Meeting 1%’er Motorcycle Club Members

By Tom Neal
Bigfoot Trails Basecamp | Independent Adventure Media

As most of you know, I ride motorcycles, and have my whole life. I grew up around bikes and bikers, and have a true passion for the lifestyle. I am not, nor have I ever been, a “Club Member,” though I do associate with them.

To give a brief background, my dad was a club member and patch holder of a club in Germany called Steeler’s MC. This was a traditional three-piece patch club, small, and the first club in the Worms/Frankenthal area of Germany. About a year after we left Germany to come “Stateside,” the club patched over to Ghost Riders MC, which then patched over as Outlaws MC, a 1% club founded in Chicago, IL. Ironically, we were from Germany, and now live an hour from Chicago.

The last President of the Steeler’s MC let my dad keep his cut, or club vest, when we left Germany, and later became President of the Outlaws MC after the patch-over.

Dad never joined another club here in the States, but we have been associated with a couple different Riding Clubs and met a lot of good people through those associations. We threw down a hell of a lot of miles with these great people.

Along the way, while riding, we have also met a number of 1%’er patch holders from clubs across the country. Here is my experience with these interactions. I am going to be open and honest about each interaction, as well as respectful.

There are NO PICTURES of these meetings out of respect for the member identities.

Washington

As any rider in Washington knows, Bandidos MC is the primary club in the state. I have had the pleasure and displeasure of meeting a number of “Red and Gold” members.

Ninety-nine percent of the time when meeting club members, as long as you show respect, respect will be shown back to you. I have had okay luck with Red and Gold being respectful back to me. The one time that pissed me off was when a Sgt. at Arms of a chapter introduced me to the President of another chapter.

I reached my hand out to shake his.

His response was, “Turn around, let me see your back!”

I did as he requested, never taking my eyes off his. Upon returning to face him, I again extended my hand, and was greeted with, “I don’t shake hands with non-patch holders.”

WOW, I thought. What a dick move that was!

It was later explained to me where he stood, but I still thought it was kind of a dick attitude. But oh well.

Free Souls MC had a chapter in the same town I live in for a short time. I did some leather work for a Prospect of this chapter, and as I finished it up, he asked me to deliver it to him at the club party.

I thanked him, but asked, “If it’s a club function, should I be there?”

He told me I was invited, and there would be no issues.

This party happened about a week after me returning from our month-long cross-country bike trip. I had a shaved head and just trimmed my beard to almost nothing again. I accepted the invite and delivered the leather goods on the bike to the party.

After meeting up with the Prospect, he told me to go inside, introduce myself, and make myself “at home.”

As I approached the house, I was greeted by three patch holders from Oregon, who stopped me and told me I wasn’t welcome.

I did tell them, “(Prospect) invited me, and I should go inside to introduce myself.”

These guys told me I should just leave.

Well, they “outranked” the Prospect, so I did.

A few days later, the Sgt. at Arms for the chapter showed up at my work and asked to speak to me outside. He heard about what happened to me at his house and formally made an apology on behalf of the club.

He said, “You were invited, and disrespected, and for that WE as a club want to apologize, and I personally would like to extend an invite to any of our events to you.”

I accepted his apology, and thanked him. Later, I talked to the Prospect and told him what happened. He already knew about that night and my work incident and apologized as well.

Hell’s Angels in Washington is not big, but I have met a number of the members and former members from HA.

Now, I have ALWAYS had a thing for Red and White as a club. As a kid, the President of a chapter told me, “Something to keep in mind, kid. Always show respect. Treat me with respect, I treat you with respect. Disrespect me, and I will fuck you up! You understand?”

I sure did!!!

I live my life by his words.

At one event a number of years ago, I saw a half dozen HA bikes parked, and they looked badass. I had to check ’em out.

I broke off from my wife and went over to the bikes. I kept a distance of about three or four feet from the bikes, as not to make anyone too anxious if they saw me. As I was looking at the scoots, I saw four members walking toward me giving me “the look.”

Once I made eye contact, I broke off from the bikes and slowly approached the members walking toward me.

“These your bikes?” I asked.

They acknowledged, and we struck up some good conversation about the mods on the bikes and who I should contact about some of the parts.

Great group of guys I talked with.

A few years later, I worked at the Harley dealership with an HA patch holder. He was a super cool, chill dude.

Again, don’t disrespect him, ’cause he would fuck you up for sure!

I met a “retired” patch holder who did time for the club also. He told me some stories of the riding they did, and some of the shenanigans.

All-around great guy.

He actually retired BEFORE he got locked up. Less than a year after retiring, he got raided by the Feds for some shit that went down with the club, and prosecuted. He never did rat anyone out. He did crime, did his time, and moved on with his life.

Stand-up dude!

Arizona

When we lived in Lake Havasu, I worked at a shop where the owner was a retired patch holder for Devil’s Disciples MC. I believe he was a former Prez, but I can’t remember for sure now.

He was an awesome dude. Loved working for him.

I asked him one day if there were any bike clubs in the area because I hadn’t seen any club colors. He said there were a number of clubs there, but NO ONE was allowed to “fly colors,” even HA.

I couldn’t believe that. Arizona was a Hell’s Angels state.

I did verify it by witnessing a group of Angels stopped outside of town, packing the vests into their saddlebags to go into town. Apparently things have changed now since we left, but in 2018, I witnessed it.

