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Read More Movie Review by Amy Irene White
By Wayfarer |
A review by Amy Irene White
Here is Amy’s views on a documentary on the subject of “Ride Free or Die”
Click Here to have a look.
This documentary covers biker and specifically motorcycle club profiling, which is a major issue followed by the Confederation of Clubs and Motorcycle Riders Foundation. Check it out and her compelling report on the Waco shooting.
Click to View other movie and documentary reviews in the ‘Books, Movies & Music Reviews’ Section on Bikernet.comRIDE FREE or DIE Documentary Review
By Amy Irene White |
Director Randall Wilson recently won a Director’s Choice Award for his movie, Ride Free Or Die. The movie is available on Amazon, and is described there as ‘an insider’s look into the political world of motorcycle clubs. The clubs are fighting for their constitutional rights against what they perceive as law enforcement profiling and harassment. The documentary features Mongols MC, Outsiders MC, Devils Diciples MC, Sin City Deciples, Ironworkers MC, ATF agents, and motorcycle clubs from all over America.’
Now, a lot of people have made a lot of documentaries about biker profiling, 1%ers, and the ATF. But, there is something different about this one… along with the interviews with several people and patches we all recognize.. it also has coverage of the Waco Biker Tragedy, including interviews with Waco Bikers Paul Landers and Sandra Lynch.
One of the biggest instances of biker profiling occurred on May 17, 2015 at a Twin Peaks restaurant in Waco, Texas. Nine lives were lost and 170 people were incarcerated with million dollar bonds. Not a single person was charged.
Link to where to buy Ride Free or Die:
https://www.amazon.com/Ride-Free-Die-Hessian-Spike/dp/B07WW8S4PF/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=327T2YSSFOD7V&keywords=ride+free+or+die&qid=1655702922&sprefix=ride+free+or+die%2Caps%2C107&sr=8-1
The movie has good reviews out so far, and so all I am going to say is, watch the dadgum movie. Its worth it. Every biker in America needs to know what happened that day in Waco.
Reviews for Ride Free or Die:
https://coloradoridernews.com/ride-free-or-die-movie-review/
I would like to also give a shoutout right here to the Motorcycle Profiling Project and Double D for all of their continued hard work in biker profiling:
A link to the Motorcycle Profiling Project:
https://www.motorcycleprofilingproject.com/
What I am about to write, is gonna be a little more personal than a review. I am going to discuss, the Waco biker tragedy. You see, I have been trying to write an article revisiting my experience covering the Waco bikers for Bandit and bikernet for at least six months.. This movie by Randall Wilson, has inspired me to try once again… to force myself to remember some things I usually try to forget.
When most people hear ‘Waco’.. they think of David Koresh and Branch Davidians. When I hear Waco, I think of a bright Sunday afternoon in Texas.. a Twin Peaks restaurant with a parking lot full of shiny Harleys.. a day that the clink of dishes and hum of Harleys and muted laughter became a hail of gunfire. A beautiful day, that quickly became a nightmare, and American blood was spilled, right on that heart of Texas. I think of a day that changed so many lives irrevocably, a day that the majority of American citizens never even knew the truth about what really happened.. a day when one of the worse mass violations of constitutional liberties ever occurred in American history… when 9 people died and 170 people went to jail.. a day when American citizens were found guilty until proven innocent.. when they truly learned what it means, to Ride Free or Die.
There are many theories about why, what happened that day.. happened. The general public believes the lie told by the media; that it was just a fight between Cossacks and Bandidos. Well, if you know anything about bikers, you know that isn’t true. Out of the 170 something arrested, less than thirty were Bandidos. Nothing about what happened in that parking lot that day made sense to just be blamed on a spat over a Texas bottom rocker.
Many believe it was a setup by the FBI and their gang units and fusion centers; some think it was to make use of the privatized jail in McClennan County.. some believe it was part of a sting operation involving a later drug bust. Perhaps it was a perfect storm of all of the above. Regardless of the basis they used, its irrefutable that the police and ATF and all those other alphabets gathered where they suspected some drama to play out, did nothing to alleviate the problem and then played Call of Duty in a restaurant full of people. THEN signed cookie cutter arrest warrants for 170 people, with million dollar bonds.
