ESTABLISHED: 1960
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Richmond, California
FOUNDER(S): Ray Aho and eleven other charter members
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Western U.S. and Germany
CENTER COLORS: Black and Gold
CENTER PATCH: A noose
CLAIM TO FAME: Included in three Dave Mann/Ed Roth collaborative paintings
HANGMEN - Established in 1960 in Richmond, California, by Ray Aho and eleven other charter members. They are a “classic” club.
One of the club’s former members, Tom McMullen, started a short-lived magazine called Outlaw Chopper—a low-budget but very real publication like the iconic and equally short-lived Colors magazine on the other coast.
Another relic in the “classic” stable of the Hangmen is the art of Dave Mann and Ed “Big Daddy” Roth that included their club. The early work that Mann and Roth did was pure biker gold when it comes to history. Like the untitled piece they did with the Vagos’ god, Loki, looking over a Bakersfield run, the pair did three pieces that featured Hangmen.
In another untitled work, the Hangmen colors are seen in front of the Devil. A second work, titled “Tijuana Jail Break,” shows Hangmen “Moose” on his motorcycle with his shirt open looking back at the jail, holding a rope with a noose. A third, “El Forastero New Year’s Party,” shows Hangmen “Skip” in a black Russian hat, holding a rope with a noose.
HARAMI - Another German Bandidos support club that also has a chapter in Turkey: “Sevgi, Sadakat, & Saygi” (Love, Loyalty, and Respect).
HARD NOSES - Full one percent motorcycle club out of Asere, France.
HARLEKINS - Three-piece-patch club in Germany with their “8” in a diamond.
HAWGS - There’s a Hawgs in Toten, Norway, and a Hawgs in Massachusetts. The boys in Mass had a little trouble with cops at their clubhouse in 2005. The Patriot Ledger reported about the chaos:
HANSON—Police have shut down what they say is an illegal barroom run by a motorcycle club, but members are complaining that officers unnecessarily wrecked their clubhouse.
“The whole place is completely smashed up,” Thomas Nava, 41, a member of the Hawgs motorcycle club, said of the New Year’s Eve raid. “Pool cues were broke in half, the pool table was bashed in and turned over. They seized the jukebox, TV, VCR; they even ripped pictures off the wall. I just don’t get it.”
Police Chief Edward F. Savage III said his officers appropriately dismantled and seized all items that could be used to run an unlicensed bar at the rented music rehearsal studio.
HAWGZ - Established in 1982 in a basement at Kungsgatan, in the center of Malmo. One of the oldest clubs in Malmo, Sweden.
HEAD HUNTERS, HEAD-HUNTER’S - Watch your neck, there are a few heavyweights with the Head Hunters name:
There is a multi-chapter Head Hunters MC in Poland, one of the “official support clubs of the big red machine world.”
There are Head Hunters in Malaysia.
Head-Hunter’s MC was established in Germany in 1979.
And there are the Head Hunters Down Under who are another of the clubs making all those “lists” in Australia/New Zealand. It is considered by authorities to be “one of the fastest growing motorcycle clubs in the country.” It has chapters in Auckland, Wellsford, Northland, Tauranga, and Wellington, New Zealand. Reportedly, in late 2010, members of the Sinn Fein MC patched over to the Head Hunters.
HEADSMEN - This club was the reported core of the July 2002 establishment of the Middlesex, Massachusetts, charter of the Red Devils MC.
ESTABLISHED: 1960s
PLACE OF ORIGIN: East Coast, U.S.
FOUNDER(S): Unknown, but led at one time by Chuck Grinder
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: East Coast, back in the day
CLAIM TO FAME: A “classic club,” highlighted in John Hall’s book about the Pagans in the 1960s
HEATHENS - There is a current motorcycle club known as the Heathens in Wisconsin; they made it onto the law enforcement map there. In 2009, one of their members was indicted in the Brown County Circuit Court for allegedly killing his girlfriend’s dog—and putting it in the oven.
But there was also a Heathens MC on the East Coast back in the day. John Hall describes them and some of the universal flavor of the 1960s in his book about the formative years of the Pagans MC, Riding on the Edge: A Motorcycle Outlaw’s Tale:
And while the Heathens may not have been the biggest club on the East Coast, they were one of the most respected, thanks to the leadership of a former paratrooper named Chuck Grinder.
The Heathens were a large club, and Chuck ran Reading like a feudal warlord. He had the cops scared, he had the mob scared, and he had the citizenry scared. Independent motorcyclists avoided riding in packs through his town, and they never wore denim jackets with cut-off sleeves, much less one percenter patches, because they knew this was an invitation to getting hit in the head with a chain while sitting at a stoplight.
ESTABLISHED: 1959
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Sacramento, California
FOUNDER(S): James “Mother” Miles and his brother, Patrick “Mighty Mouse” Miles
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Three chapters in Northern California: Sacramento, Nomads, and Tri-county 823 crew
CLUB COLORS: Fiery Orange and Black
CENTER PATCH: Flaming skull wearing WWII helmet and goggles
CLAIM TO FAME: James “Mother” Miles went on to become one of the most legendary of the Hells Angels.
CLUB ASSOCIATIONS: The original Hellbent became the North Sacramento chapter of the HAMC (Hells Angels Motorcycle Club). Hellbent has been twice restarted, once by Pat and now by Pat’s son James, with continued ties to the Red and White.
HELLBENT - Established in 1959 in Sacramento, California—originally as Hellbent for Glory—by James “Mother” Miles and his brother, Patrick “Mighty Mouse” Miles. The club began around the same time the Bay Area Hells Angels were forming, a club that would come to define legendary status in the motorcycle club universe. As they grew, Hellbent for Glory and the Angels became close, and eventually Hellbent became the North Sacramento chapter of the HAMC. Later, because of growing police harassment, Miles and most of his chapter, excluding his brother, Pat, who decided to go to San Bernardino and became a Berdoo member, would move to the Bay and become the Red and White Nomads chapter out of Richmond.
James Miles was killed in 1966 in a head-on motorcycle collision. Between his multi-mentions in Hunter Thompson’s beatified book and the one simple-yet-screaming-a-thousand-words power photo of his massive funeral in LIFE magazine, Mother Miles shed a light on what leadership and brotherhood truly meant—and means—in a motorcycle club.
James was buried in his hometown of Sacramento. His brother, Pat, buried his own colors with James, never to wear a death’s head again. In the year 2000, Pat’s son, James Meredith Miles, “unfolded” Hellbent and the history began again.
Sitting down with our indefatigable road-correspondent Felicia Morgan, Mother Miles’ widow, Ruby, and his nephew, James Meredith Miles, give us a look into the deep red and bright white history of Mother’s legendary Hellbent for Glory Motorcycle Club:
Ruby: Jim was in a car club, the Throttle Jockeys, before he met me.
James Meredith Miles: I guess he just had a thing for speed, because he was into the cars first, and then that got him into motorcycles. Because the next thing you know, he’s quit that and started Hellbent for Glory.
Ruby: I met him in 1958, and he had a bike then. He started Hellbent in ’59, and he flew the Hellbent colors here in Sacramento. The club was definitely here for a while before they decided to go with the Red and White.
JMM: In early ’64, they folded Hellbent and started the original North Sac Hells Angels.
Back then, all charters had to be sanctioned out of the Mother Charter, which was Berdoo. So Hellbent went down to Berdoo, turned in their stuff, grabbed new patches, and came back as HAs. Their new chapter was in North Sacramento, so they wore “No. Sacto.” rockers.
Ruby: Even though he was only in the Hells Angels for a year and a half, Jim became famous because he was in the newspapers for all the shit the cops tried to pin on him that he didn’t do. He was arrested for rape, but never actually charged. Typical cop bullshit: Line up some bikers and say, “Okay, girls. Pick four of ’em out.” So that didn’t go anywhere.
There were other incidents too—and they’re reported inaccurately all over the place.
Jim was very popular. Wherever Jim and I lived, it was like the clubhouse; that’s where everybody was all the time.
JMM: That’s how he got his nickname, “Mother”; he treated everyone like they were his kid!
JMM: My dad said that when they started their HA chapter—my dad was in it too—they didn’t last here but seven to eight months; they couldn’t get but two or three blocks without getting pulled over and being harassed by the cops.