Blew my mind!!!

While working at the shop, my boss had me grab the ’70 C10 truck. He said I was to do the transmission swap and get the truck tuned/dialed in.

I said no problem, grabbed the keys, and he told me to look close at the color of the engine.

I looked out at the truck and said, “Yep, bright green.”

He said, “Now think, Green Nation.”

OH! Okay.

So the truck belongs to a Vagos member. He confirmed it, and said, “Don’t fuck this up!”

I was working on the truck later that day, arms wrapped up around the transmission while it was up on the lift. I hear a voice say he needed to get something out of his truck.

I couldn’t see him because I was reaching up around the trans, so I said, “Okay, give me just a moment. I will bring the truck down in two or three minutes, maybe less.”

“No need,” he replied, and I heard the truck door open.

I leaned my head down to see the lower half of a HUGE motherfucker. Biggest dude I ever seen!

The bottom of his chest was about my head level, and I’m 5’11”.

He got his shit out, and as I walked out from under the truck, I introduced myself. We shook hands, and he told me, “This is my baby, treat her as such. But when you’re done with this job, I want you to really test drive her.”

I swear his hands were bigger than my head.

Probably the scariest-looking dude I ever seen, but a super cool guy. We got along great. I finished his truck and he was very happy with the job.

We went for a ride in the truck. He drove and drove it hard.

It survived.

I survived.

It was all good!

Another time, I was left at the shop alone. The owner went on a parts run. I had an “old dude” come in looking for the owner, so I told him the owner went on a parts run and would be back in about ten minutes.

I asked if I could help him or if he would like to leave a message for the owner. He said no and would be back later.

The old dude did, in fact, return a few hours later and stood by the shop door.

The owner of the shop came up to me as I was working in the back shop and asked, “What the fuck happened earlier?”

I said, “The guy came in asking for the owner. I told him you would return,” and explained what went down.

“Holy shit, do you know who that guy is?”

I told him no. I figured he was just some old snowbird guy.

I was then informed that this guy was the Prez for the Nomad chapter of Devil’s Disciples and felt disrespected because I didn’t go introduce myself as the owner of the bike outside.

So, we walked up to the front of the shop together.

I introduced myself and told him, “I had no idea who you were. I’m new in town. I judged you by your looks — white shirt, white shorts and white Crocs. I thought you were just another snowbird looking to get work done. And I had no intention of disrespecting you.”

If looks could kill, I probably wouldn’t be writing this now.

But then you could see the light bulb turn on in his head.

“You’re right, I have no indications, and you were respectful and polite to me as a customer.”

We all BS’d for a few minutes before I went back to work.

I had a few passings with him over the next few months.

Great guy to deal with.

California

If you read any of my pages here, you know I attended the public celebration of life for Hell’s Angel member and legend Ralph “Sonny” Barger.

That was one hell of an adventure. The ride down and the ride back were great, but the event itself was awesome.

I was expecting one of two ways for things to go down: either it was gonna be a peaceful, respectful service, or rival clubs were gonna start shit and things would escalate out of hand.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one thinking that way, because cops were everywhere for miles up the highway.

It was a very peaceful, respectful event.

If you ever want to see what a real “badass biker” is like, go to a funeral service with them.

I saw more “bad-asses” crying here than I ever saw in my life.

Now, I’m not sure how many of these folks had met Sonny, or how close anyone was, but this was an open event. There were MULTIPLE clubs in attendance, including rival colors, just to show respect.

The way I see it, it doesn’t matter what club you belong to. This dude blazed a trail for others to follow.

He didn’t start the “scene/lifestyle,” but he sure brought it mainstream and well known.

But each club in attendance, like I said, showed respect, not only to the Angels, but to other club members and to civilians like myself.

I met a lot of really cool dudes at this event!

Most people standing in the middle of a racetrack surrounded by THOUSANDS of 1%’ers would have been shittin’ bricks. There were over 6,000 people there.

But I never felt safer anywhere as I did right here in Stockton.

Well, at the track at least.

Once I got to my hotel, there was a shooting there.

So Stockton itself, not so much.

Just the field of bikers.

As a whole, I have had less “problems” with the so-called “gang members” that motorcycle club members have been labeled as than the rest of civilians.

I think because of the protocols and shit they go through to get patched in, and the way the organizations are run, in general they are more respectful, polite, and willing to help than a lot of other people are.

Are they all “good”?

No, I’m not blind. They do have criminals in the organizations, but so do firefighters, police and hospital workers.

We are all human!

And no, this is not the only interaction I have had, but these were just some of the more memorable ones that I feel like sharing at this time.

I have dealt with many other retired members who would give you the shirts off their backs at any time, but you don’t want to mess with them in the dark alley behind the bar, or hit on their ol’ lady.

Would I change this lifestyle?

Hell no.

I love it!

I love the riding, and I love the patch holders I have met along this journey of life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tom Neal is the founder of Bigfoot Trails Basecamp and an independent adventure journalist. He doesn't go looking for stories. He goes out on adventures, and the stories usually find him.

From motorcycles and road trips to racing, off-road adventures, travel, Basecamp projects, and the occasional questionable decision, Tom writes about the experiences, people, places, and unexpected shit that happen along the way.

Bigfoot Trails Basecamp | Independent Adventure Media