A fusion center is an information sharing center, many of which were jointly created between 2003 and 2007 under the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and the Office of Justice Programs in the U.S. Department of Justice.
No one will ever be able to define how many lives were destroyed that day. All of those 170 people had families who suffered from financial, emotional, and mental anguish. Those of us who were not there that day, but who came in later and tried to help them.. journalists, lawyers, other bikers.. well it changed us too. We witnessed first hand a crack in the foundation of America’s justice system, and our Constitutional rights and civil liberties. People lost their homes, their jobs, their wives, their pride, their rides, and their lives that day. There were women, veterans, preachers, people from all races and walks of life arrested en masse just for being at a CoC meeting. The First Amendment, Second Amendment, Fourteenth Amendment.. all flew out the window like a fart in the wind.
I am a peon, just a crippled old writer, literally nothing to what occurred that day.. but the things I witnessed in the aftermath, well they fucked me up. Six years later, I am an agoraphobe.. I haven’t been on a motorcycle since 2016. I leave my house maybe twice a year… because I no longer feel like I live in the America I was born in. If something like that can happen to innocent people gathering to discuss biker safety and rights, then this is a world I rarely care to visit. Everything that happens in current events, I find myself comparing it to May 17, 2015. The January 6th rioters rotting in jail and being blasted by the media.. I fume at how much it seems like a deja vu. I watch people talk on the news about the police response time in Uvalde.. and I can’t help thinking of how Texas Law Enforcement was sitting on ready when it was bikers and not little children.
According to records released to the AP following a public information request for 911 calls, Officer Brandon Blasingame reported “shots fired,” to a dispatcher at 12:26 p.m.
“Two shot behind Twin Peaks,” Blasingame reported two minutes later.
“They have an AR-15,” he said in the next dispatch. It was unclear who he meant had the rifle, and if it was something he saw or was told.
The chronology ends at 12:31 p.m. and police have refused to release the rest of the report, saying it could compromise the investigation. Blasingame did not respond to requests for comment.
Speaking of Uvalde.. did you hear about the Bandidos passing a hat at a drag race on Memorial Day and raising $20,000 for the victim’s families?
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EPj09dA-Pk0&feature=youtu.be
Of course you didn’t, but the media sure gushed over Meghan Markle paying a visit. The police are certainly not the only ones who stereotype and profile bikers with biased abandon. Their charity work and good deeds so often go unmentioned, but let one get in trouble and it’s blasted all over the AP like a slap from Will Smith. Rarely, if ever, will the media even revisit the situation to find out what truly happened or get a statement from the accused.
Here’s a Witness Report:
I was in the Don Carlos restaurant next door to Twin Peak the entire time, from the first bullet shot until the police said it was safe to leave. As me and a friend started to exit the building two swat style cops snuck up from behind shouting get down throwing us to the ground. I had turned my hoodie inside out during the event due to watching what happened to others outside by police, I didn’t want to get caught up or shot in the situation as you could imagine.
Don Carlos employees and customers apparently pointed the finger at us due me turning my red and gold hoodie inside out/ my friend was also wearing SYLB related gear. I told the officer I was inside the restaurant the entire time and had done nothing wrong at which point he added my friend and I to the line of bikers being detained.
We sat outside for an estimated hour when a van pulled up and I was asked to get in, when asked why I was told I’m going to jail. We went to the convention center to be questioned and was honest to the Lady whom questioned me. I told her I saw the officer react in what seemed less than 10 seconds and started shooting everyone followed by if they knew it was going to happen then why didn’t they stop the COC instead of the seek and destroy tactics I witnessed, isn’t it supposed to be protect and serve not seek and destroy?
Well that little interview got me a RICO related case, one month in jail and a million dollar bond. I have to say this entire bullshit unconstitutional chain of events is still stressing me to no end. I have an ankle monitor that cost $350 to install and another $250 a month.
