Monday, April 30, 2012

Those People

Sucka Free MC is proud to have 
Bandit, President Founder Ryders Don’t Play MC as this weeks guest columnist

I wanted to make the circuit aware of a situation that’s proven to be incredibly frustrating for me as Founder of Ryders Don’t Play MC out of Long Island, NY.

The club has been searching and reaching out to commercial realtors for months to start-up a respectable business that would generate income for both our club and our respective families. Not unlike many clubs, our vision is to lease a property large enough to accommodate a business that can financially rewarding and at the same time provide enough real estate space for club members to store and work on their bikes.
That’s a very fancy way of saying we want a functional club house.

Unfortunately the task has not been easy and the issue has nothing to do with location. The business ideas that we have to generate revenue within the facility haven’t been an issue either. It's when these commercial realtor's or property managers find out that I'm part of a "motorcycle Club" are all bets off. They do not want to conduct business with any sort of "Biker’s" or clubs because of mass media perception of what bikers do and who they are.

To quote one of the people in question: "Running a shop is not a problem at all but if you are part of a motorcycle club then our commercial associations will not associate themselves with those types of people. We are sorry for the inconvenience even though we have biker friends."

“Those types of people…”

To that comment I ask, “What are we a disease?!” Are we scum’s of the earth or some new generation black plague and you, your neighbors and your commercial associations will die if you come into contact with us? ” Or is he referring to those types of people who have fought for human rights, have served and protected this community he lives in? Maybe he’s referring to those types of people who have left their families to fight in a war so he can live a life of freedom. No, wait. Maybe he’s actually referring to the doctor who gets up in the middle of the night to work an overnight shift at the hospital and in his off time rides a motorcycle?

Those type of people?

Obviously it doesn't matter that I'm a hardworking citizen and that members in my club are also hard working individuals and that we all have a families to provide for.

It’s ironic therefore that these high society people or persons are willing to accept our help when in need or crisis. It's essential for our so called "motorcycle club" to raise funds among other things but when it comes to actually dealing with us they don't want any part of us. Sonny Barger has a famous quote that speaks volumes to this:

“The good we do no one remembers but the bad is forever.”

I'm beyond frustrated and disgusted and wanted to make sure to share with the circuit what's going on with the hypocrisy in our very own community.So what exactly is this imbecile saying to me? Without using any Jedi mind tricks I can tell you off the cuff what’s running through their heads when they look at me:

"This man is part of a motorcycle club!" What would make them come to this assumption? Is it my tattoos all over my arms or maybe it’s the one that’s tatted on the back of my head? Could it be the stainless steel biker rings I wear or is it the way I talk? I can tell you it's definitely not the way I talk because I hadn't even opened my mouth when I had one gentleman say to me "You should have told me over the phone that you are part of a motorcycle club."

What the hell does that mean?

Should I have told him that I’m Latino or that I’m married? I have an idea. I’ll create my own Playboy spread with my picture and a list of my likes and dislikes that’ll include the fact that I like long walks on the beach, the kind of foods I eat and most importantly what side of the bed I sleep on. I’m being accused of a crime and that crime is being a biker!

What the hell is this world coming to? (That was a rhetorical question. I actually don’t expect an answer on that).

Now I am going to use my Jedi mind tricks and say I know what you’re thinking so I’ll answer your question even before you ask: No, I didn’t go there with my club colors; I went in my uniform from work. I’d like to think it wasn’t my race that was the concern for him or maybe he didn’t like my work clothes.

If this man only knew how many clubs out there have business/clubhouses and done more for their respective communities than the damn government of the United States he’d pay a real MC to actually move in and set up shop. When motorcycle clubs do things for the community there is no fine print. There are no conditions. Bikers live in a black and white world where there’s right and wrong but society using that black and white lens paints us in the black as villains no matter what we do or say.

Like any sincere people, when biker’s do things we do it from the kindness of our hearts and a real place. We do those turkey runs for Thanksgiving to ensure the less fortunate have something to eat. Biker Toy Runs are legendary and responsible for making sure thousands (if not more) of children aren’t left without a toy for the holidays when their parents may not be able to afford them. I even felt like telling this man that when your insurance or Medicaid denies your family for a surgery, we’re those people who come out rain or shine and help raise that money for you.

Yes...those people.

So I want to declare that I’m proud to be a citizen of those people nation. I’m proud to be part of a community who gives freely and asks for nothing in return. I’m proud to a biker.

Next time a biker comes knocking on your door to conduct business doesn’t be so quick to close the door. Invite him in and take it for what it is and not what he is because you might end up just liking those people.

Yes...those people. 

Love and Respect
Bandit
Founder of
Ryders Don’t Play MC

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Top Ten MC Mistakes


10-Law Enforcement
When an entity exists that isn’t part of your MC but still carries enough weight to affect your club, you have to give them their props as a disastrous agent or at the very least, a weapon of mass destruction.  It’s no secret that law enforcement use random road stops and check points to unfairly harass motorcyclists. Whether it’s quotas they need to meet or they’re allowing their small penis inferiority insecurities to get a hold of them through illegal profiling, it is an issue.  To be fair and I hate doing that when it comes to pigs, the motorcycle community is partly to blame for the heavy handed tactics that many law enforcement agencies practice. Sport bike riders in particular who ride recklessly performing stunts on public highways, drag race on residential streets, pop wheelies to impress imaginary fans are a problem.  Armed with mobile devices, cagers are alerting cops to these antics and when the cops can’t find the actual culprits, they bring in whoever they can and that in turn is a major concern.  Cruiser rides don’t get a pass with their stupidity however because I’ve found that cruiser riders seem to think they’re immune to the effects of alcohol. While sport bike riders don’t need liquid courage to be complete stupid assholes on the road, cruiser riders generally do and the results are the same: additional law enforcement surveiliance and harassment for all of us, sport bike riders and cruiser guys alike. Admittedly I am no fan of law enforcement in any capacity but when I can make the case as to why they have a presence in our lives based on our own stupidity, that is an issue.  I know quite a few MC’s that have rules against stunting and outright stupid riding (I’m not going to include an excess of speed as stupid riding or even white lining) and drinking and lack of self control provokes and stirs the ire of law enforcement serves only to ruin the riding for everyone involved.