The cops actually told Hellbent before they even went down to Berdoo: “If you come back as Hells Angels, we’re gonna just shut you down.” And they pretty much did. Back then, if they wanted to shut you down, they shut you down.
So that’s when Miles moved to the Bay and No. Sacto. became the Red and White Nomads chapter out of Richmond.
Ruby: Jim died in January of ’66. He actually died of pneumonia in the hospital after his wreck. He was coming back from hanging out with Sonny and the boys and got hit by an old guy in a white pickup. He died seven days later and never did regain consciousness. He was only twenty-nine.
It was ironic—Jim had a thing about being thirty, a “God, I don’t want to turn thirty!” type of thing—and he died a just few hours before that milestone.
JMM: My dad and Jim had made a pact with their mother that since they were the only men left in the family and both in the club, if either of them died, the other one would lay down his patch. So when Jim died, my dad did leave the club. And he wouldn’t get into any other club or do anything with my grandmother around. But when my grandmother died, he said screw it, and he restarted Hellbent.
This was the second version of the original club.
From ’76 to ’79 my dad had Hellbent back again in Sacramento—but he didn’t get permission to start the club. And after a while Hellbent started getting big, and he was told, “No, no, you didn’t do it right.”
So version number two of the club ended. From 1979 to 2000 there was no Hellbent in Sac.
In October of ’99, when I was thirty-three, I went to the Sac HAs and told them I wanted to start Hellbent back up. Since the club had folded and become HA, out of respect, it was the correct thing to do. They laughed at me and told me the club was part of history and should stay there!
So I just kept hanging around. I befriended an officer in the club. He asked if I was serious about this and I said yes.
He said, “Well, I don’t know. . .”
I called Ruby and told her they probably wouldn’t support me in starting it back up. She said, “Let me see what I can do.”
She talked to some people and I got called back in. I was told, “Get your guys together and hang out for a year or so. If you can keep these guys together for a year, then we’ll talk.”
It ended up being just over a year, and after that, I was like, “What’s up?”
“Well, you kept ’em together so. . .”
There were still a couple original Hellbent members alive at the time who were still HAs. So we sought their approval too. They were called and informed of all the steps I had already gone through to get the club back up and running.
The first thing they asked was “Well, who’s trying to do it?”
They were told it was Mother Miles’ nephew.
“Okay,” they said. “That’s cool.”
Thank god I was who I was and Ruby was around, ’cause they wouldn’t have let me restart the club otherwise. No one else could have done it. No way. It was just because of my family history—I had links to the original club. And they like Ruby!
At one point, we made Ruby an honorary member.
Ruby: In the original Hellbent, I had my own patch and was secretary of the club.
JMM: We got our new patches in September of 2000. When I restarted the club, I wanted a “No. Sacto” rocker to go back to the original history. We’re still trademarked as “Hellbent for Glory” so that’s our real name.
My dad died in 1994 of cancer.
After I was born, my dad had been sent to prison and my mom took off with another HA, so my brother and I grew up in foster homes and were later adopted by my aunt and uncle. So I didn’t see my dad for twenty-something years of life.
My uncle and my dad—Jim and Pat.
My brother and me—Pat and Jim.
My brother, Pat, died about a week before his thirtieth birthday, just like my Uncle Jim did.
When I was about to turn thirty, I called in sick and stayed home for two weeks! I was completely paranoid.
Me, Uncle Pete, and Turk are the only charter members still in the club. The reason is that a lot of people just can’t find a medium between their personal life and the club.
And that’s nothing new.
Courtesy of Felicia Morgan
HELL RAZORS - There are two Hell Razors MCs. While neither may actually be a one percent club in the strictest sense, the name alone is worth a mention. One club was established in 1993 in South Africa. The other is in the United Arab Emirates.
ESTABLISHED: 1948
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Fontana/San Bernadino area of inland Southern California
FOUNDER(S): Otto Friedl, Arvid Olsen, and others from the P.O.B.O.B. MC
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Worldwide
CLUB COLORS: Red and White
CENTER PATCH: The patented death’s head
MOTTO: (One of many) When we do right, nobody remembers. When we do wrong, nobody forgets.
CLAIM TO FAME: Where do we begin? From Sonny Barger to the Lynch Report to the 1960s biker flicks—by far the most media-exposed club ever
CLUB ASSOCIATIONS: Has support clubs worldwide
HELLS ANGELS - First, the basic nuts and bolts of the most publicized motorcycle club in the galaxy—and well beyond. As always, the best history lessons are taught by those who lived that history, who got their hands dirty as they built it, got bloodied in the bad times, and got rewarded in the good. A couple of those teachers within the ranks of the HAMC would be Sonny, of course, and his book, Hell’s Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. It’s the text and required reading. And then there’s a history that was written by a member of the Charleston, South Carolina, chapter, which has made the rounds in various forms and reads like an A-plus university thesis. The combination of these two works provides an objective and very subjective history of the club.
The generally accepted nuts and bolts of the story is that the club began in 1948 in the Fontana–San Bernardino inland area of Southern California with Otto Friedl, Arvid Olsen, and some others from the P.O.B.O.B.s. Sonny’s account of how, unbeknownst to the SoCal boys, another Hells Angels began to grow, up North in the Bay area is more than interesting. His account of their chance meeting in 1957 is more than stunning.
Obviously, they have expanded universally since then and have made every map and list and every form of notoriety, fame, infamy, and publicity that there is. We all know that. But among the many impacts that the HAMC has had on every corner of biker culture, the sheer wallop of what leadership can do in this lifestyle has been shown again and again in the HAMC. The public has always tended to see the leaders in motorcycle clubs as simply being the biggest and baddest, with rises in the structural hierarchy—again, always—being achieved only by a constant battle royal. Survival of the physically fittest.
While I’ve certainly seen plenty of guys—from many different clubs—with an officer’s tab on their cut who could decimate a WWE Smackdown or kill a bus with their bare hands, there are far more who have achieved on another level. Sonny has proved that for decades. As has George Christie, Donny Petersen, Jim Elrite, and so many more. This is not a lifestyle solely based on jungle law. There’s a lot of brain that comes along with that biker brawn.
Donny Petersen is the author of the entertaining yet technically brilliant epic, Donny’s Unauthorized Technical Guide to Harley Davidson 1936–2008, Volume 1: The Twin Cam. He is known as “The World’s Most Read Harley Technical Journalist” and has had a monthly column called Techline in American Iron magazine since 1992. He hosts Tech-Talk on Biker TV and has operated Heavy Duty Cycles in Toronto, Canada, since 1974. His from-the-heart, from-real-experience comments on this entire lifestyle should also be on that required reading list—for history but also for just exactly what this lifestyle means. Here is just one example:
GREED IS THE ENEMY
By Donny Petersen, HAMC
Sooner or later, outside forces will knock a motorcycle club down to the mat. How a club deals with adversity determines the quality of that club. A strong, well-organized one will rise from the mat. Many times, the club will become more powerful than before. Why? Their internal structure, with membership values of brotherhood placing the club’s interests above their own will bring the spirit to lift themselves up to rebuild. Internal value systems determine the strength or weakness of a club much the same as with the individual.
If there is weakness on the inside, a different scenario will certainly ensue unless the cancer is cut out. Weakness may derive from letting wrong people join. A member or members may come to feel they are more deserving than their fellow members. Jealousy may sow its divisive seeds.
Greed is what drives many of these faults. Greed causes one to bend or break long-established rules. It causes one to put himself above the rest. It destroys the concept of brotherhood. Further, it gives those on the outside the lever they need to hurt the room. Like a rear drive chain, a club is only as strong as its weakest link.
Bikerdom has changed much over the years. The short answer for this is money. Money and greed fucks everything up and erodes the old values. The old days were the best days. We flew under the radar. Yeah, we got nickel-and-dime hassled, sometimes brutally, but not on the level of today where massive organized resources launch repeatedly against us. No longer do the huge ex-footballer cops attempt to regulate us with the blunt instruments of intimidation, fists, and phony charges. The new controllers have college degrees and use their brains to apply complex laws to insidiously manage the biker threat (whatever that is).
The new truth is that a bike club, or a biker for that matter, cannot survive today without money. When I started riding in the late sixties, most of us had no money nor did we care about it. As long as we had rent for our flophouse rooms, a case of beer, our bikes, and three-dollar club dues, we were happy as can be.