I can’t work due to the County limit restrictions, most of my work is done outside my county line preventing me from working. I’ve added up the entire cost of being inside Don Carlos restaurant that day watching what unfolded, keep in mind I wasn’t outside during the shooting and hadn’t done anything but tell the interviewing person I watched the cops shooting like crazy killing people.
I’ve already spent $2500 in Bail, $10,000 to get my lawyer started and that’s just started, $350 to have the ankle monitor installed and $250 per month for services and I’m unable to work now. I was basically kidnapped by the Waco Police department for telling the truth about what I witnessed that day. If you ask my personal opinion the Waco Police Department just premeditated murder and jailed all that witnessed to keep them from talking, not to mention adding RICO related charges.
-Eye Witness Testimony from a Waco Biker
The Bandidos always have maintained their innocence in the Twin Peaks tragedy.. and I for one, believe them. If they WERE wanting to pick a fight, they wouldn’t have done it at a COC meeting where there was dozens of Mom and Pop club members and innocent people having lunch. They released a statement shortly after the 2015 incident through biker attorney Stephen Stubbs, with their official statement on the whole ordeal.
The Bandido statement:
1) The Bandidos were at the Twin Peaks restaurant to attend an organized political meeting and nothing else. A regional meeting for the Texas Confederation of Clubs and Independents (a bona fide political organization centered on Constitutional rights) was scheduled, and a prominent member of the Bandidos was the key-note speaker at the meeting. This Bandido key-note speaker was to report on the National Coalition of Motorcyclist event that occurred weeks earlier. Because COCI members from across the state were expected to attend this special meeting, it was purposefully scheduled in Waco, TX, a central city between Austin and Dallas.
2) The Bandidos have no knowledge of any other meeting. The Bandidos are aware that members of other motorcycle clubs are claiming that there were plans to meet with the Bandidos in Waco, TX on May 17, 2015. This claim is not true.
3) All weapons in possession of members the Bandidos were legally owned and carried.
4) Members of the Bandidos were not aggressors, did not start the altercation, did not strike first, were not the first to pull weapons, and were not the first to use weapons. The majority of the Bandidos took cover, and all involvement in the altercation by members of the Bandidos was in self-defense. Texas law allows people to defend themselves with the same amount of force that is exerted against them, and a few members of the Bandidos acted in accordance with these laws. In fact, members of the Bandidos involved in the incident did not even have time or opportunity to get off of their motorcycles before police came in.
The Waco bikers were placed under a gag order after they were released from jail, but a few of them snuck me their statements. After all that ruckus, nobody has really been convicted for anything that happened that day. I suppose it’s difficult to make anything stick when you arrest somebody for a hoodie, a sticker, a t-shirt, or a nail clipper. Unfortunately, nothing can change the damage they did to all those families, their lives, jobs, and reputations.
Anonymous Report
We pulled up in the shopping center from the service road from I-35 and saw police vehicles. I know some have said that they did not notice many marked vehicles, and perhaps they entered from another area where they weren’t prevalent, but we saw at least 8-10 marked police SUV’s and the armored vehicle parked in the shopping center parking lot.
When we pulled into the Twin Peaks parking area, we looked for a spot to park and noticed a couple of Cossacks standing at the corner of the building towards where Don Carlos and the rest of the shopping center was.There was no parking available, so we ended up parking in the shopping center’s general parking area, between an area where many police cars were located.
When getting out of the car, I saw a line of about 8-10 bikes pulling into the parking lot from the same entrance that we had pulled into. We let them pass before crossing the driveway and made our way up the sidewalk between Don Carlos and Twin Peaks. When getting to where the sidewalk stopped and walking in the median between the two parking lots, I noticed the bikes had stopped in the middle of the drive, and there was a large group of Cossacks and others wearing their black and yellow patches, lined up at the edge of the parking area, blocking the parking spaces.
Not exactly sure what was happening, I continued to walk forward, and noted that the Cossacks were lined up and bunched up, and were about 3-4 people deep. There may have been 50 or more there.
