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The Blue Rats:
Geriatric Gangsters on Three-Wheel Trikes Take Over the Senior Scene
Back to Base: The Pool Party Starts
By Arlo Agogo
Picture this: a dusty, sun-scorched stretch of tribal land in a 55-plus senior community called Riverside Adventure Travel—RATs for short, because acronyms are the hip thing for folks who’ve traded their Harleys for hearing aids.
This ain’t your grandma’s retirement village, unless your grandma’s got a penchant for souped-up, three-wheel electric trikes, a wardrobe of leather vests, and a rebellious streak wider than the Grand Canyon.
Welcome to the turf of the Blue Rats, a gang of silver-haired, blue-rinsed renegades who’ve turned mobility aids into a full-blown lifestyle revolution. With a beatnik swagger, let’s roll through this wild tale of senior citizens tearing up the asphalt like it’s 1969, man.
The Rise of the Three-Wheel RebellionIn this 500-unit senior Shangri-La, where the average age is 55 going on 25, life used to be a predictable shuffle. Some folks cruised in cars, zipping to the local Walmart half a mile down the highway. Others, carless and craving independence, relied on delivery vans to drop off their Metamucil and microwave dinners.
The Rise of the Three-Wheel RebellionIn this 500-unit senior Shangri-La, where the average age is 55 going on 25, life used to be a predictable shuffle. Some folks cruised in cars, zipping to the local Walmart half a mile down the highway. Others, carless and craving independence, relied on delivery vans to drop off their Metamucil and microwave dinners.
But then, bam!
Like a bolt of lightning from a desert storm,
-- the three-wheel electric trike roared into town,
and the game changed forever. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill tricycles, dig? These babies are sleek, electric-powered beasts, tricked out with chrome accents, neon underglow, and baskets big enough to haul a week’s worth of groceries or a case of Ensure.
They’re the ultimate freedom machines for seniors whose knees creak louder than a haunted house but whose spirits soar like eagles. Suddenly, folks who hadn’t left the community in years were zipping to Walmart, weaving through the bike path like they were auditioning for Easy Rider.
Married couples, single swingers, widows, and widowers—all hopped on the trike train, sporting bucket hats, wraparound sunglasses, and jackets embroidered with “Blue Rats” in flaming script.
Why “Blue Rats”? It’s a nod to their blue-tinted hair and the RATs community vibe, plus it sounds way cooler than “The Shuffleboard Sharks.”
The Blue Rats: Geriatric Outlaws
The Blue Rats: Geriatric Outlaws
The Blue Rats aren’t just a club; they’re a movement, a posse, a straight-up gang. With about 50 trike-riding rebels (and one rogue two-wheeler, yours truly, pedaling an electric bike to keep up with the pack),
--they’ve turned Riverside into a senior Sturgis.
Every Saturday morning, the rec hall transforms into their headquarters, where they gather for biscuits and gravy, pancakes stacked higher than their cholesterol counts, and enough coffee to jumpstart a 747.
The air hums with the buzz of electric motors and the chatter of plans for their next big ride.
Leading this motley crew is Chief Thundercloud, the tribal elder who lives among the RATs. This cat’s the real deal—a bona fide tribal leader with a feather in his cap and a twinkle in his eye that says, “I’ve seen it all, and I’m still here to party.”
Since Riverside Adventure Travel (R.A.T.s) sits on tribal land, a sovereign slice outside Uncle Sam’s jurisdiction, Chief Thundercloud’s got the local tribal police on speed dial. And when the Blue Rats roll out, those cops don’t just watch—they escort, baby.
Every few weeks, the Blue Rats plan their pièce de résistance: the Great Casino Cruise to the Avi Casino, two miles down Aztec Road. It’s not just a ride; it’s a spectacle, a parade of pure, unfiltered senior swagger.
Picture 50 to 100 electric trikes, side-by-side off-road buggies, and the occasional rogue mobility scooter decked out with streamers and flags.
The Blue Rats dress like they’re auditioning for a Sons of Anarchy reboot: leather vests, bandanas, and aviator shades, with some sporting blue hair so vibrant it glows like a neon sign.
One guy, Wild Wally, even strapped a boombox to his trike, blasting Creedence Clearwater Revival loud enough to wake the cacti. When the convoy rolls, it’s like a
--National Geographic special on migrating elk,
except these elk are powered by lithium-ion batteries and a zest for life.
Chief Thundercloud calls in the tribal police, who show up with a fleet of squad cars, lights flashing like it’s the Fourth of July. They block off Highway 95, halting what little traffic dares to exist in this rural nowhere, and the Blue Rats take over like a geriatric Hells Angels.
Cars pull over, jaws drop, and locals snap photos as this army of silver-haired speedsters cruises by, waving like royalty. One time, a tourist thought it was an actual parade and tossed candy from his RV. Big mistake—Granny Gilda caught a Tootsie Roll in her basket and chucked it back with the precision of a major-league pitcher.
At the Avi Casino, the Blue Rats get VIP treatment. The parking lot’s cleared for their trikes, and a tribal cop stands guard, polishing his badge and eyeing anyone who gets too close to the chrome.
Inside, the gang scatters like kids in a candy store. Some hit the slots, feeding quarters with the focus of brain surgeons. Others belly up to the bar, sipping cocktails and swapping stories about the time they “outran” a golf cart back at the rec hall.
The casino staff love the Blue Rats—they tip big, laugh loud, and occasionally break into impromptu line dances when “Sweet Caroline” hits the speakers.
Back to Base: The Pool Party Starts
After a few hours of coin-dropping and cocktail-sipping, the Blue Rats saddle up for the ride home, escorted once again by Chief Thundercloud’s police posse. Back at Riverside, the rec hall turns into a full-blown rager.
Barbecues blaze, ice tea flows (spiked for the bold), and the pool party kicks off with a splash. Picture 70-year-olds doing cannonballs while “Born to Be Wild” blares from a portable speaker. The Blue Rats park their trikes in a gleaming row, like a showroom of freedom machines, and swap tales of their casino conquests.
One lady, Madge the Maverick, swears she hit a $50 jackpot, though everyone knows she spent $60 to get it.
The community’s alive with laughter, music, and the occasional argument over whose trike has the flashiest LED lights.
Even the tribal cops stick around, sipping lemonade and chuckling at the sight of these “badass” seniors living their best lives.
It’s a scene that’d make Hunter S. Thompson proud—a wild, weird celebration of freedom, community, and the sheer joy of defying expectations.
The Blue Rats Legacy
The Blue Rats Legacy
The Blue Rats aren’t just a gang; they’re a revolution on three wheels. They’ve turned mobility issues into a badge of honor, proving that age is just a number when you’ve got a trike, a tribe, and a police escort.
Riverside Adventure Travel isn’t just a retirement community—it’s a launchpad for adventure, where blue hair and bad knees don’t stop the party.
So here’s to the Blue Rats, the grooviest gang of senior outlaws in the desert.
-- and make sure your batteries are charged.
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
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