COMMUNICATION
Communication has altered the world of the biker. No matter the time of the day, a click of the mouse lets me know what is going on in the one percent world anywhere and everywhere on the planet. The Internet has turned the slow, orderly, and careful growth of bike clubs into rapid expansionary efforts. The teachings and sometimes the bastardization of biker core values can occur at light speed. Motorcycle clubs of every flavor proliferate. Expansion can take on a life of its own, becoming the sole reason for existence.
There isn’t the necessary time to absorb and internalize the values required for enduring success. Some clubs, parts of clubs, or groups of members fall victim to the devastating sin of bikerdom, which is misused power driven by greed. These aberrations reflect little on the basic original values.
THE PRETENDERS
There are thousands of motorcycle clubs and groups emulating homogenized versions of the outlaw lifestyle. H.O.G. became an instant success and becomes the largest bike club in the world. However, one percent (1%) outlaw bikers reacted in disgust at the theft of their lifestyle by Harley-Davidson. I am not criticizing H.O.G. members or any other biker since I welcome all those on two wheels into the fold.
However, as far as the original clubbers are concerned, Harley-Davidson has turned their back on the core group that supported the Motor Company through thick and thin. They feel that H-D steals their colors, insignia, and way of life. Worse, the clubbers think Harley-Davidson pasteurizes their lifestyle to allow a safe walk on the wild side for the mainstream Harley enthusiasts.
Nevertheless, Harley-Davidson must move forward with the majority conformist population to survive. Small core groups of loyalists cannot adequately support H-D survival; for Harley-Davidson also craves and seeks expansion. Furthermore, the image problem of outlaw clubs is troubling for mass marketing mainstream appeal. Yet, the outlaw clubs of the day personified freedom, old-West ruggedness, and individualism.
H.O.G. seeks this image to market and quite effectively so. Despite the differing points of view, H.O.G. is the most brilliant marketing tactic by Harley-Davidson in a sea of dazzling strategies that obscures the one chink in Harley-Davidson’s armour.
There are a myriad of other types of bike clubs that would twist Freud’s analytic brain. I welcome them all to the mix. I respect their right to be free and nonconformist to explore their individuality and freedom. With this said, I ask the rhetorical questions of why law enforcement groups form their own outlaw-type clubs basing on the gangs they love to hate? Do the Jesus clubs relate to the outlaw lifestyle because their salvation is also based in rebellion against the establishment Roman Empire? Females entering the fold on Sportsters was one thing, but what would Freud think about them graduating to the Big Twins, growing balls, and forming their own clubs with no men allowed, in this previous male-only haven? Perhaps he would not view this in a testicular way, but as simple vibratory gratification. I prefer a simpler answer that the reason-to-be is there is no other feeling quite like riding in the wind.
BIKE MAINTENANCE
Today, Harley-Davidsons are reliable. Many forget or ignore checking their oil, which was a religious rite in days past. In the Knuckle, Pan, and Shovelhead days, even a guy like me with no technical background whatsoever was forced joyfully into mechanics. Why? If you were broken down and didn’t know how to string broken chain onto the sprockets with a clothes hanger lying on the side of the road or set a points ignition with a cigarette paper (or rifle a good used set from a rusting derelict car, or a magneto from a tractor sitting idle in a nearby field), you weren’t going anywhere until you fixed the problem.
You always had help, because bikers would stop to lend assistance and wouldn’t leave until you were okay. There was nobody riding by pretending they didn’t see you. In fact, riding by without offering help was the ultimate sin for which one would be cast from the fold.
Present day, the cell phone calls a tow truck and a pizza-to-go while waiting for someone else to fix your problem as you relax by the pool in a local motel with your credit card at the ready.
THE PARTY IS ON THE ROAD
There were no credit cards because we had no credit. It didn’t matter—motels wouldn’t rent a room to us anyway. We slept outside wherever we felt. The party was wherever we were. The destination wasn’t where we were headed; it was just the reason to be on the road. The road was the destination. It was the party, the brotherhood, and the reason to be.
THE WAY IT WAS
I remember one time my engine blew. I was riding about thirteen hundred miles to Canada’s east coast with a riding partner appropriately nicknamed “Harley from Toronto” on our chopped Shovelheads.
Two hundred miles into the trip, the return-oil-pump key sheared in my oil pump. I diagnosed this at 60 miles per hour fairly quickly because the engine was filling with too much oil, causing oil blow-by past the rings into the combustion chamber. Resultant billowing blue smoke out my drag pipes and oil forcing out of the bottom engine casing vent splattering all over the rear of my chopper were the symptoms of too much oil in the bottom end of my engine. Sluggish performance is also a result of too much oil-drag on the churning flywheels.
As I gingerly slowed to a stop on my oil-soaked rear tire, the engine quit because of oil-fouled spark plugs. Harley and I pushed my Shovel into a deserted shed behind a weed-strewn gas station. We spent the next three days rebuilding the engine with tools we always carried and some more tools that Harley rode many miles to borrow. We did not really need to rebuild the engine as rebuilding the oil pump would have sufficed, but that was the mantra in those days.
Harley rode off with my heads fifty miles in one direction to recut the valve seats at some old automotive machine shop in some no-name town. Then he rode seventy-five miles in another direction to the closest Harley-Davidson dealer to buy piston rings, gaskets, and the all-important oil pump keyway.
Each night, we rode two-up to the nearest and only bar in Nowhereville to shoot some pool and drink beer. We were dirty and skuzzy with greasy long hair and beards wearing the dirt and oil from rebuilding and sleeping on the asphalt.
There were no showers so there was no need for soap.
The locals did not like us.
As we left the bar the second night, Harley’s Shovel would not fire. Someone had stolen his spark plug wires. I knew what was about to happen. I had to back his play in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, without my own means of getaway. Oh, did I forget to mention the local yokels outnumbered us big time?
It was on; the ferocity of Harley’s temper kept them at bay, with me as his backup shadow, as he crudely but effectively determined who had his plug wires. Plug wires in hand, we beat a hasty retreat before the crowd could regroup.
We blasted into the darkness, the straight pipes shattering the nighttime air.
We slept on the asphalt another night until the hot sun woke us with our usual and quite normal hangovers.
I dumped a half-quart of oil into the bottom end over the bearings before installing the top-end. We greased or oiled all internal parts during assembly. Finally, my ’66 Shovel was purring like a kitten. Unbeknownst to us, the oil-pump-feed key broke on initial startup.
I did not ride the bike hard because of the necessary break-in procedure.
So how far will a Harley engine run in very hot summer temperatures in this condition? At about 200 miles, the bike began to feel sluggish. I saw heat wafting off the engine. . .but the day was hot. At around 225 miles, my bike began to labor. At about 240 miles, my bike began to slow as I gave her more gas. The poor old girl slowed to a seized stop.
Harley hung tough. I made a pay phone collect call back to Toronto and some brothers hopped into an old pickup and made the long trip to bring the parts I needed and to lend assistance. Helping me out was more important than anything else, including work.
Ahh, the life of a biker was not always easy. Looking for adventure and whatever came our way was not always fun. Yet, I remember this experience with fondness thirty years later.
Well, let us get back to the subject at hand.
BIKE MAINTENANCE WAS HALF THE FUN
Half the trip was working on your bike. There was nothing better than sitting down with a case of beer on a Saturday afternoon and twisting wrenches with your bros. . .and we learned our lessons hard. Take the beginnings of my first bike shop in the wrong side of Toronto, a place where only bikers were happy.
In the hardcore machismo days of the early seventies, when bikers were men, and women were double-breasted, there was no room for sensitivity. Me and my bro Tramp were working on a 1947 Knucklehead chopper. The bike was a beauty with a raked frame and a real long front end, with a skinny spool wheel without brakes or a front fender. This was in a dirt floor garage in the city’s seedy tenderloin, where if you weren’t strong you were a victim. Our dogs were as big and mean as we could be. Me and Tramp lazily drank our beer on a hot weekend while taking turns kick-starting the radical beast that refused to start.