People also fail to realize that cops see MC’s as gangs. They do not consider us clubs. They consider us gangs and once we get on their radar, we stay on their radar as they start to build a docket against the club. In other words because they’ve stopped or have seen Club XYZ routinely behaving badly, that club becomes part of a growing data base and it gives the cops permission to stop any club member rocking a cut at any point whether they’re breaking the law or not.  If members do not respect the “when” and “how” to ride then everyone in the community, but especially other members in their own club will suffer the consequences.  
Did you ever stop to think why cops are always famous for being dumb? Simple. Because they don't have to be anything else.” Orson Welles  

9-MC Culture Ignorance
In what I can only describe as arrogance, I do not understand how someone can proclaim themselves an MC when they are blatantly ignorant of the politics, social do’s and you better never do of the community they’re entering. Ignorance often ignites the animosity between “real” or what I refer to as traditional clubs and these fly by night clubs who like to say the traditional clubs are hating. What these fly by night clubs don’t realize is that it’s not hate at all but rather it’s actually love. Because the traditional clubs love the MC culture so much they’re willing in their own way teach you, whether through violence, intimidation or in some cases a blog (Stay Sucka MC, y’all) how a “real” MC behaves and moves within the circuit. If an elder is trying to school you on how to rock your cut then listen. He cares enough to school you then that means he must see something in you that made him think you deserve his time. It’s not hating when someone pulls you to the side and says, “Only homosexuals would bedazzle a cut” or “Don’t ever call a Diamond Club Vest Holder a brother if he hasn’t given you permission to do so.” It’s actually insulting to that man and he and anyone in his club has the right to lay hands on you if you were to do that. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. You should never refer to a 1% as your brother unless through conversation he’s referred to you that way first. You are NOT his equal in any capacity and if and when he does call you brother, he’s extended a respect to you that you in turn should return by then referring to him as brother. Again, this may be news to many of you and instead of sucking your teeth and saying, “who the hell do they think they are?” remember that it’s their world and you’re in it. Respect is given to those who show it.

I’m delighted to have met a few clubs that actually take the time to teach their prospects formally about MC culture. These “courses” are taught by the stronger members in each club who are affluent in MC culture, politics and history. They recognize that by having ignorant members rocking their colors and misrepresenting the club on the circuit can and will result in the club having a tarnished name. Having said that, I’ve been asked to speak formally to prospects based on the knowledge I’ve shared in these blogs and I am happy to do that for any club which asks me to do so.
“Children's talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives.” Maya Angelou


8-Disastrous Appointments
We touched on this a few weeks back in a previous blog and based on the reaction we received it’s an issue in quite a many a club out there. Appointing wrong people to positions within a club can easily result in eight years of George W. Bush mistakes left for a new administration to clean up. Like what Mr. Bush did in tarnishing the reputation and standing of the United States on a global level, your MC could be left decimated with a lack of members, a poor reputation and an outlook that’s as fertile as scorched Earth in a Cambodian killing field. Like with any job that has to be filled, positions need to be occupied by people qualified to do the respective jobs they entail. From there, based on their knowledge of each other, members should be able to determine who is best suited for what position. I believe there are some transparent criteria people must have for specific positions.

A President is someone who should have a good standing in the MC community and be able to lead fairly. Because a person is a Founder does not entitle them to be President because not all Founders are good leaders. That is a very specific distinction in having a vision and then being of character to see that vision through and have your members trust your leadership and words enough to fall in line. A VP is the most politically agnostic of the entire MC because he cannot be the lackey of the President as he is the primary point person between the President and the club members. That person must have a fair and balanced ear on both sides of his head. A Secretary must be detail oriented, articulate and professional and finding those qualities in individual members within an MC can be difficult. That person in my opinion must be affluent digitally because as the primary communication officer they need to be adroit in Facebook, mobile and general media outlets. A Treasurer should have as much a professional acumen as the Secretary but coupling his ability with the numbers should have the ability to forecast and set goals for events to be deemed successes in terms of dollars. I firmly believe if the The Sgt. Of Arms has no history of violence in his rap sheet or does not present the threat of violence in his demeanor then he will ultimately be ineffective. That position is the heaviest in my opinion outside of the President and like the President, presence in the case of the Sgt. Of Arms matters a great deal. Motorcyclists or bikers by nature do not like to conform and for a club to exist and function properly, rules must be set in place. If those rules are not enforced the club will ultimately fail. The Sgt of Arms will be called at times to reign in unruly members and if violence is required, he needs to be prepared to do that. More importantly, the members need to understand violence is an option. Now imagine the threats faced by outside groups and one starts to understand why a SOA should be well versed in some form(s) of self defense and/or fire arms. I truly believe anything less is not satisfactory for that position.  Road Captain criteria does not include who has the baddest bike or who rides the fastest; rather instead it’s the person who rides the safest, is considerate of the various skill levels of everyone in the club, makes himself familiar with routes (including being aware of check points, gas stops, problem areas, etc,) and most importantly, a person who actually enjoys riding. Unfortunately we know not all people in MC’s actually ride or enjoy riding their motorcycles so this position is especially contingent on the motorcycle  itself and how that person interacts with it.

Readers of the blog know I do not acknowledge the PRO position not because I don’t believe in it but because as a traditionalist I just won’t acknowledge it. It’s not something traditional MC’s subscribe to and certainly not a position found in any true Outlaw or 1% organization. Having said that, the PRO should demonstrate the qualities of the Secretary and be incredibly personable and available internally to club members and the MC community that the club and he/she is exposed to.
“America is the land of the second chance - and when the gates of the prison open, the path ahead should lead to a better life.” George W. Bush  

7-Spouses
Like the Pigs in Point 10, any entity that is not directly involved in the MC but qualifies to be mentioned in this top ten should be considered a weapon of mass destruction. I can speak from experience in saying if you leave your home to do something with your MC and you know your spouse is not happy that you left, it is nearly impossible to enjoy whatever it is you’re going to do and potentially the ride becomes dangerous because you are mentally distracted. Of course that’s contingent on you actually caring about how your spouse actually feels but I’m speaking within the vacuum of a happy home. If a spouse whether male or female is not comfortable with their wife or husband being in an MC, then ultimately the MC will rightfully lose out and that MC could very well lose a very good member.  Without blurring the lines of this blog being good MC practices and not better marriage practices, all I can say about that is married people in an MC where their spouse is not in the slightest bit affiliated need to take care of home first or their MC home will be foreclosed upon with a swiftness.  I have found that it behooves an MC to attend or have family friendly functions from time to time where spouses and children may attend to put the other half at eases if in case there is actually an issue.

Again, readers of this blog know that I would never be a member of any mixed gender club based on my experiences having done it before and based on conversations I’ve had with both women and men who have had negative experiences because of the gender issues.  Lastly as a traditionalist, I do not subscribe to women rocking the same patch as men in an MC organization. That is not a slight towards women but rather the celebration of independence of both genders to behave and act separate of each other freely. Gender issues are too numerous to list here but rest assured we all know they exist and they’re real and they can cripple an MC.  Because of that, clubs that subscribe to my traditional mentality of not mixing the genders must have family friendly events that extend the circle of brotherhood within the MC to the extended family that is often the “real” family that allows respective members to participate in the MC in the first place.
 “It is better to live in a corner of the housetop than in a house shared with a quarrelsome wife.” Proverbs 21:9

6-Non-Riders
I do not believe in mixing the genders in an MC and I do not believe in mixing riders with non-riders because ultimately it will grow dissention and fragment whatever hope of brotherhood should be in the MC. Case in point: I do not believe any member of an MC who does not ride his motorcycle to a motorcycle event should have any say so that could impact the riders in the club who are actually riding. The pecking order starts with bikers and doesn’t extend beyond that. If you are not a biker your opinion should not matter…rather, does not matter in a real motorcycle club. Non-riders are like a cancer that may or may not spread but remain malignant in whatever part of the MC they germinate from. Because non-riders are unaware of the trials and tribulations bikers may experience in rides, they can’t relate to the mentality of real bikers. If you cannot relate to your brother, then you are essentially disconnected and disconnection implies a chink in the armor, and a chink in the armor suggest there is a weakness making the man (MC) behind the armor, vulnerable.  I have no issue for non-riders but I have a personal animus that is borderline violent towards non-riders in an MC. I wouldn’t join the chess club if I had no intention of playing chess. I wouldn’t join the Mickey Mouse Club if I’m deathly afraid of Mickey Mouse so why non-riding fools join a motorcycle club if they have no intention of riding is something that baffles me to the point of figuring it out through repeated brass knuckled blows to the face.

