RIDING WITH ROCKERS
I was walking home as usual from work that evening in the end of august 2008, wearing a cute, woolen coat that had a puffy skirt. When I got out of the train station I had an odd premonition, like someone was out there waiting for me, so my heart skipped a beat when I noticed a grey BMW driving past me really slowly. It was twilight, and there wasn’t that much traffic on the streets, so the BMW really stuck out, driving past me with a speed of 20 km/h, sparkling under the streetlamps like a silver fish under water. As I walked further, I noticed it reverse and drive past me again a few more times, circling around in a hawk like manner, affirming my initial feeling of being under some sort of weird surveillance. I just didn’t really understand why all these different cars were doing the same thing to me for months in a row.
Where Roskilde people just extremely bored? And why were they observing me, instead of stopping to talk? I was racking my brain, trying to figure out the connection and there seemed to be none.
First there was an old red hatchback car, - I reasoned – then there were the taxis. There was also that pizzeria van... And the black jeep. There were others too, but they were certainly not beamers. I just don’t get it, if it’s the same person, then why are there different cars? I know Keazar likes beamers, after all I dedicated that beamer song to him… That can’t be a coincidence. But then again, how can he be the one and the same person behind all these cars? I just doesn’t make sense.
I was now walking by the accursed traffic circle, where all the weird events always took place. I crossed the road and walked further, when I heard screeching of the wheels behind me. Holding my breath and flaring up from anxiety, I turned around expecting to see the mysterious BMW, but instead saw a white, large Mercedes Benz station wagon stopping abruptly next to me. A bald male head leaned through the window and shouted: “Hey beauty, what are you doing alone at this hour?” Confused by this turn of events, I replied quietly that I was walking home, and looked around tensely, wondering where that beamer was.
-Are you looking for someone? The bald head asked.
-No… not really. I replied, smiling softly and continued walking.
The car roared, drove a few meters and halted again. The heavy door slammed, and the man got out of the car. I stopped dead in my tracks, wondering what his intentions were. When he finally stood in front of me smiling, I could see that he was around mid-twenties, 190 cm tall, muscular, with a heavy build, thick short neck, and light eyes and skin. For some reason he reminded me of a pit bull.
-Hey... so what’s your name?
-I’m Lars and you are…?
-So Daria, you look hot, where’s your home sweetie? I can drive you.
-Thanks, but I really prefer not to sit in strangers’ cars. Especially at this time, I confessed.
-Okay, well how about you give me your number?
I smiled, bit my lips and wondered how to get rid of him.
-I don’t know man... I’m just not that much into giving my number out to strangers. But where are you going? Are you living around here? I asked suddenly, trying to change the focus of the conversation, strategically eager to get to know my pursuer quickly.
-No, I don’t sweetie, I live in Sweden.
-Uh huh, I replied, noticing the Swedish number plates on the car, -
That’s why you’ve got such an expensive, hot car. What do you do?
-I have my own company, I do demolition work.
-That’s cool, so you’re your own boss. Wow, so young and already got your own business! And you are what... like 27?
-I’m 26. Yeah it’s pretty nice, the guys go out and get the stuff done, I get the money, - he replied, smiling with his white straight teeth. He smelled of garlic.
-Oh wow, that sounds interesting. So you’ve running your business here and you live in Sweden? That’s a smart move, ‘cause that way you get most profit, I guess...
-Yeah exactly. I’ve got my own house in Sweden too, which is pretty hard to get in Denmark, when you’re this age. But look, why don’t we chat somewhere else? We can go to this place down the street, get some beers.
-Which place? I asked with surprise not remembering any type of café or bars around the dead, residential area.
-Just down the street man. And I’ll drive you back home afterwards? Huh, what you say?
-But what is that place?
-It’s a motorcycle club. I’ve got friends there, and we have our bar and all other nice stuff. We can just chill. Come along man!
Motorcycle club!!!! The words exploded in my head, like a nuclear station in Chernobyl. Motorcycles were my dream since the day I saw my eighteen year old cousin driving a classic old school motorcycle, the gorgeous vintage kind with post-World War II design. I was standing in a sunlit Russian village, with muddy roads, endless fields and wild nature, mesmerized by the bikes beauty. It had silver handles and large black leather saddle. I was only five, but got instantly infatuated with this electric-horse, consequently developing a huge crush for my cousin too. I remember begging my parents to let him give me a ride, but the obvious answer was no. My imagination compensated for what was impossible in real life, I often dreamt about us two driving through Russian main land with wind blowing through our lose hair, free and unrestrained.
-Motorcycle club?! I exclaimed, with visible excitement in my eyes.
-Yes. You like motorcycles? Lars replied in same kind of excitement.
-I love motorcycles!! I always dreamt about sitting on one. Which one do you have?