Tramp took the breather off the brass plumbing, also known as a Linkert carburetor, and held his hand over the open throat while I kicked away. This was done for what reason I do not know today, to choke the carburetor and put extra fuel into the lungs for the spark plugs to ignite. Of course, we could have just flipped the choke lever so the butterfly plate at the carburetor mount would block air to accomplish the same thing. This is just the way things were done back then. I guess if I bared my soul, I would have to say that we really didn’t have a clue—but a real man could not admit that. Instead, we authoritatively fiddled with stuff like taking the breather off so we could convince ourselves and anyone else, particularly a woman looking on, that we were on top of our game.
Vintage poem, author unknown.
Both photos courtesy of Felicia Morgan
Back in those days, we didn’t like the black gas line hose that also happened to be fire resistant because we could not see if there was gas in the line going into the carburetor. Yes, we had to be able to observe if the dreaded and omnipresent vapor lock was preventing gas flow. The automotive shops sold this line we all used that was clear hose that yellowed with use. It never occurred to us that the yellowing meant that it was not for use with gasoline. Details. We had no time for insignificant details. We were into big picture stuff; the stuff that really mattered. We were men of action who took bold steps, especially into the unknown. You know, I can make a lot of fun of myself and the other hardcore riders of the day, but to put this all into perspective, it would have been very poor judgment to question us or dare laugh at us back then. . .after all, we were men of action. We knew only one direction and that was forward.
Anyway, Tramp removes his hand and we see lots of gas in the carburetor throat. As I continued to kick, we see air forcing back out of the carburetor throat, mixing with the liquid gas. Today, I would kick once, see this and proceed to check ignition timing. Bikes used distributors with points and condensers back then. It was very easy to install the distributor so that the timing was 180 degrees out. When this happens, the bike can sometimes start and run with great difficulty but there is lots of backfiring especially back out the carburetor because the piston movement and valves are sort-of going in the wrong direction when the spark plug fires. If the plug is not firing at the appropriate time, only a vapor backfires out through the throat.
However, if the spark plug is firing with vapor present, sometimes the backfire would contain a temporary ball of fire that most times goes out because the evaporate gas in the air depletes.
I finished a kick, with my leg still on the kicker pedal as I looked down at the carburetor. A ball of fire accompanied a backfire. This time it didn’t go out as it found a fresh source of fuel. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The momentary ball of fire burned through the clear hose substituting as a proper gas line in a fraction of a second. Gas poured out all over the side of the poor old Knucklehead feeding the rapidly spreading fire.
Where was the fire extinguisher? What fire extinguisher? We never took precautions. I grabbed a shop smock and tried to beat out the flames. I was pretty good at spreading a fire and not so good at putting one out. Tramp threw a bucket of water on the flames. The fire was now raging. I ran out of the shop and down the street to a local car garage, raced in, demanded where their fire extinguisher was, and proceeded to rip it off the wall. I ran out without explanation, none was needed since it was sensible to sidestep a near-hysterical 275-pound biker with greasy hair halfway down his back and a full beard obviously on a mission. By the time I raced back into the garage, the fire was still raging as black smoke from the burning tires choked me back. I fired off the extinguisher and got the flames out. The bike was burned to the ground. Nowadays, it would be a write-off, but everything was rebuildable back then.
Tramp and I popped open a couple of more beers and surveyed the damages. Ahh well, luck was partially with us, as my garage had cement block walls and a very high roof—not the old dried-out and termite-infested rotting wood found in most garages in the area. Stoically, Tramp took a swig of beer and remarked that the Knuckle needed a new paint job anyway. The good news was that we now had a major project to complete. We were progressively becoming more excited as we realized that we would be taking apart and rebuilding our first Knuckle engine. Our old ladies (wives) had now shown up. Tramp and I did not notice the successive eye rolls they were subjecting us to. We didn’t care anyway. This was in an era where your bike and brotherhood was way more important than a girlfriend or wife. Half the trip back then was working on your scoot. It was as much fun as riding.
TIMES CHANGE
The old days are just that: the old days. They will not repeat. Young bikers have trouble with the old guys that have the power. They feel repressed, for they have so much to offer. The old guys strain to accept and bring the youngsters along. The young bikers are busy reinventing the wheel. I wish I knew as much as these new young guys. The old guys marvel at their stupidity and cockiness. Most times they fail to remember they were exactly the same.
Original bike clubs had a young membership demographic, but that has changed big time. I once felt the greatest challenge to bike clubs was the generation gap, and for some it was. Bike clubs may never change, but they sure can adapt to and deal with what threatens them. This generational membership problem resolved itself as successful bike clubs recognized three generations of members that coexist and learn from each other. These are the keys to regeneration.
Patience on all sides is key and is arguably the most difficult part of the process. The old ones are like grandparents (mostly advisers and sometimes officers); the middle-aged are like the parents (active officers); and the young (members) are the salvation for the future. However, I watch some clubs or club charters where the youngest member is secretary. In this case, the young are likely more qualified than their elders. Why? They are usually the most tech savvy with computers.
For a bunch of supposedly ignorant Neanderthal clubbers, their core values and ability to survive can surpass the legendary brilliance of others. Look at the modern manufacturing and marketing marvel, Harley-Davidson. Harley-Davidson now suffers much economic malaise because it catered to only one age grouping, the post–WWII baby-boom. Harley never welcomed nor garnered the next generation of youth into the fold. It failed to ensure its own salvation. Harley could have learned much from the outlaws they eschewed. H.O.G will face the same multigenerational situation. We shall see if the good guys and gals can fare as well as the bad guys.
The old biker club lifestyle is the template for the new one. However, the past is the past and those who will not or cannot adapt fall by the wayside. The new bikers are well aware that greed is the real enemy that will eat them from the inside out. The cancer of greed is always lurking in the background waiting to ensnare the weak.
Successful bikers may be dinosaurs, but they are one particular breed dinosaur: The Adaptosaurous.
ESTABLISHED: 1967
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Chicago, Illinois
FOUNDER(S): Frank “Claim-Jumper” Rios
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Nationwide, U.S.
CENTER PATCH: Iron cross with a skull
MOTTO: Death is my sidekick and the highway is my home.
CLAIM TO FAME: One of the first integrated clubs in Chicago
HELLS LOVERS - Established in 1967 in Chicago, this multi-ethnic group made the law enforcement map in Illinois and Missouri. It was one of the first integrated biker clubs in Chicago and was founded by Frank “Claim-Jumper” Rios after he was denied membership in another motorcycle club. The club’s motto is “Death is my sidekick and the highway is my home.”
In 2010, that “sidekick” came to “claim” Claim-Jumper. The Chicago Tribune talked about his life:
A Harley-Davidson buff who was turned down when he tried to join a motorcycle club in the late 1960s, Frank “Claim-Jumper” Rios started the Hell’s Lovers, one of the first integrated biker organizations in Chicago.
“He got to know people across the United States, and he knew the different clubs,” said his son, Demetrius Guyton. “He enjoyed the wide-open road. The fun part of the road trips was hanging with his bros, even with the breakdowns.”
Mr. Rios, 62, died of cardiac arrest attributed to complications from diabetes Monday, Dec. 28, at Aurora St. Luke’s Medical Center in Milwaukee, his son said. Mr. Rios had moved from Chicago’s West Side to Milwaukee in 1997.
A Mexican-American from the West Side, Mr. Rios was an outsider among existing motorcycle clubs when he started the Hell’s Lovers in 1967.
“He put the name on his back, and it took off,” his son said. “He hooked up with a childhood friend, and they formed a nation.”
Overseeing his own club allowed him to meet others who danced to their own rhythm, his longtime friend, Andrew “Poolie” Poole said.
“When people liked the way we lived, they jumped onboard with us,” said Poole, also a founding member of the Hell’s Lovers. “We believed in each other.”
The Hell’s Lovers have about 50 members in Chicago and claim more than 1,500 members across the country in states like Tennessee, Colorado, Texas, Georgia and Maryland, Guyton said.
“When you’d see us coming, you’d wonder, ‘How’d they all get together?’” said Ralph Collier, who joined in 1972. “We’d freak people out because we had all kinds of people: black, white, Mexican.”
Many motorcycle clubs have an outlaw reputation, and members of the Hell’s Lovers had occasional scrapes with the law over the years. But Mr. Rios managed to stay out of serious trouble.
“It got to be wild and crazy at times,” Collier said. “Half our stories can’t be put in print. There were times when tears had to be shed. But you lived to see what would happen the next five minutes. . .”
