Reporting from Meeting of Minds 2025
Yesterday morning before the sun came up, I pulled on my old jeans and older cowboy boots, and I kissed my dogs and my mama, and I left Arkansas to attend the Motorcycle Riders Foundation’s Meeting of the Minds in Shreveport, Louisiana. In my mind, as must be in the mind of every decent American, when they attend ANY event these days… I kept being reminded of Charlie Kirk and his widow.
I sat awhile on the smoking deck listening to the old broads. The ones in cute pink Harley gear that matched their manicured nails, chattering happily with the ones in leathered, weathered skin and denim vests, covered in layers upon layers of event patches that hold the memories and tell the stories of millions and millions of miles and tears and joys and heartbreaks…. And I marveled at how these old girls, like I myself, have seen so many of these men we loved die, or be eaten by the highway or the lifestyle or time, until they blew away like dust in the wind itself. But we always keep coming back to stand with these bikers who hold our hearts and souls in their battered hands. We support them and love them, our lovers and our brothers and our others… knowing that by doing so, they will break our hearts again and again, and still we keep on embracing them and fighting beside them for their causes… our causes…. And I thought of Erika and Charlie.
I saw one of my dear old friends, Elaine… Lainey. She was married to a dear, wild old friend of mine when I first met her, and she was a force of nature in ABATE… a wonderful Christian lady… and then later on, she had a second, better suited, more wonderful new husband and they were deeply in love, deeply faithful to Christ, and loyal freedom fighters in Arkansas ABATE their whole lives together. I’ve buried two of the men I loved, in all these years we have known each other… and recently, Lainie buried her sweet Randy when cancer sent him to that forever chapter, too. When I saw her, she told me in a steel voice without a quiver… ‘you know we lost Randy..’ and her eyes only faltered from mine for a split second. I said Yea, I do.. I’m so sorry, and I prayed for you.’ And she replied, her eyes still holding that steel gaze that kept her voice steady, ‘This is my first one of these alone.’ And I understood.. and she knew that I did… So I just said, ‘you are not alone if I am here.’ And I curled her tiny frame under my arm in a hug and held her a few seconds… and in my mind, I saw Erika Kirk, and felt her mighty, Jesus fueled strength and resilience to carry on her work alone, in that little bird frame of one of my old friends, curled against my side. I know Lainey and Erika both, will be alright, and I know their very similar missions will continue, because they wear that armor of God as their chaps and helmets down the rocky roads of life.
I also spent time with a few of my friends from the time when I was working and writing about that travesty of a shooting at Twin Peaks in Waco, Texas in 2015. I saw my beautiful sister-friend Tonya and her different colored eyes, and I was so overjoyed as we rushed into each other’s arms. My friendship, my sisterhood, with her, cannot be put into words, but I can say, it will be a friendship that is til death do we part… and the same can be said of the two Waco bikers who were in attendance, too. Its humbling to see those two men who literally went to jail, with million dollar bonds, still turning up a decade later, ready to fight for the rights of others. Those of us who lived that experience, from the prisoners and their families, to those of us like Tonya and I who tried to help them after it happened….. we are trauma bound in diehard friendships that transcend beyond what my ability to write will ever reach.. but it was amazing to be in the same place as them ten years after we all met over the most heinously offensive circumstances, and to see us all, a little greyer, a little fatter, a little slower, still there fighting for biker rights… especially the ones who were jailed and shot at. They made me think of Charlie.
This was the biggest Meeting of the Minds in history, with over four hundred people representing at least forty states. The convention room was packed to standing room only to hear Louisiana’s Republican Congressman Clay Higgins speak our language. He raised the roof with his fiery opinions and ‘don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit’ rhetoric. After he spoke, I was standing nearby as he was approached by Chopper Gilmore, a legend in our world on many levels; Veteran, Chaplain, patch wearer, brother, friend, and voice of reason. I watched those two Vets clasp hands, and then embrace in prayer. Then others in different patches joined in the circle of prayer with them. I found myself in a circle of preachers and a Congressman and 1%ers, and I felt God, in that casino. Of course, Chopper Gilmore’s name, the one his mama gave him… is Charlie.
I attended this event with a friend of mine who does not ride motorcycles and has never attended a motorcycle event and knows no bikers but me. After many, many years of many, many meetings… I admit I am jaded to the phenomenon that plays out every time these meetings take place. But yesterday, I was blessed with the opportunity to see the event through virgin eyes. And what I saw my friend see, was the almost miraculous gathering of various patches who used to be mortal enemies, come together for the greater good. Friendly, caring people who accepted everyone there, even my friend who was new to it all, to join them and stand color to color and shoulder to shoulder as an impenetrable wall guarding our rights as riders… and I saw, in that, once again, the coming together of everyone in the GOP, for the greater good, that was the memorial for Charlie Kirk.
As I made my way home through the dark Louisiana night, I thought of how the gathering felt more present, more positive, more energized.. than in years past. I thought about how bikers, like Republicans, are often passive and quiet, sometimes due to what is so often said about them in the media. Whether you are being called a dirtbag or a Nazi, it all blends into the same damned noise after a while. It felt like there has been a shift in that wind yesterday though… a renewed interest, a rebirth of the fight for freedom, a stubbornly tenacious will to speak out to protect the internal combustible engine… And I wondered, as I curled up with my dogs and closed my eyes to sleep… Are we Charlie? Is this our turning point?
—Amy Irene White