-Buell Lightening XB12S. Have you heard of that one before?
-No, not really. But I‘ll go home and research. Is it a sporty one?
-Yes it is.
-Perfect! I love sport bikes - like the ones you see in races - more than any other ones!
Keazar has once promised to give me a ride too. On an autumn day like this one, two years ago, he was dropping me off at Emmanuella’s place, and I asked him whether he knows how to ride a bike. Swinging the steering wheel causally with his left hand, he said:
-The first time I sat on a bike I thought I was a superman.
-Well, I got offered to ride one, and you know, I have to try everything. So I sat on it, drove a couple of meters, broke only with the hand break and flew off it, with the bike flying after me.
We both chuckled.
-Wow. That sucks. But you do know how to ride a bike then?
-Of course. We got one standing in Taastrup, in a garage. It’s not an MC-season right now, so it stands there during autumn and winter.
I wasn’t sure who those mysterious “we” were and why October month was considered “out of season” and why the bike stood in Taastrup, when Kaezars work was in Frederiksberg and home – in Søborg. As usual, Kaezar was a mind-breaker. But the vision of a motorcycle has completely taken over my mind. It was like a magical dream: him - wearing a leather jacket, me - holding around his back, us – rushing through the spaces, while the stars swept past us…
-If you got one, why can’t you give me a ride? You know how much I love it, I've always dreamt of it! Come on please, get that bike! Please, baby?
-Yeah sure, one day. Maybe in spring.
-Kez, you’ve got no idea what I would do, just to get that ride. I love motorcycles, they are so hot, - I said, laughing teasingly, trying to convince Kaezar, while he sat there observing me.
-Hm. Well then, I must give you one, Daria.
He dropped me off, drove away and the promised motorcycle ride remained another unfulfilled fantasy. Now, being a couple of years older and a couple of years wiser, I started questioning his claims, whether he in fact had any bike or if that was just another lie in an endless string of lies.
While I was standing lost in my thoughts, listening with half an ear to Lars, I noticed two strong beams of light in the distance. As they grew bigger, I could make out the distinctive, unmistakable shape of a headlight that only beamers possessed. My heart stalled for a second.
The BMW was back.
It approached us slowly. The glossy grey windows obscured the shape of the anonymous driver, who leaned closer to the window, seemingly interested in what was going on. In the meantime, Lars was trying to shove me a paper with his number on it, but seeing my long unblinking stare, he turned around and watched the BMW steadily as it slowly moved away from us. Here we were, three people under the psychedelic sky of nocturnal Roskilde, like in a Bermuda triangle, frozen, staring at each other, while the time stood still for that millisecond. Of course, Lars didn’t understand anything. After all, it wasn’t his game. But I, being in the epicenter, looked attentively for a response from the unknown driver…
Finally, the beamer was gone. When Lars rushed away as well, and I was once again left in a solitude on a dark road, I wondered why I felt this way for these many months, satisfied by being hunted by random cars, yet tormented by an undying connection, I always felt with Him.
A thrill of a chase, an evil spell, a victory of ego, a burning desire, a haunting memory, a sickening disgust, a sense of longing, and belonging, but most of all – a calling. He was everything at once. The Lord of darkness.
Here he was hunting for me. Burning to know the truth. Did I really leave him? Or did I not? And I let him wonder, the way I wondered. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. He has finally met his equal.
Once I got home, I logged on MSN messenger, and I could see Lars added me and was online. Hesitating, I added him back, and he messaged me instantly.
-So, are you up for a motorcycle ride on Saturday sweetie?
-I am, - I replied.
I texted Ella in euphoria, telling her about what has just happened.
“Ella, I’m gonna drive on a motorcycle!!”
And then contemplating about it, I quickly typed to Lars:
-Well, what should I wear? Don’t I need some special clothing?
-No not really. Just wear what you feel like.
Clearly, Lars didn’t care much about safety.
-By the way, what’s the name of your mc club? I asked putting a smiley in the end of the sentence.
-Bandidos Club Mid West.
My jaws dropped. Bandidos? Isn’t that the rocker gang known for drugs, crime and weapon possessions? I quickly typed in the word in google, and read the first result:
“Another bandido rocker killed last night for leaving the mc club”.
Ouch. I was dumb founded. What to do? I quickly texted Ella again.
-Girl, he’s a rocker!
-Oh my god, Dee! Where do you even find people like this?
-On the street! Where else?!
Decision had to be made on what to do next. I sat thinking for a few minutes then decided to go along with it anyway. I doubted that he was serial murderer, but just in case I told him that I’d rather see him during the day light. The best weapon is a person’s mind, I thought self-confidently. I could handle it. Besides I was dying of curiosity. Different, deviating people have always fascinated me.