While I am a Christian who subscribes to Old Testament theatrics, I do understand that non-riders may contribute in other areas of the club and that’s fine. For whatever reason these particular men may not be man enough to accompany their brothers on a twenty hour ride and they may end up trailing is ultimately on them. While nothing will change my opinion that I find men of that ilk distasteful and not worthy of the title of “man”, they could very well be decent human beings. Those human beings however must never be allowed to vote on anything within the club that relates to riding especially on rides that they themselves are not on their two’s for. They need to be made to understand the pecking order in the club and there is no pecking for non-riders.  
“The biggest issue was figuring out what the pecking order was “ Patrick Dempsey

5-Quantity vs. Quality
Former Mongols MC national president Ruben “Doc” Cavazos made an incredible mistake in his war against the Mexican Mafia. He enlisted gang bangers who knew nothing about the MC community and in some cases never had ridden a motorcycle, but patched them into the Mongols MC. He did it to boost the numbers of the club and to ensure he had blood proven soldiers who wouldn’t have any issue with going to war with the MM. That ploy backfired disastrously as the raw violent nature of the bangers put the Mongols forever on every law enforcement agency’s radar but also created a division within the Mongols ranks between “real” Mongols and these new generation bangers. As a result the war got incredibly bloody, members were killed, law enforcement came in and now Cavazos is a government informant and considered a pariah in the eyes of any true biker who lives to the code regardless of the patch on their back.
In selling out for numbers, he compromised the integrity of his club and I see many clubs do this now. Where it’s not so much for the numbers in terms of forming a violent army, it’s for the numbers in terms of winning at trophy parties, for having the most members with patches, for having this or that and what happens, we allow weak people into a community that has been becoming increasingly weak especially since the show Sons of Anarchy has inspired people to get steroid patches. By that I mean men who imagine their bravado growing like a blood fuel penis just by throwing a cut on their back. What they don’t realize is the responsibility that comes with that cut (see above in MC ignorance). MC’s need to understand that members should not be treated like a random woman’s privates; in other words, quantity over quality is not the recommended mode of operations when it comes to building a true MC. It’s better to have five members who believe whole heartedly to the principles and core values of your club than 25 people who will show up at parties and help you win trophies.

“It’s an MC, club people, not pussy.”  Quote from a source discussing this issue of quantity over quality who has asked to remain nameless.

4-“Sarah Palin” Prospecting
I’m a political junkie and I have always found it incredibly reckless that the McCain campaign didn’t investigate Sarah Palin with the scrutiny that was normally required of all candidates vying for political office. The reason they didn’t is because they didn’t have any time and the McCain camp was being lost under the celebrity that was a Senator from Chicago named Barak Obama.  With a process that traditionally takes two and sometimes three months, Sarah Palin was green lit after a two day investigative process. The result of that accelerated and half assed time table and procedure was a rogue agent who derailed the campaign, proved that her positives didn’t outweigh her negatives and finally destroyed the campaign internally. She was a wild card that proved too wild. John McCain was the maverick and Sarah Palin was the grizzly bear Soviet Union watching anarchist at the front door.

Too many MC’s have half hazard prospecting periods where their ranks are infiltrated by inferior and in some cases dangerous candidates who aren’t reflective of the core principles of that MC and its members. Worse, rushed prospect periods can result in undercover cops infilitrating organizations and causing disruptions that can derail operations for years if not permanently. The Hell’s Angels in Ontario know something about that as do the Mongols. While most clubs aren’t traveling in RICO circles, properly vetting candidates will eliminate false pretenses and expose truths that can be concealed in half ass prospecting protocols.

The responsibility of prospecting however does not rest squarely upon the shoulders of the club. The prospect needs to realize that while they are prospecting, they need to evaluate whether or not that club is reflective of who they are as person. Research that club and do your MC history locally and nationally. Does that club have pre-exsisting violent conditions that may prevent you from riding your motorcycle with your colors on in any state? Is that club under the radar of law enforcement and balance that with your professional and personal commitments because I assure you, “birds of a feather all cluck together” which  means to the cops you may be a dentist by day, but the minute you put that cut on, you’re a gotdamn criminal. Additionally truly examine how the members treat and react to each other. If you’re serious about joining a serious MC and you know your stuff, cross your T’s and dot your I’s and if that club isn’t doing the same thing, ask yourself if that’s the club for you.

Don’t Sarah Palin your club.

"He who warned, uh, the British that they weren't gonna be takin' away our arms, uh, by ringing those bells, and um, makin' sure as he's riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that we were going to be sure and we were going to be free, and we were going to be armed." --Sarah Palin, botching the history of Paul Revere's midnight ride, June 3, 2011

3-Rogue Chapters
You ever meet a club in one state and totally get along with them, understand their vibe, dig their members and go one state over and meet the same patch and not know who the hell you’re talking to? Understand, it’s not that I’m promoting a uniformity in terms of how people should act but I am promoting a uniformity in terms of how people should represent the patch on their back. In other words, if the core principles of the club have been properly drilled into respective club members, then there is a code of conduct and principles that never change. I know certain clubs that do not allow for smiling in public pictures. Meaning the pics that members take within the club house when only members are present and those photos are for club only, anything goes. I mean for the love of God, even Suge Knight smiled once and a while but when the club is presenting itself as a fist (not a hand, but a fist) at public events and functions there is usually a presentation agreed upon and on the books that all members need to follow. If the club understanding is to wear black at all formal bike functions, then why show up with blue jeans? Look, things happen and I understand the second example I bring up is somewhat trivial but understand as well that agreeing to fall in line presents a much stronger overall face to the general public and MC community. It demonstrates a unified call and understanding of that brotherhood from the most shallow point to the deepest.
For the record, I hate black jeans.

 “And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.”  Hebrews 4:13

2-Founders Ego
Having dealt and still dealing with Founders on many levels and not just MC’s, I find there is a very common trait. Insecurity coupled with control issues which if left unmanaged may cripple the organization which they’ve built.  Years ago I had taken all the steps necessary to form my own MC. I had a core group who had bought into my original philosophy and what our mission was. And then something very interesting happened which I wasn’t prepared for. These guys had bought into my original idea so much that they took it places I hadn’t thought of (some good, some bad), they challenged me on things they felt very strongly about and all the while communicating the passion for my original idea. It was humbling and terrifying all at the same time.  I had to release some ideas that I had held onto with a vise like grip because I realized in order to make people feel they are truly part of an organization, I needed to allow them to make decisions that would impact that organization. I had to continue to diet on humble pie by putting things to a vote even when I knew in my head that I would be voted down on certain things. It was not an easy thing to do. Ultimately I dissolved the club before we moved into the final stage of forming for reasons entirely of my own accord but that process of being a democracy instead of a dictatorship was humbling, painful and incredibly powerful.