HELL’S OUTCASTS - The “oldest documented OMG in Minnesota” according to the St. Paul Police Department. Naturally, they made the law enforcement map listing there. The vintage jacket below indicates that there might be some inconsistancy with the spelling of the club’s name.
HENCHMEN - There are a few Henchmen waiting to grab you:
First is the “Black & Blue Crew,” a long-running Henchmen MC out of Northern California who made the map on the left coast.
There is also a Henchmen from North Wales that was patched over to the Outlaws MC many years ago and a Henchmen MC that made the law enforcement map in Tennessee.
HERMANOS - A Bandidos support club in Wyoming.
HERMANOS UNIDOS - A Bandidos support club in Texas—interesting in that they are also an AMA-chartered club.
ESTABLISHED: 1968
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Costa Mesa, California
FOUNDER(S): Tommy Maniscalco
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: U.S. West Coast, out as far as Colorado and Oklahoma
CLUB COLORS: Black and White
CENTER PATCH: An iron cross and a saber-pierced skull
CLAIM TO FAME: In addition to being a truly “classic” club with a lot of longevity, the Hessians Motorcycle Club was the subject of one of the most acclaimed film documentaries on the biker culture, Hessians MC.
HESSIANS - There is only one good way to present the history of this “classic” club, and that’s through the words of “Spike,” the president of the Hessians Mother Chapter Orange County, California:
The Hessians Motorcycle Club started back on March 7, 1968, by Tommy Maniscalco and the initial founding group in Costa Mesa, Orange County, California.
The name of the Club was inspired by the mercenary soldiers of Hesse, Germany. The Hessians were a fierce, well-oiled fighting machine, hired by the English to fight the American patriots. The Hessians were revered by many.
When Hessians MC set up in 1968, it faced many challenges—challenges from major clubs, law enforcement, and just the task of starting and growing something new.
The club prevailed and developed into a formidable, respected MC in the biker community. The Hessians grew from strength to strength, creating a platform and national reputation that still stands today, nearly fifty years later.
A groundbreaking documentary with the straight-ahead title Hessians MC was created about the club by film producer Randall Wilson of Guerrilla Docs. The violent legacy of this hard-riding, hard-fighting, and hard-partying outlaw club is well documented by personal stories and anecdotes of its members surviving the biker wars, the lifestyle, law enforcement, and the day-to-day dangers of life on the road.
The Hessians are one of those authentic age-proven clubs that have always produced awe and respect. They’re one of those rare clubs that—both then and now—carry clout along with the mystique. In the world of motorcycle clubs, they are the real deal.
HIGHLANDERS - Established in 1996, there are Highlanders in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. And according to the book Hells Witness by Daniel Sanger, former Halifax Hells Angel Mike McCrea formed a Highlanders at one point up in Nova Scotia.
HIGH PLAINS DRIFTERS - They made the law enforcement map in New Mexico and Colorado and also received some discouraging words in The National Drug Intelligence Center’s Colorado Drug Threat Assessment Report in May 2003.
ESTABLISHED: Unknown
PLACE OF ORIGIN: New Zealand
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: New Zealand and Australia
CLAIM TO FAME: Largest outlaw motorcycle club in New Zealand
CLUB ASSOCIATIONS: Bandidos MC
HIGHWAY 61 - The Highway 61 MC is considered the largest outlaw motorcycle club in New Zealand—and that’s saying a lot considering the sheer weight of biker stuff down there. They have chapters in Auckland, Hastings, Wellington, and Christchurch, New Zealand, and in Brisbane and the Gold Coast in eastern Australia.
ESTABLISHED: 1954
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Detroit, Michigan
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Michigan, Florida, and other states
CLUB COLORS: Black and Silver
CENTER PATCH: A winged skull with a vintage motorcycle “cap”
CLAIM TO FAME: Very high-profile “classic” club, on many “top clubs” lists
HIGHWAYMEN - Another biggie, another “classic.” The Highwaymen Motorcycle Club was established in 1954 in Detroit, Michigan. The years 1954, 1973, 1987, and 2007 saw FBI and other law enforcement investigations of the club—the largest in the Detroit area. They have chapters in several states and made the law enforcement map in Michigan and Florida.
In 1955, the Highwaymen actually had an AMA sanction.
That went down and some issues with the law came up. In 2007 the FBI arrested forty members and associates on a “variety of charges.” In 2010 their clubhouse became subject to forfeiture as a “drug den.”
And an especially rough issue happened a couple of years before, in 2008, as reported by the Detroit Free Press:
Four metro Detroit police officers and a member of the Highwaymen Motorcycle Club were indicted Wednesday by a federal grand jury in Detroit on charges stemming from a four-year FBI investigation into drug trafficking and other crimes, according to the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Detroit.
As the cut below shows, there have been other clubs using the name “Highwaymen.”
HOG RIDERS - A three-piece-patch club out of Iceland. Brrrrrr!
HOLE IN THE WALL - This motorcycle club joined the crowd on the law enforcement map listing in Connecticut.
ESTABLISHED: 1993
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Croatia
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Four chapters in Croatia
CLUB COLORS: Black and Gold
CENTER PATCH: A cross with a vintage-looking rider on crossed roads
CLAIM TO FAME: Named after Hollister, California, the “birthplace of the American biker” and for their establishment of the long-running “Wild One Weekend” event
HOLLISTER - Established in 1993 in Croatia as a very nifty tribute to “the Birthplace of the American Biker”—6,100 miles away! The club began under the name “N.U.B.G.Z,” which in the local dialect stands for, “Independent Good-for-Nothing Association of City of Zagreb.” The club “decided on that name because it was the beginning of the 1% scene.” In 1996 they organized the first party at their clubhouse and called it, what else, “The Wild One Weekend.”
HOMBRES - Established in 1994, a Bandidos support club in Washington.
HORSEMEN - Out of Ridgetown, Ontario, Canada, this motorcycle club has been making the news for the extra attention that law enforcement has been paying them. The Ontario News gets into some of the daily interaction between the club and the cops:
A Chatham-Kent–based motorcycle club has set up shop in Lambton County and members say they’re being regularly harassed by Sarnia police.
The Horsemen Motorcycle Club, which originated in Ridgetown, moved into a club house in Mooretown 18 months ago. They insist they’re not a gang and not involved in organized crime, but are subjected to frequent police stops and have their events closely monitored.
Members, friends, and family are regularly photographed and videotaped by police, they say.
HUHU - Set up in Tokoroa, New Zealand, the Huhu MC is yet another club on all of the “lists of gangs” down there. And these guys go way back, beginning as a “bush crew” in the 1950s and morphing into a motorcycle club in the 1970s.
ESTABLISHED: 1956
PLACE OF ORIGIN: San Fernando Valley, California
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Northern and Southern California
CLUB COLORS: Black and Gold
CENTER PATCH: A zany rabbit
CLAIM TO FAME: Still hoppin’ after all these years
HUMPERS - Another club that should be noted for their longevity and because they made the law enforcement map in California. Humpers MC was established in 1956 in the San Fernando Valley and now have chapters in Northern Cali and down south in Costa Mesa: “We are a serious MC club that has been around for 54 years. We attend rallies and charity fund raising events to support other clubs and show respect. We ride to promote brotherhood and freedom.”
HUNOS - The Hunos (Spanish for Huns) are located in, yes, Spain. This is a serious, 1%, diamond-patch club. In 2005, they opened their clubhouse in the town of Berriozar, near Pamplona, and named it “The Scourge of God.”
HUNS - There are two Huns MCs that we’ll meet and share hugs with here. And they both have histories that nearly go back to Attila himself. Both can also be considered “classic” clubs—one is alive and well in Arizona, the other was an East Coast club that produced a ton of history and influenced the entire direction of this lifestyle.
ESTABLISHED: Late 1950s
PLACE OF ORIGIN: California
FOUNDER(S): Jessie “Scooter J” Sinka
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Arizona and New Mexico
CENTER PATCH: A Hun skull
CLAIM TO FAME: The first sanctioned motorcycle club in the state of Arizona
First, the bunch out in the desert: Established “in the late 1950s and brought to Arizona by its founder, Jessie ‘Scooter J’ Sinka in 1968,” the club became the “first sanctioned motorcycle club in the state of Arizona.” They have chapters in the Grand Canyon State as well as in Alamagordo in their neighboring state of New Mexico—the Huns made it onto the law enforcement map in both!