The next thing I saw was shoving and punches started, with most Bandidos still on their bikes and the bikes still running. I noticed brass knuckles on at least one of the Cossacks up front. At least 6 immediately behind them started swinging some type of stick or expandable batons. And in the very back, I saw at least one Cossack, a bigger guy with short dark hair, holding a pistol of some type.
About that time, I heard two shots, and initially I thought they were the type you see on movies, where someone is trying to break up a fight by shooting into the air, but the report from the shot was short, like it was fired into someone.
I looked around to see who had shot, and then shooting started from inside the group and from behind me somewhere. I took cover behind one of the vehicles in the Don Carlos parking area, looking towards Twin Peaks to see if anyone was following to shoot. The bigger, dark haired Cossack with dark hair was running back and forth from the door to Twin Peaks and back towards the crowd.
I could not tell if he was firing his pistol due to all the shots ringing out at that point, but he had it pointed out towards the group. At that point, a group of police officers came up from the parking area with M4s or similar rifles with what looked like a suppressors on them, yelling at everyone to get on the ground. I complied, got prone on the ground, and they made their way forward.
Shots were coming from the front of Don Carlos also, so I tried to turn my body in a way I could see if anyone was coming from that area as well. Eventually the shooting stopped. The police came, frisked me, taking my knife and throwing it in a pile of other knives on the curb beside Don Carlos. I do not know how many knives and such were there, but they were all thrown in a pile, so cross contamination of evidence is extremely possible.
After being frisked, we were told to go sit in the parking area with our groups. We were then frisked again, placed in flex cuffs, loaded into vans, and transported to the Convention Center. One at a time, we were taken back to give a “witness statement.” We were then put back in the room and waited for information.
We were then all taken into another room in small groups, information was gathered on booking forms, and then we were taken to Mclennan County Jail and placed in holding cells. This happened around 4:00 a.m. They fingerprinted us, photographed us, and changed us into jumpsuits, without ever telling us what we were being arrested or detained for.
Then they moved us over to the Detention Center and put us into holding cells again. One at a time, they called us out and had us stand in front of this guy who they said was a magistrate, who told us we were under arrest for Conspiracy to Engage in Organized Criminal Activity, a First Degree Felony, and my bond was $1 million.
I asked why I was under arrest and why my bond was so high if I did nothing, no one could say I did do anything, and I had never been arrested, and he said that we could address that later. The time from when I was detained at the scene until I was told I was under arrest was around 18-20 hours.
At the scene, as well as at the convention center, I noticed officers wearing Mclennan County sheriff’s department identifiers, DPS uniforms, DEA jackets, ATF jackets, and of course Waco PD uniforms. There may have been others, but those I witnessed with my own eyes. Some were in plain clothes, with ballistic vests with the identifiers.
I had a pistol in my car. If I were going to cause a conflict, or if I were going somewhere knowing that it would be a dangerous situation, I would have carried my pistol with me. Why would I have left it in my car? It was a setup, but it surely was not one by Red and Gold.
-Eye Witness Testimony from a Waco Biker
I commend the people who made “Ride Free or Die.” They are better journalists, better freedom fighters, than I am. I fell in love, I fell in hate, I fell, and I failed. After one year, I had to just walk away, but I will never forget them or what they endured.
Thank God, there are people stronger than me who are still fighting. But I will always be awed by the resilience, the bravery, and the tenacity I witnessed in those Texans. I can still close my eyes and find myself in Austin or San Antonio or Longview. I saw one of the greatest men I have ever met raise the leg of his jeans and show me the ankle monitor, the skin on his ankle worn smooth like the skin under my wedding ring from wearing the monitor for months and months.
I still feel the strength in a hug from Nawtee’s massive arms, and my heart still breaks at watching a man who is most assuredly not a criminal and hating the way his hands shook slightly as he put creamer in his coffee or noticing that he looked over his shoulder every time he stepped outside.
