The legend of Gremlin Bells (or Gardian Bells)


There is a very long time, on a cold night of December, an old wrinkled biker came back from Mexico with bags filled with toys and with trinkets for children living in an orphanage, near his work.

While he drove at night cold, he thought of the luck that he had in his motorcyclist's long life, to have a partner of affectionate road (some people say a playfellow) who had understood his need to roam only on roads and to his good old woman bike who had not dropped him only once on all the roads which they had traveled together.

In 40 miles in the North of the border, hid a group of nasty small tiny creatures known under the name of "gremlins" of the road.

But yes, you know well, these dirts which let drag things on the road as shoes, nails, and pieces of old tires and which spend their time to dig potholes. They run up to every accident, being delighted lustfully so at their evil deeds.

In this biker "solitary wolf", gremlins had laid an ambush in a tight bend, to bring down him  on the asphalt, what arrived. The tire before touched one of the bags which had got loose. While he was lying inanimate, incapable to move, the gremlins of the road ran up towards him.

This biker not were the kind to to give up, he woke up and began to throw any sorts of objects on "gremlins" as they approached and not having more than bells to be rocked to them, he began to tinkle all his strengths in the a little bit vain hope to frighten these dirts of gremlins.

In approximately one half-mile from there, two bikers camped in the desert, based around the campfire, to speak about their frames and the freedom, to speak about the wind on the faces when they drove through this vast country.. In the night silence, they heard what seemed to them to be a small bell of church. They looked where from it came and fast found the old biker slept in the ditch with gremlins on to make him pass on the other side.

Useless to say that, being a member of the brotherhood of the bikers, they immediately hunted gremlins up to the last one, letting them run away at night.

Recognizing to two young bikers, the old wolf suggested paying them for their help, but as all the real bikers, they refused. Not were the kind to to leave a not rewarded good deed, the old motorcyclist cut two leather pieces of his bags and attached a bell to each of the pieces. He then placed them on each of the motorcycles of his young brothers of roads, as near as possible the ground.

The old biker then told to his young brothers that with these bells placed on their motorcycles, they would be protected against the "gremlins" of the road and that if ever they were in the embarrassment, they would have only to ring the bell and if ever bikers would come then to their help. Then, when you will see a motorcyclist with a small bell under his motorcycle, you will know that he worships the most important thing in life, the friendship of a biker, the true friendship of a brother of road.

Many of us heard this story, but there are also gremlins youngs which live on your motorcycle where they like rising. They are responsible for most of the small concerns of the machine. Sometimes, indicators refuse to work, sometimes the battery died, sometimes the clutch needs to be settled, or several hundred the other little gifts which waste the life of a motorcyclist. These problems are caused by these scoffing evil spirit of the road.

However, they cannot live in the presence of the bell, because they find themselves booby-trapped inside. Their audition is hypersensitive. The constant bell of the bell on the road and the seclusion in a so small space them drive crazy. They so lose their adhesion and eventually fall on the road, and the bell reached its goal.

If you hang on a bell "guard" of your own hands, the magic works, but if the bell is a present, the power is doubled. You know that somewhere, a friend is there, ready to help you. Every time a biker polishes its small bell, he remembers friends too early disappeared, and his thoughts get lost in the wind. When we drive and when we hear the sound of the bell, we know that our brothers and sisters disappeared "wrinkle" with us in thought, and how much it would be easy to join them with an only small driving error.

Think of your brothers of road disappeared as they will think of us, as long as will maintain us their memory by polishing our bell …