Unfortunately most Founders cannot do that. I have found that Founders take on this attitude that the club they formed is their baby and the members who have signed on aren’t just men, but rather their children who he must continue to lead by pushing his agenda, his vision and his plan. It’s ridiculous and it’s a recipe for disaster.

For an organization to grow, the people within that organization must feel that they can impact that organization  with changes they can see and feel and express confidendtly. They want to feel that they are contributing. No one likes a dictatorship. Look at history and if anyone keeps up with the news, revolts are the big thing going around now. Founders need to swallow their egos and understand that if people have agreed to be in their club, you’ve already won. If you’ve scouted your prospects out correctly (see above) and they still want to be part of the club, then allow them once they’re in the club to represent the clubs principles how they believe they should be presented. It’s a testimony to you to see and allow that to happen.

“People need to learn the difference between their ego and their opinion. And trust me, there is a difference.” Dan Castellaneta


1-Brotherhood
Please see the nine points above.

“The crest and crowning of all good, life's final star, is Brotherhood.” Edwin Markham  


The staff of Sucka Free MC wants to thank all the people who contributed to the article above. We took a survey and provided people the opportunity to share their own club challenges and problems and we put together a list that was based on recurring themes we found in our research. We’re very interested in knowing what everyone else thinks. What are the issues we missed and do you think we’re wrong on any of the ones above. Let’s get a dialogue going.

Thank you for reading, sharing and commenting and thank you first and foremost for staying Sucka MC Free, y’all.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

THE MC BROTHERHOOD DEFINED


I didn’t get to choose the family God gave me but I have all the power in the world in choosing my friends and most especially my MC.  Recently I found myself in heated conversations that have questioned “why do you take the MC so seriously?” Please understand  that while I don’t have  issue with being asked that question I do get annoyed at people who after asking that question don’t like the answer I give them. I suspect  their problem with my answer highlights why they themselves aren’t MC material and why while I may speak to them, I would never consider them a brother when it comes to the motorcycle community. 

Before the right people take it the wrong way, it’s not a slight against independent riders. I was independent for years and I know independent riders out there that many clubs would salivate at the opportunity to patch in. Additionally this blog means absolutely nothing to a club or club member who doesn’t  subscribe to the traditional protocols that I so strongly believe in. If you’re an MMC (Mickey Mouse Club is a social club of people who may or may not own motorcycles and decide their cuts are fashion statements instead of life statements) or worse, you’re a Sucka MC (a MMC who actually thinks they’re a real MC) then this isnt’ for you because the basic principles and the conviction to which I’m about to pontificate will be lost on you.

It’s not all the time I do this but I will make an ass of myself by assuming if you take the opportunity to prospect for an MC that motorcyling is no longer a hobby for you and you’re electing to make it a life. Notice I didn’t say lifestyle, I said life. Lifestyle indicates it’s something you “do” but life is very clearly something you “are.” Please understand the transparent distinction between the two. If you elect to prospect for a club, riding your motorcycle is only one aspect of a life that you’re saying is something you want to be part of and represent. It’s obviously an important decision.

In fact,  it’s as important as the decision in terms of where you’re going to work or who you’re going to marry. Prospecting is something that is formally recognzied in the MC community but in being hired for a new job, it’s informally stated as the probation period. A potential employer evaluates if you’re going to live up to the exaggerations on your resume and become a valuable resource in their company.   While you’re on this probationary period, it would also behoove you to see if this is truly the company where you want to work and all those exagerations the HR person told you about this being a great place to work is actually true or a complete load of crap.

The weight of the decision made in the job market is equal to the weight made  in the MC community when choosing to prospect for a club.Remember all clubs are different but as a biker, I’m not. I know what I want in a club and that club must meet my standards and criteria as much as I need to meet theirs. So once you’ve decided to prospect take that time during the prospecting period to see how club members behave, how they engage socially and most especially on the road, do they ride enough to your liking and how they respect or don’t respect each other. Nothing is more telling then how current and long standing members treat each other because that ultimately says whether or not there is a true and sincere brotherhood within that club. And remember that brotherhood ultimately, more than the motorcycles, is what keeps a club united and strong. If the brotherhood is as strong as the single strand of a thong between a big girls ass, then your club is in serious trouble.

A club is supposed to be a brotherhood  that comes from a bond of the love of motorcycles. The presumption is if you all own motorcycles (a big if in this age of Sucka MC’s) and actually ride those motorcycles (another big if) then you must have enough commonalities that unite the members to consider a bond that brings you all together in a club. Before I go on, people then should clearly understand why having a club where you have serious bikers and leisure bikers fragments that brotherhood. Serious bikers like myself will always look down on those people who don’t ride to bike events, who put their bikes away in the cold or find every excuse to be in a cage as opposed to on a bike. You can be the most decent human being in the world but I didn’t join an MC to be surrounded by the most decent human beings. I join a motorcycle club to be surrounded by some bike loving mutha fucka’s and anything less then that is not acceptable for a biker like me.

 I believe in the brotherhood of all men, but I don't believe in wasting brotherhood on anyone who doesn't want to practice it with me. Brotherhood is a two-way street.” Malcolm X

Please re-read the last line of the paragraph above along with the quote by Malcolm X. If you don’t practice (if you don’t ride your bike) then you’re NOT my brother. So how can you have a club with serious bikers and leisure bikers (Ghost Riders)? I believe in segregation of these classes of bikers because by putting them together under one patch, you’re fragmenting your club and growing dissention in the group on both sides.
Secondly, brotherhood means I can count on you knowing, understanding and accepting that we’ll both be calling on each other so much that we won’t be keeping count. There’s no option in not helping out your brother should he call in the middle of the night, or early in the morning. You will support him not out of obligation, but because in a true brotherhood you do it without question because you expect that of yourself.

Again, please re-read that. You support your brother because you expect that of yourself.

Years ago I belonged to a MMC (Mickey Mouse Club) where individually the members were good people but collectively as an MC we were a joke. I won’t belabor the point here but if you’ve read my other blogs you’ve come across many of my issues with the previous group. But one night in particular sticks out to me where one of the members in that group showed me just how much of a brother he was to me.

Reading in between the lines here, I found myself having a very unpleasant exchange with the authorities and one thing led to another and I was detained. At 4am I called the VP of this club and within thirty minutes he was at the police station bailing me out. I asked him to keep that between us and three years later he still hasn’t said a word about it. Not only was that man there for me that time without quesiton, but he’s remained my brother despite me having dropped my colors and made it quite vocal in terms of how I feel about that club. Clearly the reason why the friendship became a brotherhood is because we both respected each other as bikers and we both respected each other as men within and beyond the entanglement of the colors we once shared. I can’t speak for him but my respect for him started with how he first presented himself to me as the VP of the club (to the point, welcoming but not overly friendly, cautious, serious and fair) and how he rode. A sport bike rider who “got it in”  but rode with more then just a little bit of sense and he cared and still cares deeply about the organization he agreed to rerpresent when he joined their ranks. He earned my respect and to this day, he and I are brothers.