I know that six years and hundreds of miles away I will never be the same. Names and faces and places from that time are fading fast, but sometimes I still visit them. I will order street tacos from town, and pour a glass of wine and turn on the playlist in my phone labeled ‘Texas.’ I close my eyes and light a cigarette and remember driving into a heavenly Austin sunrise to fight like hell for people who did nothing wrong, and every night, as I drift off to sleep, my hand curls around the cold .45 under my pillow, and my last thought before I dream, is always, God bless Texas.
Another Anonymous Report:
Let’s see if I can give you a readers digest version of things. 1st off, I’m a veteran of the US Army, and damn proud. I was a volunteer EMT and Firefighter in Burnet county and Travis county. I left my job with the city of Austin to go to work as a contractor in Iraq. My army recruiter said I was too old and overweight to reenlist.
I made sure that our soldiers had hot showers, and flush toilets at FOB Falcon, Iraq. I also was in charge of septic type cleanups when necessary. I also checked each water entry point on post 2x daily to make sure we weren’t being poisoned. I was there to take care of our kids. I was injured a couple times. I’ve had 2 surgeries to try and repair my ankle, shrapnel pulled out of my back and 4 years of therapy for my PTSD, TBI, ADHA and whatever other letters they tried to tack on.
My motorcycle kept me alive when I got home. I could ride, catch wind. It’s where I found peace. I joined BACA, that was awesome, then moved into the Big Kids world by joining an MC. I was part of the Texas Defenders before it became the US Defenders and damn proud of it.
Our out of the area Club, was only approved this year. We didn’t get our patches sewn on until February. Our membership is made up of Soldiers, Marines, and a few who have the same soul as us. Five or our seven members went to the UCOA meeting in Waco.
Damn, we were excited to go to a restaurant that served mixed drinks, potato skins and wasn’t named after someone in our town. We saw cops in the area, thought it was weird, but we wanted to go eat at this restaurant. We knew there was some friction as we walked in. I’ve been in a war zone. I know the feel of hatred and anger, but we continued on past the not so friendly crowd. I didn’t know why they didn’t like us, but I damn sure knew they weren’t happy we were there, but this fat biker likes to eat, so we continued on towards the front door.
Now of course you have to smoke a cigarrette before going in. I saw my friend Mohawk and went and showed respect and then hugged his neck. I found out that he had been killed after I got out of jail. Anyway, we are at the front door, fixing to go get me some damned potato skins when we heard a ruckus from around the corner.
I saw no guns pulled, no knives, just folks walking towards the ruckus. Then we heard pop, pop, pop, small arms fire, maybe a 9mm. Then I heard the sound of bigger badder weapons, not handguns.
The first pop, pop, pop, was my Clubs signal to get the hell away from trouble. As I said earlier, I have PTSD, and don’t care for gunfire that’s not at a gun range. We hauled ass around the back of the building and that’s when we saw LE coming in from every direction.
They did not have their duty weapons out, they had what looked like weapons I trained with in the Army and saw soldiers carry in Iraq. Cops running towards us, with weapons pointed towards us yelling get down. I did an immediate belly flop. I looked up to see a friend of mine who was shot in the stomach, and it damn sure didn’t look like a 9mm injury. Y’all all know what happened next. We were herded like animals, ordered to hit the ground a couple more times.
I lost my job at the School district. I lost my belongings of course. I’m trying not to lose my mind because this triggered my PTSD. I lost my phone, lost my dignity, thankfully I didn’t lose my ol’ lady. She hung with me, so we are down to a one income home, can’t pay bills, don’t have internet. I borrow internet from various locations, and I can’t fall right back into a job.
I am not asking for a pity party, but I wanted my story to be out there, just in case something happens. Cops follow me all over the place constantly.
-Eye Witness Testimony of a Waco Biker
Special thanks to the Bandido Nation for allowing me to write this. Love and Respect….
-Amy Irene White, the Wicked Bitch
The Wicked Bitch
American Brands™ : Independence Sale! Free Shipping
By Wayfarer |
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SciFi Satire: Gavin Newsom and the Doomed Planet
By Wayfarer |
News Media Love for ‘the man’ Gavin Newsom
A political satire for ‘our times’
Are you tired of repeated news while walking left or right of the sidewalk ?