Now we go back east. The Huns out of Bridgeport, Connecticut, were one of those clubs that truly helped to define the image. They rode; they produced members like John “Rogue” Herlihy, who became one of the most well-known biker-photojournalists ever; and they became deeply involved in the early fight for bikers’ rights. They were legislative pioneers, with prophetic looks into a future that would see a hell of helmet laws and other restrictions designed to neuter a lifestyle that is the antithesis of impotence. They were there to begin the fight.
ESTABLISHED: Around 1957
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Connecticut
FOUNDER(S): The founders included Roger Skeffington, Leroy Dunn, Eddie Ioulo, and Jim Barquin (Tommy Bartone and John “Rogue” Herlihy weren’t far behind)
CLAIM TO FAME: A true “classic” club and an MC that was on the pioneering end of the fights for bikers’ rights
And somewhere along the line, “Rogue” found the time to get involved with one of the first biker magazines to hit the stands. Colors didn’t last too long, but it was the incubation pod for all the slick super mags like Easyriders to do what they have done to make this way of life a commercial giant. This was just more pioneering.
“Padre” was there in the late 1960s. He tells us what it was like becoming a Hun:
THE HUNS: PARTIES, PUTTS, & POLITICAL PIONEERING
By Padre
It was the winter of 1969—right after the summer of Woodstock. I was riding with a casual group called the Iron Cross Riders out of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Four of us caged it up to Bridgeport, Connecticut, to meet with a club called the Huns.
We arrived that night at their clubhouse at #1 Islandbrook Avenue, where we met “Rabbit,” the president of the Mother Chapter. After a number of brews, I also started a close friendship with “J.B.,” “Tree,” “Druggest,” and “Buzzard.” We spent the night at the clubhouse, and the next day, I met “Nigger” and “Rogue.” Life has not been the same since.
When we awoke, we went outside to check out our surroundings in the daylight. We were in a large industrial complex with a junkyard on one side and tall buildings on the other. You couldn’t see the road from the front of the clubhouse, nor could nosey folks see us from the road. We later learned the adjacent junkyard was owned by Huns members as well. So the privacy factor was ideal.
We Pittsburgh folks spoke to Rogue about the possibility of becoming a part of their organization. Rabbit showed up and we were told they needed to know us better before talking any business. So we relaxed and had a good time for the rest of the weekend. We were treated like brothers by bikers who had just met us.
And so began a fine relationship between Pittsburgh and Connecticut.
I started traveling to Bridgeport at least once a month—often more—and continued throughout the winter. Eventually my riding group became a prospective chapter.
We were told that prospective members had to get their bikes up to Bridgeport on Memorial Day. All members and prospects would meet at the Mother Chapter and ride en masse to a host chapter for a party. So my buddy Riz and I hit the road. We carried the bikes in a van because Riz just finally got his rebuilt heads back right before we had to leave. It was a seven-plus-hour ride in a cage (six on a scoot). I drove while Riz wrenched!
When we got there, we learned that the party was being held in New London, Connecticut. We parked the cage and our ride to New London became the break-in ride for Riz’s new engine.
Twenty-five or more Huns and their friends rode from Bridgeport to New London my first year. At least forty more Huns were at the New London clubhouse when we arrived, and even more flowed in as the day went on. A great first Mandatory for me.
Great, because I got to see how big the club was, but mostly because I met Pappy.
When we got there, I met Bryan, their chapter’s president, and Donald “Pappy” Pittsley—the oldest biker I had met up to that point of my life. Pappy and I hit it off from the start. Pappy rode a Sportster that had more chrome than I had ever seen on a scoot. That chrome was always sparkling—and so was he. He was a military man, self-disciplined, with a free spirit, and he didn’t like the government telling him that he needed to wear protective headgear. So he was developing ways to fight back.
The Huns had already stepped up to argue with local government concerning motorcycles not being allowed in a city park on the waterfront. They had gone to court and won! They had shown that bikers would stand together and could use their numbers to help themselves. Pappy wanted state and federal officials to see that we had the votes to make changes.
The Huns had three other mandatory runs that year, as in previous years. I discovered there were chapters throughout Connecticut, as well as one in Massachusetts. By the time I retired, we had Hun chapters in Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Quebec. Our club grew rapidly in the early seventies because of the new helmet law and riders’ desire to stop it.
The Huns was a laid-back club that loved to ride and party. The only time we pushed our weight around was in the courts or with lawmakers. We learned how our government works, and how to make the government work for us.
With the help of his Hun brothers, Pappy started the Connecticut Motorcycle Association (CMA) and used it to recruit more bikers into banding together. He told me that I should start a motorcyclists’ rights organization in Pennsylvania.
The Huns organized many protest rallies. We tried to make each one bigger and better. We started locally, holding protests near our chapters. Our protests received newspaper coverage all over Connecticut; many of those articles are still available and are quite interesting. It wasn’t long before we had the numbers to head to the Capitol and make an impression.
I took Pappy’s advice and started WPMA (Western Pennsylvania Motorcyclists Association). My chapter began doing the same things in Pennsylvania that the club was doing in Connecticut. Hun chapters all over the East Coast followed suit. We each pushed in our own states for helmet-law repeal, and won as often as not.
The Huns Motorcycle Club was a group of men who loved to ride and have a good time, and who were passionate about promoting motorcyclists’ rights. As a member, I was loved and respected. We helped one another in any way we could. We shared what we had. We were family!
All photos courtesy of John “Rogue” Herlihy
HURRICANES - Established in 1979 in Italy, this three-piece-patch club also has chapters in Switzerland and Austria.
ILLUSIONS - A motorcycle club celebrating their twenty-second anniversary. They made the law enforcement map in Virginia, but say that they’re not a one percent club.
IMMORTALS - This is a name that will likely last for a long, long time. . .and there are several clubs that will back that up.
One is a diamond-patch motorcycle club, established in 1969 in New York.
There is an Immortals MC in Sweden, established in 1988, looking toward a never-ending future.
The Immortals Motorcycle Club in Australia was established in 1971 in a local suburb of Melbourne. They are “Loud & Proud.”
An Immortals MC in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, was established in 2002.
Ten years before that, a Bangkok MC became Immortal.
ESTABLISHED: 1994
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Illinois
FOUNDER(S): Small group of Vietnam vets who had served in country
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: U.S. and Germany
CLUB COLORS: Red, Gold, and Green
CENTER PATCH: A dragon
MOTTO: Vets helping vets
IN COUNTRY - Established in 1994, this is a big club—national and international. Founded by a “small group of Vietnam veterans in Illinois who had served in country.”
INDEPENDENT SOLDIERS - Another of the motorcycle clubs mentioned on one of the strangest (and never-ending) “anti-gang” websites in the universe as an associate club of the HAMC in Canada.
INDIAN BIKERS - Established in 1996, a three-piece-patch club out of Matera, Italy, that evolved over many years from a loose riding club called Motor-skull. The group caught the attention of the clubs in the area, for their dedication, and their apparent “embracing of the philosophy of the 1%er.”
INDIANS - Established in 1993, this is a full-on one percent motorcycle club out of Croatia: “Love, loyalty, respect. These three words became basic, essential values of the club.”
INFIDELS - Established in 2006, the “original” Infidels MC is a national club founded by a security contractor working in Iraq named “Slingshot.” They have very strong political views. There is also an American Infidels MC with equally focused political views.
INTRUDERS - A three-piece-patch club out of Slovakia; an HAMC hangaround club.
ESTABLISHED: 1965
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Gary, Indiana
FOUNDER(S): “Mad Doctor,” Charley, Ed Smith, and others
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Indiana, Illinois, and Colorado
CLUB COLORS: Black and White
CENTER PATCH: A variation of the crazed pickle
CLAIM TO FAME: Their longevity and their distinctive white cuts
INVADERS - Established in 1965 in Gary, Indiana. This is a “classic” club that made the law enforcement map in Hoosier-land. Their original white cuts proved to be very distinctive—a definite departure from the norm in the motorcycle club world of fashion. Another impressive distinction is that this motorcycle club has retained so much of their history and they like to share it—important stuff for those just climbing onto the saddle to begin their ride with all of this.
There is also a three-piece-patch Invaders out of Poland.