When you take your place and responsibility in your MC lightly then the MC will in turn take your membership and their responsibility to you lightly. Can you count on anyone wihtin your MC to bail you out of jail at 3am and keep that between yourselves? If you needed a place to stay ‘cause your Old Lady read your text messages, is there anyone in your MC that would allow you their couch regardless of what their annoying Old Lady is chirping about in their head? If your bike breaks down, will anyone on your MC pull off on the side of the road with you and stay there no matter what or will they decide that making it home in time to watch the fight is more important?

I don’t know about you but I compromise enough in my marriage and at work that my MC is one place where I don’t see any reason to make compromises. It’s very simple. Either you’re an MC or you’re not. Either you’re going to follow protocol or you’re not and if you’re not, then it’s up to me to decide whether or not you’re the MC for me.

Which brings us back full circle…

Your MC is an important decision because if they truly are your brothers then because you have a shared DNA of riding and bikes, certain things shouldn’t ever come up. “Are you riding to a bike event or trailing your bike?” or “It’s 40 degrees outside, are you going in a car or riding?”. If you have that common DNA that subscribes to biker codes( that I’m not going to go into here because if you’re truly a biker then you know what they are and if you’re a biker in a real MC, then collectively you all should know what they are). I don’t have to explain to my wife why our children having a great educaiton is important and if I did, then something would really be wrong with my choice of her as a wife. In the same breath, if I have to explain to a person in a bike club why it’s important to show up to an event on your motorcycle and not a car is important, then there’s a serious problem there.

I shouldn’t have to explain to my brother how to be my brother or why I consider him my brother in the first place and if I do, are you my brother? Nothing is perfect, not marriage, not life and certainly not an MC but I can say this without question. I am not joining an MC to get away from “my life”. I have a sexy wife whose smile lights up the night and three beautiful kids who make my life worth living. I have no need to “get away” from them. Any MC I consider is not my sabbatical from a life that I don’t need a sabbatical from. My MC should and is going to be a part of my life that includes my wife and children and the expectations of family I have from my wife and my children are the same expectations I have from the brothers in my MC.

If you need to get away from your life by joining an MC then please pay attention to this: if you see me wearing any MC patch please don’t prospect with my club. We’re not fucking Club Med MC. We’re not a getaway. We are a brotherhood of bikers who live that life and that life is our life. ‘sides, I heard the Mickey Mouse MC was looking for new members so put down your helmet and put on those Mickey Mouse ears, ‘cause you’re a Sucka and you’re not MC material.

You’re not and never will be my brother.

Stay Sucka MC Free or Die.
 
“You may call for peace as loudly as you wish, but where there is no brotherhood there can in the end be no peace.” Max Lerner  

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

The Outlaws Next Door: My BIKER Story



My name is Imir Leveque. I’ve been riding for ten years and I’ve logged over 100,000 miles on a motorcycle. This is my biker story of how I was introduced to this culture and why to this day, I feel so passionately about it.

We had just moved to this country with my father having finished his medical studies abroad and settled into a two bedroom apartment in a middle class neighborhood of New Jersey not too far from Morristown.* I’m weary thinking what it must look like today but back in the 70’s it was a decent place where people worked hard and neighbors looked out for each other even if your neighbors belonged to an outlaw motorcycle club.*

In the Caribbean I was privy to motorcycles and like most little boys became immediately fascinated by them. It was usually the teen age thugs or the poor who couldn’t afford a car who had them so I never got a chance to actually go near one. Sitting in the back seat of my mothers Mazda I remember staring at them as they whizzed by. I was filled with an adolescent powder keg of lust and anticipation as my spirit salivated at the thought of open air freedom and velocity those 650cc’s demonstrated on the hazardous streets of Port-Au-Prince. So when I sat on the bench in front of the split family home in Jersey and saw a parade of bikers line up and park their Harley Davidson’s in front of our neighbors house I quickly forgot about the crystal blue oceans and beaches of the West Indies and became engulfed in the oil leaking streams of motor oil and American steel.

My mother hated them. The bikes were too loud and the bikers looked like escapees from a Lynard Skynard concert and the stench of beer lingered long after they had discarded the cans all over the front yard. None of that bothered me. I was fascinated by the unruly men who brazenly displayed their tattoos and chain smoked like their lives depended on the cancer the smokes happily provided. They were different then my family with my father and mother going off to work in the morning and me stepping on the school bus while my grandmother watched diligently from the front door. There was no nurturing or mothering as far as I could see but I could tell there was a definite family atmosphere to even their worst ruckus. Later on I’d realize that to be a brotherhood.

I was also fascinated by their bikes. They were much louder and larger then the ones I had seen in the West Indies. They were customized and some had ape hangers and without fail, all of them were black. It looked impressive. I immediately recognized them as being a rouge military unit who collected their awards in loose women (because even at that age I knew what they were doing in the backyard with those girls) with a soundtrack of loud rock music.

They made an impression.

My mother warned me to stay away from them and for the most part I did. Perched on the lounge chair in front of the house I stayed on my property until one of them called me over. I had become friends with my next door neighbor Billy and his older brother Tommy was in the MC. Tommy was a really skinny guy who wasn’t particularly loud except when he laughed. He had dark wild hair and always had a denim vest. He smelled like cigarettes and booze and if he wasn’t on his motorcycle has always in his white Firebird that was routinely parked and never really working in front of their home.

My friendship with is brother exposed me to Tommie. He was a typical big brother which meant friendly bullying and occasionally friendly but he was always nice to me. But one day in particular Tommie called me over and asked me if I liked bikes. From that point on with his permission I started walking over to their bikes staring and asking questions. At first it was just Tommie but eventually he introduced me to some of the other members. Not all of them cared for the little black kid poking around their bikes but to my recollection, not one of them ever used a racial term that I could remember and not one of them was rude to me. They weren’t overly friendly but they weren’t outright assholes either. In fact, after a while they started paying me to watch their bikes which I saw as easy money ‘cause I had been doing that for free weeks before they had asked.

My parents worked so they never knew just how much time I used to spend “watching” motorcycles but my grandmother did. When she came home with groceries the guys would often help her with the bags. In fact, it became routine after a while though looking back on it I realized my grandmother was paying them in soul food. They may have had Confederate flags and Nazi patches but those white boys sure loved them some soul food and if “nigger” or “bitch” ever came to mind, it came out their mouths as “ma’am” and “Yaya” (my grandmothers nick name). I’m sure some of them were racist, but if they were, they kept in the closet. Either that or they were too busy eating “black” food to mouth anything racist at us.