Well, here is a dust of humor for your worn shoes and mind: a political satire on celebrated, ‘always-in-the-news’ man of today.
A Hero in our Adventure expanding your ‘mind’s space’
Click Here to Read the latest from J. J. Solari
Happy Birthday (Eve Eve), America
By Wayfarer |
Good morning! It’s Saturday, July 2, and in this weekend edition, we’re covering America’s 246th birthday, Presidential Medal of Freedom recipients, and much more.
Congratulations, America—Monday marks the 246th commemoration of the day the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Second Continental Congress. The Congress actually voted to separate from Great Britain two days earlier, and possibly didn’t sign the document until August. Some argue the US didn’t really become a country until we began operating under the Constitution in 1789.
Still, since then, the country has grown from 13 colonies with about 2.5 million people to 50 states and 14 territories with a population of more than 330 million. The economy has swelled to roughly $24T. Advances in public health—public sanitation, the germ theory of disease, and more—have cut the child mortality rate from more than 45% to under 1%, and our citizens live 35 years longer on average.
We’ve built almost 4 million miles of paved roads and more than 5,000 public airports. More than 2.7 million miles of power lines electrify the country, with about 85% of households having access to broadband internet and 92% having at least one computer. In 1800, 95% of the population lived in rural areas, and now about 83% live in urban areas. The US has also been responsible for more than 800 human visits to space—the most of any other country with a space agency.
While there will always be challenges to face and improvements to make, we’ve come a long way since the beginning. So grab a hot dog and your drink of choice—here’s to the next 246 years.
PS—Looks like drone shows are in this holiday weekend.
Editor’s Note: Thanks to the staff at 1440 News Digest for this wonderful article.
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SciFi Satire: Gavin Newsom and the Doomed Planet
By J. J. Solari |
Dear LA Times Editors and Hacks; I’m guessing everyone with a hack-degree at the Times sees in Gavin Newsom an intellectual kindred spirit, since the lot of you, and him, are all ideologically comatose clumps of algae.
I notice none of you editors and hacks at this glorified real-estate flyer you call a newspaper are having any kind of problem with Gavin Newsom’s multi-billion dollar “plan” to alter the climate I GUESS only within the borders of California. Like anyone can fucking do that.
Since you failed novelists and sub par essayists are not ripping Newsom a brand new alimentary canal nor reaming his fundament conduit with your Pulitzer Prize-losing prose I can only assume that you, like him, are convinced “climate” obeys geographical boundaries and that the climate in California extends from ground level upwards in a straight, California-shaped, ascending rectangle, all the way to the stratosphere….and never moves to the left or the right to go somewhere else.
So, he’s gonna spend 40 billion dollars on….changing the fucking weather. Just in California. Accomplishing something that has never been done before or ever been considered before until, apparently, Al Gore decided this was a money bin ready to be filled. 40 billion dollars to create – by decree, like fucking Zeus – control of the weather, by gifting currency to I guess professional climate alter-ators…. none of which money is HIS money.
Apaches just perform a dance routine when they want to influence meteorology. I’m guessing that Newsom….. like all of you hacks and bosses-of-hacks, are tone-deaf and devoid of rhythmic responses to tempo and all move on the dance floor like migrating elk bracing against an icy windstorm in January in deep snow…..is not capable of performing an Apache rain dance. Hence the 40 billion to…I dunno, a DIFFERENT Indian tribe?
I’m a member of the Screen Actors Guild and you hacks know WE’RE all idiots, we’re even dumber than you hacks, we need other people to write our dialogue, While you, all being failed novelists, you can at least put your own sentences together. Newsom can’t even do that, at least not sentences anyone can make any sense out of. Everything he says and does is idiotic. Even you have to be able to see that. You all went to school. Newsom went to PROBABLY hunter Biden’s house to have a fellow idiot to play Donkey Kong with. That was his school: Hunter Biden’s house. No wonder he’s a fuckhead.