IRON CHARIOTS - With a steely determination, we now begin our look into the Iron-oriented motorcycle clubs. The first is the Iron Chariots MC, a club based in Singapore that believes in “Brotherhood and the open road. . .beliefs based on the three pillars of Courage, Honour, & Respect. . .qualities that are represented by the Lambda symbol. . .which we wear proudly on our hearts.”
ESTABLISHED: 1966
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Toledo, Ohio
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Ohio
CLUB COLORS: Black and White
CENTER PATCH: A skeleton riding a winged chopper
CLAIM TO FAME: Their center patch was designed by the famous Ed “Big Daddy” Roth.
IRON COFFINS - Established in 1966 “in the north end of Toledo, Ohio” as a club with the Chosen Few name. They’ve evolved into the Iron Coffins and made a serious mark in motor-culture history by having Ed “Big Daddy” Roth design their center patch—that is so, so cool! (Roth had also designed a decal entitled “Iron Coffin” that featured a Vietnam War–era tank tearing things up in what he called “fifty-two tons of rolling death”!) Not surprisingly, the Iron Coffins made the law enforcement map in Ohio!
Other clubs also used the name “Iron Coffin” (above cut), although none of them sported artwork by Big Daddy Roth on their center patch.
IRON CRIMINAL - A diamond-patch 1% club out of Russia.
IRON DEMONS - This diamond-patch motorcycle club made the law enforcement map in New Jersey!
IRON DRAGONS - A long-running Bandidos support motorcycle club out of Germany. They have “94” in their diamond and have, yes, an iron dragon for a center patch.
IRON EAGLE(S) - Established in 1982, we have an Iron Eagle MC in Germany. There is also an Iron Eagles, non-one-percent club in Pennsylvania.
IRON HORSE - A three-piece motorcycle club in Northern Ontario, Canada. Their center patch reads “RHB”—respect, honor, brotherhood.
ESTABLISHED: Mid-1960s
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Cincinnati, Ohio
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Kansas, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Indiana, California, Kentucky, Maine, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Maryland, and New York
CENTER PATCH: Winged metallic horse’s head
MOTTO: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if it weren’t for the Iron Horsemen, the highways would rust.
CLAIM TO FAME: The target of a 2007 ATF/DEA investigation called “Operation Trojan Horse”
IRON HORSEMEN - Established “in the mid 1960s,” this is a big club and it’s a “classic” club. Founded in Cincinnati, Ohio, the club has chapters in Kansas, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Indiana, California, Kentucky, Maine, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Maryland, and New York—and it made it onto the law enforcement map in most of them. They have a very catchy motto: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if it weren’t for the Iron Horsemen, the highways would rust.”
In 2007 the club was the target of an ATF/DEA investigation called “Operation Trojan Horse.”
The Iron Horsemen in Australia are also a powerful and “classic” club, founded in Melbourne in 1969. They are a full-on, diamond-patch 1% motorcycle club with a very vocal support of the military. And they are active—the club participates in many runs like the Lap of the Bay, Run to the Hills, and the Graveyard Run.
ESTABLISHED: 1969
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Melbourne, Australia
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Australia
CENTER PATCH: A bird over an iron cross
CLAIM TO FAME: One of the oldest clubs in Australia
ESTABLISHED: 1966
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Fürth, Germany
FOUNDER(S): American GIs
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Italy, Wales, Hungary, and Germany
CLUB COLORS: Black and Gold
CENTER PATCH: An armored horse with crossed battle axes
CLAIM TO FAME: Founded by American GIs who brought their patches with them overseas
IRON HORSE, IRON HORSES - The Iron Horses were established in 1966 in Fürth, Germany, by American GIs who “had already brought their colors with them from the U.S.” In 1971, the first German members joined. The club has expanded to Italy, Wales, Hungary, and Northern Germany.
There is also a diamond-patch 1%er Iron Horse MC, in Jakarta, Indonesia.
IRON RAGE - They made the law enforcement map listing in Nebraska!
IRON SLEDS - Established in 1976, a long-lived motorcycle club out of Macoupin County, Illinois.
IRON THUNDER - Established in 1980, an East Coast motorcycle club with a history as told by their “Prez,” Iron Man:
Our original name was going to be Iron Cross, but we found out there was already a club called Iron Crosses MC so we shit-canned that name. Then I see an ad for a ’79 Harley-Davidson Lowrider; the ad said, “Turn On Your Thunder!” It sounded good, so we kept the original “Iron” part of our name and used the “Thunder” from the ad. We became Iron Thunder in 1980 and fired up in Westminster, Maryland—our eleven charter members all grew up in Cranberry. We now have expanded with a chapter in Pennsylvania.
IRON TRIBE - One of the mere dozen motorcycle clubs to make the law enforcement map listing in North Carolina!
ESTABLISHED: 1936
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Sturgis, South Dakota
FOUNDER(S): Clarence “Pappy” Hoel
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: South Dakota
CLAIM TO FAME: Founded by “Pappy” Hoel! In Sturgis!! Do you need more?
JACKPINE GYPSIES - Established in 1936 in Sturgis by Clarence “Pappy” Hoel, in the ultimate “pioneer”-pairing. The club’s simple purpose was essentially “racing and touring.” Pappy also bought an Indian dealership in Sturgis in 1936. Two years later, on August 14, 1938, the first “Black Hills Classic” was thrown by his Jackpine Gypsies; the tale is told that there were nine participants and just one race. The club is still enjoying its purpose of that “racing and touring,” and I understand that the rally itself has expanded to more than just those nine racers. . .
JAMES GANG - Straight-up, diamond-patch 1% motorcycle club that made the law enforcement map in Connecticut.
JESTERS - No kidding around here, there are a lot of Jesters!
Established in 1983, there are Jesters in the UK.
Established in 1996, there are Jesters in Thailand.
There is a Jesters MC that was just one of eleven clubs to make the law enforcement map in Hawaii.
And there is a Jesters Motorcycle Club that is yet another of the motorcycle clubs mentioned on one of the strangest (and never-ending) “anti gang” websites in the universe, as an associate club of the HAMC in Canada.
JOKERS - While we’re still in a fun mood, let’s deal a few Jokers.
Established in 2002, there is a Jokers MC in Wiltshire, England, that evolved from members of clubs like the Ravens, Annwn BC, Sentinels, and Lowlanders. They throw a twist on the 1% patch by putting the “1%” in a pair of rolling dice.
There is a Jokers MC in Michigan.
And a full-on, diamond patch 1% motorcycle club in Kaluga, Russia.
Established in 1995, there’s a three-piece-patch club in Spain.
JOKERS WILD - Pulling another card from the motorcycle club deck, we see that there is a Jokers Wild MC “near the West Virginia/Virginia line” and a riding club in Nova Scotia.
JOURNEYMEN - Established in 2005, in Prescott, Arizona. This three-piece patch is loud, proud, and vocal when it comes to their thoughts on the fact that it’s not “illegal” to be a patch holder and “to value true brotherhood above all else.”
Yes, some motorcycle clubs dressed like this in the ’30. Jeff Thrower/shutterstock.com
ESTABLISHED: 1930s
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Juneau, Alaska
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Now defunct
CLAIM TO FAME: The first documented motorcycle club in Juneau
JUNEAU - North to Alaska—this is a genuine “pioneer” club from way, way up there! Dating back into the 1930s, this club was “perhaps the first documented motorcycle club in Juneau.” Gee, ya think?!
ESTABLISHED: 1990
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Tracy, California
FOUNDER(S): Michael Patrick “Irish Mike” McCusker
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Stockton, California
CLUB COLORS: Royal Blue and Silver
CENTER PATCH: An eagle head with seven stars over it on a Route 66–shaped sign
CLAIM TO FAME: The subject of the 2008 book, written by the founder: A Road Without End: The Jus Brothers Motorcycle Club 1990–2007
JUS BROTHERS - Established in 1990 in Tracy, California. This diamond-patch 1% club made it onto the law enforcement map listing out west, but they also made it onto the bookshelves when their founder, Michael Patrick “Irish Mike” McCusker wrote A Road Without End: The Jus Brothers Motorcycle Club 1990–2007. It was a book a lot like John Hall’s book about the Pagans, in that it was more like a barroom conversation than a literary journal. In fact, read together, both the Hall book and Irish Mike’s make for a nice continuum of the biker lifestyle from the 1960s to the present.