We lived on the second floor so Friday and Saturday nights Tommie usually entertained either before or after the club would do a run. They’d eat, smoke and drink. In fact, Tommie was the man who gave me my first beer. Sitting there with all of them I recall him specifically handing me his beer and at first I thought he just wanted me to hold it. “You gonna nurse that thing all night?” When he said it I just kinda stared at him. I had no clue what nursing a beer meant and then he said, “Drink it or give it back.” I raised that beer can so fast to my face it clinked on my front teeth. I took a deep, deep gulp and handed it back to him. “Good?” he asked knowing gotdamn well there was nothing good bout Milwaukee’s Best. I said yes but I’m sure my face looked like I had just swallowed a high calorie shit-shake  and that’s why they were all laughing at me. They never offered me any pot though and looking back on it, I take that as “looking out for me.” Of course they could’ve just been greedy but I’m going to keep my positive idea as to why they didn’t.

They always had women around and back in the 70’s short-short pants were the rage. Like it was yesterday I recall all those legs on the back of those bikes with those incredibly high platform shoes, bandanas, big glasses and hair blowing every which way. Tommie’s girlfriend was a brown haired girl who I believe wore those short shorts right through winter. Instead of open toe platforms she’d wear knee high boots with those same shorts. I guess that was her way of dressing for winter. I got the very early lesson that certain women were treated a certain way and other women were treated another. One night from the second floor window of my parent’s room I saw a woman getting gang banged. I initially felt bad for her but the next few days when I saw her coming over for more I felt worse. I didn’t understand it at such a young age but I pitied her.

Without having seen them do anything “wrong” per say as in criminal activity, I always felt they had that potential. There was an element to them that was dangerous but for me, it was always diffused by some random act of kindness. Tommie’s younger brother and I were the same age and on his brothers birthday I went over the house. My parents were incredibly formal so I wore a suit while all the other kids had on shorts and tee shirts. Feeling like the odd ball, I sat down on the far end of the couch and accidentally plunged my butt into a slice of cake that someone had left there. The kids laughed and I was mortified. Tommie came over to me seeing how embarrassed I was and walked me next door to my house and explained to my grandmother what had happened. He then suggested I wear something a lot more causal because all the kids were gonna go in the backyard to play. I came back to the party with shorts and a tee shirt and I distinctly remember Tommie saying, “Fuck ‘em” when it came to the kids who had laughed at me. If Tommie was a criminal, he was the softest hearted criminal I had ever met.

I remember seeing two members fight and after the fight which was actually pretty good, drink together. I thought that was pretty cool ‘cause it was just like me and my friends at school. We’d exchange fisticuffs and then the next day at lunch we’d be cool again. These guys were nothing but bigger versions of us…but much cooler.

But if Tommie wasn’t the obvious criminal outlaw in the bunch there was one member who certainly was…or at least he looked the part.

One of the moments I never forgot which to this day made an incredible impression on me was when I came home from school to find a member of the club sleeping on his bike. He was one of the few members who really never took to me and never ate my grandmother’s food. He had a scruffy long beard and his clothes were always dirty. It was the beginning days of summer yet he always wore boots and a cowboy hat. His hands looked like he used to meat grind them and I’m not sure he had teeth but I know he always had a cigarette in his mouth…sometimes it wasn’t even lit. It just hung in between his lips as if he were born with it there. From the faded ink on his arms his tattoos were probably two decades older then me. As a child this man appeared as if he was death walking.

But death was riding a bike with ape hangers full of skulls and other ornaments that made his bike really unique. He had Nazi symbols on his decayed and tattered vest with pictures of naked women pinned in his cowboy hat. I got off the bus and no other bikes were around and there death laid on his back. Slung over the tank, hat sunk over his eyes and his feet up across the back fender and over the backlight. Like a moth to a flame I approached and though I would’ve liked to have said it was the summer heat making me sweat, I know now that it was nothing short of fear and curiosity. I crept close and still like cigarette smoke in an interrogation room but I never made it to the bike or the biker.

Without moving he said to me, “What the fuck do you want?”

I didn’t even realize he had seen me due to his hat being slung so low over his eyes. I was frozen with fear and for the brief second that I stood there trying to figure out what I wanted. I decided what I wanted was my grandmother and I ran home.

I didn’t come back out for a while except to get on the bus and off. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was embarrassed or maybe I was scared but to this day I’m not sure what it was. Summer is the long distance call made very short to the ears of children so eventually I did return to playing in front of the house and when I saw that biker again he walked over to me and handed me a dollar. “Watch the bike, “is all he said. I was too scared to say thank you or anything else but I took that dollar and watched his bike a little bit more then the others. He never spoke to me again and I don’t think I wanted him to.  

Eventually our family moved and I was sad to not have the presence of debauchery and anarchy as the view to my room anymore but the damage had been done. Something was ignited inside of me and as an adult I recognize it to be the birth of my love for bikes and biker culture. It appealed to me.

Bikers are self described outcasts who either because society rejected them or because they found no comfort with the society they were born into, lived on the outskirts as bikers. The bikes represented the machine smith manifestation of their attitude and by extension, became an additional appendage that God had misplaced on them at birth.

I was always a loner whether at home or at school. Because of my parent’s affluence, I was afforded the best schools on Long Island but that often meant I was usually the only African American child in the building. In other words I was outcast. When I came home I was usually bombarded by parents who had a deep rooted superiority complex when it came to African Americans. My parents are Caribbean and without getting into it too much here, are no different then most people from the West Indies who shared a deep hatred of African Americans. I was reminded all the time that African Americans were lazy criminals who would rather collect welfare then work three or more jobs to support their families like so many West Indians did to make a living. What my parents failed to realize was that I was born in Brooklyn and I was African American. So in other words, I was an outcast at school and at home.

For years living outside the borders bothered me. Eventually when I wasn’t the odd man out anymore, I made sure to take my place there regardless. Being on the outskirts and being different wasn’t so bad anymore as I got to know myself. I came to realize that it wasn’t me living on the outside, but I was the one not allowing people in…and I liked it. Eventually of course I had to manifest that physically and so combined with the current hip hop trends of the time, (flat top fade, shell toes, gazelles) came the tattoos. My parents of course knew I was destined for the prison cell once I came home with my first tattoo but what they failed to realize was that by getting the tattoos and the piercings I was actually escaping from the prison of “normal” life that they and society had tried to force on me.

Now with that escape, I needed a getaway machine.

And along came the motorcycle.

Years later I found myself working as a strategic marketing director despite my tattoos and my dreadlocks that ran down my back. I was successful in terms of being able to provide for my family and being one of the few African Americans with a position that high in the industry. But something was missing. I worked out regularly with my friend Joel Mayne and one day while expressing to him that void in my life he said to me, “You strike me as the type of guy who should be riding a motorcycle. You ever think about that?”

By the following summer Joel had lent me the last two thousand dollars to get my first brand new motorcycle out for spring. Within a month of me getting mine, Joel bought himself one and we were riding around the tri-state looking for nothing but good times and we found it and I had found what was missing in my life.

The motorcycle represented the part of me that embraced the “anti” in me and celebrated it. It was the middle finger to everyone who had ever doubted me, looked at me funny, rejected me or thought less of me. It was me telling Death, “Yeah, one day you’ll catch up to me but not only am I gonna enjoy this race but you’re gonna have to be faster then me to get me…bitch.”

My motorcycle and riding completed me.

Or so I thought.