Is there some reason the lot of you never ask that idiot tooth-filled rictus, Grinning Gavin, how it is he comes to the knowledge without evidence, tests, proof, theories, conjectures, guesses, intuitions, ouija boards, tea leaves, sorcerers, prophets, seers, wizards or the application of gerbils rectally, how it is someone who can’t formulate a coherent sentence about ANYTHING…..1: knows how to alter the climate of a planet and 2: knows his plan, whatever the fuck it even is, will work.
You hacks and I all know that 40 billion dollars to alter global climate on a planet 25,000 fucking miles in diameter is not going to do shit, so who is getting this money and why. And after they get it will any of you lowlife prose-wielding drunks keep a chart on which new billionaire is actually getting RESULTS?
I’m guessing no. Because that would be actually productive rather than annoying. Which is all you journalists ever create: annoyance. It’s like it’s in your fucking DNA.
Most Sincerely And With Annoyance Created By You,
J.J. Solari
Why the American Flag is Folded 13 Times
By Wayfarer |
American Flag History from the Motorcycle Riders Foundation
“Have you ever wondered why the flag of the United States of America is folded 13 times when it is lowered or when it is folded and handed to the widow at the burial of a veteran? Here is the meaning of each of those folds and what it means to you.”
Know why the stars are on top with the American Flag taking a different shape when completely folded and all tucked in.
Read the Article by Paulette Korte from Motorcycle Riders Foundation by Clicking Here.
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Know more about Motorcycle Riders Foundation (MRF) at https://mrf.org/
Progressive Suspension 4th of July Sale
By Wayfarer |
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CHOPPER CHARLIE: Why We Chop Chapter 1
By Bandit |
Hey,
Johnny White and I have been discussing the significance of choppers, not just for the motorcycle industry but for men and women. What’s it means to build a chopper? How does it fit in the Zen of things? Why would anyone take a perfectly good, running stock motorcycle and bob or chop it?
What’s the cultural significance? Well, fuck it. We’re going to endeavor to tell you in stories about riders, through non-fiction, fiction or thought.
In this case we are trying with a fiction story.
Chopper Charlie
At 17 Charlie sat in his senior history class and drew a motorcycle sporting a narrow gas tank with flames on notebook paper rather than paying attention to his angry teacher. He was lucky to get a D or even graduate. He wasn’t athletic but started to lift weights in a quiet corner of the gym.
His folks were tough, and his dad drank too much. He wasn’t happy at home and knew a deadline loomed. His folks weren’t happy with him and pointed constantly at other kids. “Why can’t you be like the Jones’ kid?”
On the weekends he worked in the oil fields in a machine shop doing odd jobs and cleaning razor sharp filings out of cutting-oil splattered lathes. One Saturday night on his way home he spotted a bunch of toughs in a High School fraternity called Aces fucking with a biker in a Jack n’ the Box. The young rough-looking motorcycle character appeared to be trying to grab a bite to eat. He wasn’t backing down, but he was surrounded and out-numbered.
It was late and a fog hung over the small community when this group of six gathered around the biker and started to push him around. Charlie knew some of the guys from school but didn’t know the biker. He didn’t like the odds and pulled his bicycle into the alley, grabbed a stained galvanized lid off a trash can and charged into the melee.
He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but he did it anyway. He smacked a couple of guys and made enough noise to startle the situation. Everyone made for the hills, including Charlie. The only thing he remembered was the chopper, all baby-blue metalflake, with a peanut tank, tall chromed sissybar and highbars. It was something out of mystic battlefield, like the golden sword, engraved and laced with leather shining like a silver star in the midst of horrendous battle.
As soon as the kids scattered, the biker jumped over his white tuck and roll banana seat, kicked the Panhead to life and peeled out in a blaze of chromed upswept fish-tip pipes. It sounded like hell possessed roaring off into the night. Charlie scrambled to his bicycle and rode like he was on fire through back, dark alleys until he returned home, slipped into the back door and laid in his bed sweating.