KELTICS - An “Outlaws MC affiliated” club with chapters in Florida.
KING COBRA - A three-piece-club patch in Franken, Germany.
KINGPIN CREW - Another of the MCs mentioned on one of the strangest (and never-ending) “anti-gang” websites in the universe, as an associate club of the HAMC in Canada.
KINGSMEN - Established in 1958, this is one of our “classic” clubs. They have chapters in New York, Pennsylvania, and Florida—and made the law enforcement map in all three!
ESTABLISHED: 1993
PLACE OF ORIGIN: Finland
FOUNDER(S): Unknown
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: Finland and Estonia
CLUB COLORS: Black and White
CENTER PATCH: A hooded Klansman
KLAN - Established in 1993, with chapters in Finland and Estonia. This three-piece-patch club has one of the most “interesting” and ominous center patches anywhere.
KNIGHT RIDERS - Established in 1969 by American GIs in Dino’s Cafe in Kitzingen, “making it one of the oldest motorcycle clubs in Germany.” The founding members were Champ, Jack the Snake, and Moose. As time passed, more German members came into the essentially American motorcycle club. They have their founding date of “69” in a diamond, and the red and white colors are the colors associated with the Würzburg garrison.
ESTABLISHED: 1975
PLACE OF ORIGIN: New Jersey
FOUNDER(S): Miles Hahn and others
CHAPTER LOCATIONS: New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, Florida, Virginia
CLUB COLORS: Black and Gold
MOTTO: Brotherhood and Vigilance
KNIGHTS - A three-piece-patch club in Malta. They have a motto that kind of says it all: “Forever strong, forever bikers, forever brothers. . . . Our will shall find the way!” And they are HAMC supporters.
But there is another Knights MC, an East Coast club with a history as told by one of their more loquacious members, “Weebles,” KMC:
First off, we are not affiliated with any of the other Knights MCs. We started out as Jersey Knights in 1975—this was Generation I. This first phase of the club actually wanted to go AMA, but when they went to all the racing events, they took all the trophies—the AMA clubs there were pissed! So when the Jersey Knights applied for an AMA charter, the AMA turned them down. “Fuck you, AMA!” they decided.
Maryland soon joined the fold, and then Delaware. Generation I went until 1985 when Generation II came into play. With Generation II came big changes. We went with a three-piece patch, adding a sword to our center patch. And instead of being Jersey, Maryland, and Delaware Knights we joined under one banner and became Knights MC with state rockers on the bottom. In 1987, Pennsylvania was added to the fold. Generation II went on through 2010.
Generation III went into effect in 2011. At that time, some of us dropped the state rockers and went with “EST. 1975” for our bottom rocker. Since we were scattered all over the U.S., we felt this was the right thing to do. We also decided to put our colors on leather. A lot of our older members decided they didn’t want to change their old colors, so they kept them and wear a retired patch instead.
Oh, and one more thing: In all the years we have been a club, we have never been infiltrated!
Weebles also has a few very sensitive and soul-searching thoughts about those who disrespect colors, the sometimes too casual use of the term “bro,” and the true meaning of that sacred biker title:
I’ve actually seen these jerks wearing those Sons of Anarchy colors. I’ve even stopped ’em and told ’em, maybe a bit too harshly, “Don’t you know how disrespectful that is to the 1%er?!” And they have no clue what a 1%er is! Fuckin’ clueless! I’ve also seen those rock colors from Zack Wilde’s band. Another bad idea, and what the fuck, I seen a shirt from Sturgis made to look like a set of colors! Funny how everybody wants to be one of us; they want to play in our world, but they don’t want to live in our world!
But we do—and we ride! And, man it seems like every ride we go on is an adventure. But it’s always been that way, really. Some people can just get on their bikes and ride from point A to point B and back again and that’s it. You ask them what they saw, what happened, what did they do along the way, and you always get the same answer: “Well, it was nice and sunny and the ride was nice and we stopped off and got gas and had a cold drink and bla bla bla and then we rode home again; we had lots of fun. . .” Boring!
My bike is a fourteen-year-old rat. Granted, it’s a pretty good-lookin’ rat and it’s a rat hot-rod, but man, when you build a rat hot-rod, things fuckin’ happen! Things vibrate loose; things fall off. Oops, ahh! And even if you try and keep an eye on things, sometimes things slip under the radar and then things fuck up! But, brother, it’s about being a biker!
Okay, so a run that should take eight hours ends up taking close to fourteen or more—who gives a shit? It’s fuckin’ raining, we’re fuckin’ soaked to the bone, it’s fuckin’ freezing—who gives a shit? The sun is frying my fuckin’ brains out in this fuckin’ helmet! Big fuckin’ deal! There’s a great cold spring up here in the mountains but these fuckin’ people never see any of this or experience any of this!
Man, I have tried and fuckin’ tried to explain to these fuckin’ barstool sidewalk commandos that the party is the ride, not the show at the end of the ride! Fuck it, man, I give up! I’m too old for this shit! This new generation of riders just ain’t what we’re all about!
Oh yeah, and you meet one in a bar and fuckin’ instantly he’s your fuckin’ bro! Just add JD and beer.
I got so fuckin’ mad one night in our local watering hole. This asshole called me “bro” and John, one of my brothers from outta state, was there.
I reached over and took out my pistol and handed it to the asshole and said, “Shoot me, motherfucker!” And he looked at me like I had an eye in the middle of my forehead.
My brother slipped up in front of me and said, “Motherfucker, if you’re gonna shoot anyone, shoot me!” The asshole stood there lookin’ at the pistol, and John just reached down and took it out of his hand. He handed it back to me and said to the guy, “Sorry—you want to play in our world, but when it comes down to it, you don’t want to stay in our world. You just got a lesson in what a bro is!”
Then (John’s very diplomatic, I’m not. . .) he goes on to say, “The word ‘bro’ is short for ‘brother’—someone who shares your beliefs, your happiness, your sorrow, and right or wrong, will stand up for you—no questions asked. If his brother gets in trouble and he sees it, he will keep his mouth shut, and if anyone asks him if he saw anything he will say he saw nothing, just like Sergeant Shultz—or as we like to say, ‘Weebles’ll lie and I’ll swear to it!’ And, like you just seen, he will walk in front of a bullet for a brother in a heartbeat!
Courtesy of Rich “Weebles” Halmuth and Knights MC
“So look, son, we don’t want to hear your BS about all your rides you go on—we’ve never seen you ride ever. And don’t ever, never, ever again call any one of us ‘bro.’ Okay, now go home and think on this.”
“Hey, man, my bike’s outside,” I say to the guy. “What say we blast up to the titty bar!”
“Oh, well,” this kid says, “you know, I had to sell it. The old lady got on my ass, lost my job, dropped my cell phone in the toilet, bla, bla. . .”
It’s the same shit, man—the same shit that I’ve been hearing since the ’70s. Guess I’m just gettin’ to be an old grumpy biker. . .hahahaha!
KNIGHTS OF JUSTICE - I said I wasn’t going to list any law enforcement clubs, but this motorcycle club out of South Africa needs a mention if for no other reason than their “rather intense” political views on the “outlaws” of the world. Their “Creed of a Knight” doesn’t leave much room for giving a brother a break now and then.
KNUCKLE DRAGGERS, KNUCKLE DRAGGERZ - Knuckle Draggers is a relatively new Southern Californian motorcycle club that did a textbook job of following protocol as they formed.
There is a Knuckle Draggerz three-piece-patch club for military vets of Iraq and Afghanistan that claims no states, just “the countries of war.” They also have a classic set of bylaws. Number one pretty much sets the tone: “Don’t be a shit bag, we got no room for dumb asses here. That will bring disgrace to the proud veterans of this club.”
KOA PUNA - Established in 1979, this motorcycle club was one of the “Ocean’s Eleven” motorcycle clubs that made the law enforcement map in Hawaii. Founded in the Puna District of The Big Island, “Koa Puna MC has been running ’em hard since 1979!”
KVILLEBACKEN - Established in 1973 in Sweden, this Bandidos support club was later joined by members of Lucifer’s Bunch MC. It was in 2006 when they were admitted as an “official supporter club to Bandidos MC World.”