I remembered very fondly the outlaws who had lived next door to me growing up. I remembered their brotherhood and feeling that bond amongst them. I remember seeing how they shared their passion for their bikes and their lifestyle with each other. I remember seeing their army of rogues and I remember feeling how bad I wanted to share that feeling with a group of people.

I rode independent for years quite honestly because I wanted some years and miles underneath my ass before I prospected for a club. I never wanted to be the one with less then average bike skills. I took those independent years and made a lot of observations and because I did I immediately had some reservations.

Why were so many of these clubs riding around recklessly? I didn’t understand the zipping in between cars at unsafe speeds, riding with no formation whatsoever and stunting on the FDR. The Grand Central Pkwy was a speed track that served as a preliminary speed course for the Jackie Robinson and Southern State Pkwy’s. It started to make sense to me why despite not doing those things myself, why cops acted the way they did towards bikers in the NY tri-state region.

I also noticed I was usually the only brother out riding a cruiser. I know the style of bike contributed to the style of riding though I don’t blame the machines for a lack of common sense. Motorcycles, whether sport, cruiser or naked are perfect machines; it’s the rider who makes them imperfect. I fell in love with motorcycles because of cruisers but it wasn’t until I started riding myself primarily in urban areas did I notice that love of cruisers was perhaps not only a racial divide but a geographical one as well. It didn’t bother me. It solidified and continued my position as an outcast. If I was going to be an outcast in life, I guess being one in the biker community would be just fine as well. At the very least it seemed appropriate.

Eventually I did join a club. I was recruited at my son’s little league baseball game. I rode up on my Café racer and a guy on a GSX-er came over and we started talking. We had a few things in common including our obvious love of bikes and later that day I was riding with him and his club. The guys had all sport bikes but that was fine because by this time I had a cruiser and a sport bike in addition to my Café. I’ve always believed how can you call yourself a biker or rider if you’ve never experienced more then one style of bike riding.  The first event we went to was a funeral for a fallen rider. Not ideal but the brotherhood I saw in that supermarket parking lot in Hempstead where that man was killed was powerful. Everyone, myself included, contributed to the dead man’s family that he left behind and we all prayed together. There were hundreds of us and we all showed solidarity that day for that fallen man. I felt I had found that sense of brotherhood that had been calling me and I wanted in.

I prospected, got in, got my cut and realized very quickly that the ideals of brotherhood that had been instilled in me from the outlaws next door were not the same ones that governed my brothers today. I don’t want to belabor what I experienced because individually I’m still friends with nearly everyone in that group but collectively I never shy away from saying the group (notice I refuse to say MC) was a complete disappointment. Again, I won’t belabor the points to which they disappointed me but what I will say is that the issues I found within that group I found widespread in the black biker community.

I didn’t see any discipline and as a result so many African American clubs never rode in formation or moved as that rogue army that I had romanticized as a child. MC culture shock for me was seeing women wearing the same cuts as the men they rode with and the cuts didn’t label those women as property. I saw bikers who didn’t opt to have a uniformed look. Some wore black cuts, some wore brown and then to my complete bewilderment, some had gems on their cuts. Some even had patches that were non-club, non-MC related and in some cases, were brand specific. My shock became flat out disgust when I came across clubs that had members with no motorcycles and in some cases like the group I was in, had no intentions of ever getting a motorcycle.  It felt as if I had walked into some sort of evil MC bizzaro world. I was John Carter on Mars and the people who should’ve been my brothers were Martians.

For the last few years I had been working at a tattoo shop where white outlaw bikers used to frequent regularly and we got to talking. We talked about the MC world, the culture, traditions and protocols. We talked about motorcycles and we talked about things I’d never repeat and I was reminded that I’m actually not living alone in my outcast world. There were other people, other bikers who still lived by certain codes and ethics that governed the ungovernable.

But I wanted to see faces like mine living that life.

I started to do my research and like a virgin discovering a woman’s thighs for the first time I came across names like The East Bay Dragons, Rare Breed and The Chosen Few. Later on I found Wheels of Soul, Sin City, The Savage Nomads, The Ching-A-Lings, Soul Brothers and Outcast. I saw black and brown faces who lived in the same outcast society that I thought I had voluntarily marooned myself on. I wasn’t alone but I quickly came to the conclusion that I needed to be.

That decision to ride alone or independent came to me very painfully. It was one of those same white outlaw bikers who used to talk to me about biker history and culture who helped me retrieve one of my motorcycles from the group (not an MC) I was in. They had promised to work on the bike and get me on the road within a few weeks but that turned to nearly a two year ordeal and it was during that exchange did that white outlaw biker say something to me that changed my biker life forever. He said:

“I don’t understand how you guys call each other brothers but you treat each other like niggers.”

That comment hit me like a ton of bricks. I quit that group (still not calling them an MC) and rode independent for the next two years. The negative association of that group, coupled with what I was seeing in the black biker community and that white man saying what he said to me left a considerable weight on my shoulders and my heart.

I dove deeper into black biker history and discovered Suga Bear and Ben Hardy. I fell in love with Bessie Stringfield and looked up to Tobie Gene Livngston realizing he’s as much the pioneer biker legend as Sonny Barger. I discovered Brooklyn Kings by Martin Dixon and I stared at those pictures the way I used to stare at naked women in Hustler and Penthouse magazines. By immersing myself in all this research I started to realize what was wrong.

Expanding it beyond the MC world black people have always marginalized their future because they have bankrupted their past. What I mean by that, because black people take no measurement of respect to honor their (our) past struggles and more importantly achievements, we carry ourselves today without the responsibility of living up to the greatness of our history.

For example:

Growing up we had rules when we used the “n’ word. You never said it around a white person ever because we didn’t want white people thinking the word was now cool for them to say. Second, if you were Hispanic you could say it as long as we could call you a spic so that usually deaded it right there. The third was the most important; we NEVER said the N word around an older black person because we respected and honored what they went through when they heard that word growing up. They fought so that word wouldn’t be used to hate me and my children. My friends and I respected that and more importantly, we honored it.

Look at us today. We have a black President whom I’ve heard people refer to as nigga. It’s disgusting.

It’s the same thing in the MC world. Because we don’t honor the traditions and protocols of established clubs and MC’s who came before us, we inevitably act and behave like the idiots we are today. Do you think The Dragons would be around today if they didn’t treat and love each other with respect worthy of the patch on their back? Could Bessie Stringfield have toured this country before integration if she carried herself like some slut? Has anyone ever stopped to think how did black MC’s stay off the map for so long and was it by chance or circumstance? I like to think that they were smart enough to see all the negative press the white boys were getting and decided, “We don’t need the law comin’ down on us” so they stayed off the radar. Today the way we ride, particularly sport bike riders, the cops know some of us on a first name basis. How is that showing me love? Your stupidity is affecting everyone in the community.

The same member who recruited me into that group I mentioned above tried to sleep with my Old Lady at the time. That’s brotherhood? When a member in that club cheated on his Old Lady, someone from the group told his Old Lady just because they were mad at him. Is that brotherhood? When I see us riding recklessly bringing the law down on everyone is that brotherhood? When I see black clubs paying homage to white clubs and never even tipping their helmet to the dominant black club in their neighborhood how can that be construed as anything but a lack of self knowledge, history, awareness and love? 

