a band of Texas outlaw Hell's Angels "trees". By that I mean the trees were big and tall and looked real rough, you know, as if wearing road-hardened leather.

To my surprise the venue was a small weather-beaten wood-lined modest little cabin with a wood stove chuggin' out large pillars of white smoke. I grabbed my guitar and a bunch of cables and headed for the door. The closer I got to the door, the louder the commotion inside. Yelling, hollering, and the sound of beer bottles coming in contact with hard surfaces caused a chill to crawl across my skin.

Just as I got to the door and started to pull the handle, a man resembling Otis Campbell, the town drunk of Mayberry, put all of his inebriated weight against the door and flew out like a chicken escaping a midnight fox raid.

After dodging this human projectile, I stepped inside the ramshackle old shed and the place went quiet. I carefully set my gear down and slowly raised my eyes from the floor, noticing all the old beat-up black leather motorcycle boots, worn-out blue jeans, a few pairs of leather breeches and dozens of the iconic Hell's Angels biker vests and jackets.

My eyes gradually came to focus on the roughest looking bunch of handkerchief-wearing mongrels I had ever seen in my life. I got a sinking feeling in my gut when I realized that this was the crowd I would have to entertain tonight!

I tried not to show any sign of fear or hesitation, but as I headed back out to get another guitar I felt as if a pit bull had grabbed the sleeve of the leather jacket that I was wearing. Years ago I had received a black leather biker jacket as a gift from my old boss Marty Stuart, and I just happened to be wearing it that night. It was my favorite jacket because it was free, very warm, had lots of pockets with zippers, and was so worn-in it looked as if l was raised on a Harley.

Suddenly a large man approached me and I found myself in the grips of a pair of huge biker paws; I couldn't move. A sudden fear came over me and all I could think was, "I've got to get out of here!" It was similar to that feeling you get when you're riding a bike for the very first time, down a long steep hill- and your brakes don't even slow you down.

I felt a hot and heavy whiskey breath whisk across my face and heard a low gravelly voice say, "Boy, do ya ride or do ya just wear the jacket?"

At that point my mind was turning pages in my "What Do I Do Now?" book even faster that you'd a thunk it!!! I quickly decided that honesty was the best policy and nervously said, "No, I don't ride. This jacket was a gift from my old boss Marty Stuart."

The giant biker dude smiled and said, "Man, he's one of my favorites! Can I buy you a beer?" At that point I knew my life had been spared and that I'd be able to tell others about my close call at Luckenbach! The rest of the night went off without a hitch and I had a great show.

God and Hell's Angels willing, I'll see you down the road.