The sound of that motorcycle struck strings in his mind like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar setting the world on fire. Charlie began to study local classified ads until he found a Panhead basket case in a garage across town. He called, and the gruff voice gave him directions to the West side of Long Beach.
At the time, bikers didn’t trust anyone. They didn’t trust other bikers, thugs, clubbers or cops. Charlie showed up in a Pendleton shirt, Levis and engineer boots. Three guys met him in the garage, and they all sized each other up, down and sideways.
Charlie didn’t know shit and didn’t like the looks of the thugs with stolen parts. He noted their whereabouts, bought a few parts and bowed out. He needed a mentor. For the first time in his life, his mind was on fire. He couldn’t get enough of the vision of the glistening chopper surrounded by violence, fog and stained asphalt. He didn’t give a shit about the thugs, the clubs or the thieves, but every bone in his body wanted a Chopper. He was part afraid, but vastly inspired.
He studied magazines, attended a couple of shows and ran into a short stub of a guy, Andy, who was in the Naval reserves and building his first Chopper. He introduced Charlie to a fat bastard who seemed to know everything about Harley engines and going fast. Charlie hung out, listened, read, bought manuals and found a 20-foot container in the oil fields with a single hanging bulb and two electrical outlets. He rented the old rusting hulk and set up a shop.
Charlie collected tools as if they were magic potions. He ditched school but pumped up his grades enough to duck the heat from the authorities and his folks. He worked as many hours as he could in the machine shop to fund his build, and he suddenly gathered the drive to learn more about the capabilities and workings of the equipment. His boss noticed his enhanced focus and started to give him jobs operating milling machines then lathes.
He spent every waking minute in his dimly lit container where he stashed parts and equipment like a drill press and tools. He attended a Los Angeles Police Department auction and was able to buy a used ’68 Shovelhead for $600 and he started to tear is down. Life suddenly had meaning and direction.
He wanted a Panhead, but he scored a big twin Harley and found a wishbone Panhead frame. Within six months the Shovelhead driveline found its way into the frame. He extended the wide glide 6-inches, made bars and headlight bracket, found a seat, a Sporty tank and made a sissybar.
Suddenly, Charlie wanted to do everything. He followed Andy’s build. Andy had a fulltime job, plus the Navy reserve income and could afford a custom paint job. Charlie couldn’t but he didn’t care. He started to ride. When he wasn’t riding, he was working on his bike to make is more efficient and cool behind what Charlie learned from Andy, books, manuals and the fat bastard.
His bike had a black frame and he wanted to learn how to rake it. The frontend contained a chromed 21-inch wheel and a hand polished drum brake. He made his risers, bought a set of Flanders chromed highbars, a solo seat and rattle-can painted the Sportster tank and rear fender, black base with Orange scallops. He even attempted pinstriping, but found an old hot rod pinstripe artist, George the Wild Brush, to handle the job.
He rode to school and shook up the neighborhood. He didn’t like to be out of eyeshot of his bike, so school rides took a back seat, but girls started to notice. He rode to work, and the older machinists admired his build. More respect came his way. On a daily basis he rode faster and farther.
He bought a used weight bench and set up a make-shift gym beside his rusting steel container and made time to work out three times a week.
He noticed groups of bikers at bars, which he couldn’t go into yet, but it wasn’t about joining anything. He just wanted to ride, as if nothing existed except his chopper, his solo thoughts, splitting lanes, flying in the fast lane and roaming through the hills.
He could ride 100 miles and stop at a gas station to refuel and grab a cup of coffee. Sitting on a bench in the middle of the night watching his chariot to creative freedom, he pondered what he might do next, the next ride or the next modification.
He could sit for an hour, while gangbangers rolled into the station in lowered cars, blaring music or drunks in trucks, spilled out onto the concrete raising hell, but when it came to the biker sitting alone with his chopper, they straightened up, nodded or said, “Nice bike.” Nobody fucked with the long-haired biker who was about to graduate from High School and make his way into the chromed life of the chopper rider, hell bent for mechanical knowledge, metalflake paint and a girl…