And that brings me back full circle to where I am right now, today.

I’ve been accused of celebrating the outlaw lifestyle.  I’ve been accused of putting down sport bike clubs. I’ve been accused of thinking that I’m better then the next biker and to anyone and everyone who thinks those things I have this to say: 

If you think I’m a better biker than you, then you think that; I never said that and I never would for the simple reason I’d never compare any man to myself. I’m too busy trying to live up to my own expectations of myself to care about how you fail to live down to mine.  I admit I don’t have any love for sport bikes and the primary target of my criticisms are usually sport bike clubs but  in saying that understand I have no hate for sport bikes and sport bike clubs.

Let me repeat that:

I have no hate for sport bikes, sport bike riders and sport bike MC’s.

In fact, I’m blessed to have friends in incredible sport bike clubs in the tri-state area but I notice the clubs and riders in those groups I vibe with practice traditional MC protocols despite being on sport bikes. In other words, just because you have a cruiser doesn’t automatically make you traditional or “right”. You can be just as much the ass on a cruiser but categorizing all sport bike riders and their clubs as bad is equally stupid and wrong.  I’ve always said the motorcycle is a perfect machine, it’s the rider who makes it imperfect. The same thing applies to clubs regardless if they’re sport bike or cruiser.  Sport bike clubs are often made up of younger members and those young and new riders are the most prolific in their blatant disregard and ignorance of MC protocol and traditions. So please, get it straight. I have no problem with sport bike clubs who break the mold and conduct themselves like a true MC. I do have a problem with sport bike and cruiser clubs who act like gotdamn fools and pay no homage to rules of engagement.

One of the accusations that insult me the most is the claim that I celebrate a white biker lifestyle as opposed to a black one. I want to be crystal clear with this, I celebrate and promote a traditional biker lifestyle and mindset. By traditional I mean outlaw and more white clubs subscribe to an outlaw code of ethics than black clubs. Keep in mind however that a traditional MC mindset has very little to do with color because there are plenty of black outlaw clubs who follow the same rules of engagement that I promote in my blogs.

This celebration of a traditional lifestyle also impacts my preference of what I like to see in women. On my Facebook page I’ve been chastised for posting more pictures of white women than women of color. Again, it has nothing at all to do with color but it has everything to do with the style of bikes that the different races tend to ride. I don’t find women on sport bikes particularly attractive. A beautiful woman cannot make an unattractive bike charming and a guy like me is all about the bikes. Women are secondary when it comes to what’s visually appealing to my eye. Café racers and cruisers are sexy so those pictures, especially the vintage ones, get my attention. When more women of color decide to diversify their tastes and start riding something besides a rice burner I’ll start celebrating them and their bikes on my page. Until that happens, expect more of the same.

Lastly, understand first impressions are lasting impressions. I was introduced to this life by a white outlaw club who lived next door to me as a child. Seeing their army of infidels riding in formation with similar bikes in uniformity was a powerful and lasting image. And while they were uniform in their general look, each member was colorful in their very unique way. Whether it was beards down to their belt buckles, Nazi patches, a billion pins on their jackets, or ten gallon cowboy hats on their heads while they rode, they all had a distinct look. I feel in the black motorcycle community, especially in the sport bike division, uniqueness is frowned upon. Besides everyone riding the same bike (Busa or GSXer or the ZX-10) everyone wears the same apparel. Helmets are decorated the same way with that incredibly tacky stick on strip of spikes or equally tacky Mohawk hair and any attempt to break the mold is ridiculed. The fact that we’re on two’s means we’re different then general society so why once we become part of the community we become everyone else? Does that make sense? For goodness sake, I ride with a kilt sometimes and highway boots up to my knees. I’ve had sport bike riders laugh and say, “What the fuck are you doing?” but had outlaws say, “Fuckin’ tough, brother.”  Sport bike clubs appear to have this self imposed insecurity of anyone who breaks the mold within their ranks. Traditional or outlaw clubs on the other hand seem to have this code that says “be yourself or fucking die” which speaks to the true DNA of an outlaw.

(I do realize the hypocrisy of what I’m saying in the last paragraph. Outlaw clubs demand uniformity in their members while sport bike clubs tend to be considerably more lax with their rules and the enforcement of those rules.) It makes it even more audacious that I have seen more individuality in outlaw bikers than rice burner athletes.

I’m not romanticizing an outlaw lifestyle because even within that lifestyle there are degrees. You have the “moving meth across state lines doing federal time” outlaws and then you have “I’m an outlaw but a dentist ‘cause I’m providing for my family through my education” outlaw. I’m not advocating any criminality (as we have more then enough black and Hispanic men in jail) but I am advocating a disciplined lifestyle that reflects in how we ride and carry ourselves through our MC’s and individual riding styles.   

And in terms of an outlaw lifestyle…

I don’t need a patch or club to label me an outlaw. If you’ve read this entry you should’ve concluded by now that I was born outlaw and the traditions those MC’s reflect is something I’ve had all along and I’ve adopted and believe in. Do I agree with everything? Of course not and I never will. Before being anything including a human being, I’m a Christian and if there’s any outlaw I try to emulate, it’s the greatest outlaw of all time, Jesus Christ. Jesus stood out, he didn’t follow the mold and when people started following him, he had a very distinct code of conduct and principles for his MC…I mean his disciples. I can see Jesus and his Disciples riding into a town on their donkeys and people either running away or running towards them. Ironically enough, I’ve heard Hell’s Angels describe reactions of people to them the same exact way.

So in emulating Jesus Christ I remember not to judge anyone but I do have my opinions and like Jesus, I tend to preach. My blogs are my weekly sermons on the mount and like Jesus I have my enemies and those who would crucify me for not only having my beliefs, but for having the nerve to share them as well. Jesus challenged the leaders of the church and reminded them that they had lost their way. In my blogs I pontificate on a lifestyle that had an honored code, principles and rules that so many of us don’t adopt today. Jesus preached and was challenged on his teachings. I’ve had people debate me on my points and while some exchanges have enlightened me to a few things, for the most part I have consistently bested ignorance with my years of respect and research into this MC world.

I remind those people Jesus promised to bring hell with Him when He comes back. In my case I can assure you, I won’t keep you waiting that long.

I didn’t realize until much later but those outlaws who lived next door to me as a child in New Jersey live with me in my heart now as an adult. Whether I’m wearing a three piece suit, my cut or nothing at all, my diamond patch is tattooed right where it should be-in my heart. I’ve often said my three piece patch is my mind, soul and fist because as an outlaw, I live by those three things.

…and a shot of Jack Daniels.

My name is Imir Leveque and I love motorcycles and I love biker culture. I write these blogs because I want to share my passion for the community with others and hope that those who share this passion, show the others who lack that respect and gratitude what it means to be a real biker.

Whatever the fuck a real biker is…

Stay Sucka MC Free, people. It’s what Jesus would want you to do.


*I deliberately have not identified the outlaw club next door and have deliberately changed the names of the members (Tommie) and the original city in New Jersey for reasons I need not explain