Days flew by quickly and ultimately, the highly anticipated Saturday arrived. I swung open the old doors of my mahogany brown closet, and stood motionlessly in front of it, trying to figure out what would look most stylish on a motorcycle. It wasn’t too hard, since I always tried to copy the mc gear by wearing biker-inspired gloves, jackets and leather outfits. But I also knew I needed something to shield me from the piercing wind and cold. In the end I decided to go for all black, appropriate for a biker outfit: black slim pants, black sweater with black leather boots and black leather jacket. I also took my favorite fingerless gloves.
It was another sunny day in my collection of sunny days, which left an eternal imprint on my memory. It was chilly, but not cold and the sky was deep, with clear, saturated blue color, the kind of sky that one can only observe during Indian summer. Lars came to pick me up in his gigantic car from my parents' place. He was sitting inside, wearing a hoody and baggy jeans, and I, with my woman-in-black outfit looked more like a rocker than he did. I sat down in his car, and it took off, carrying me away to the bad boy club. The place turned out to be two minutes away, and was located in a large grey building that resembled one gigantic cube. Around it there was a large parking lot, with grey flat ground, that reminded me of a runway. There was nothing that could indicate a rocker club – no nameplate, no post box, just a huge aluminum roll up gate with a few security cameras and a number “37” above it. The bike was standing readily outside along with two helmets next to it.
I was trembling. The dream I’ve had all these many years, to ride a bike, has finally come true. A real sporty beast was in front of me, a gorgeous modified Buell sport edition, with a lovely suspension system and grey saddle. I held my breath from awe looking at it. Lars turned the ignition key and bikes engine made an uproar, reverberated across the whole area, as if an airplane has just landed in the parking lot.
While the engine was heating up, the Bandido rookie sat up on his bike and offered me his hand to climb on the seat. Once I was on it, he leaned forward to the steering, than looked back at me and asked, with smiling eyes:
-Are you ready?
His words were muffled by the helmets jaw piece. I nodded obediently.
I clung to him and the machine took off, making my heart skip a beat. I felt the wind resistance push me backwards, as the rocker shifted up a gear, and air noise increased.
I have always been obsessed with motorcycles. Tight leather uniform, heavy helmets, elbow pads, knee pads, thick protection gloves, sporty boots – absolutely everything caused my pulse to raise, while watching a biker drive past me on a street. The way they rode the bike, the way they glanced at you as they drove past, the way they leaned on a curve, the way they grabbed and twisted the throttle - nothing has ever been more appealing and powerful as these raw, rough and tough, irresistibly attractive gods of speed.
The rocker accelerated, overtaking on the opposite lane, making me whisper a little prayer. I clung tighter to his chest, feeling so vulnerable, yet so powerful. Lars swiftly overtook cars, drove between the traffic and people stared. We were the center of the attention. I caught a reflection of us in windows of the shops, and it looked like a post card picture, an aggressive beast of a vehicle, tamed by a big, broad guy and a slender girl rocking the backseat with her feminine curves.
I have never felt so free before, as on this amazing rocket. The power of the engine, the smooth gliding on the road, sudden speeding up and swift breaking, slow motion effect and leaning while turning - it was the strangest, scariest, most exciting feeling and it has exceeded all my expectations.
And so I couldn’t believe my luck, the adventure of sitting on a motorcycle, driving under late summer skies, was too good to be true. I knew that one day, I would be in his position, wild, free and reckless, melting together with the wind and turbulent skies, winking to other bikers, blinking to the drivers and leaving them far in the background, when a red light would turn green. There would be just me, the speed and the road, and I would be unstoppable: a perfect cocktail of utopia and escapism united by six thousand controlled explosions in a combustion chamber. I just needed to get my license.
After an hour of riding we arrived back at the Bandidos club.
-Dam girl, you were squashing me so much when we drove, I almost couldn’t breathe, - said Lars, laughing, while taking off his helmet. I mumbled something back, trying to get out of mine.
-Did you enjoy it?
-It was amazing! I absolutely loved it, - I said holding the helmet under my arms and squinting from the bright sun that filled the whole empty area.
-Would you like to see our club?
-Sure, let’s do it. But… are you sure others are going to be okay with that?
-Yeah, they aren’t here yet, I’m alone till later, have to watch over the bikes. We’ve got motorcycles for over a million dollars’ worth here, - Lars replied, twisting a key in the wall, and pulling up the roll up gate. Behind the gate there was a large garage area made out of concrete, where around twenty shiny Harley Davidsons stood. I pointed at the security cameras:
-Well, you’ve got the cameras here I can see… Why do you need to be here then?
-For extra security. We can’t afford to have them stolen.
We proceeded inside, through a door on a left side. I was astonished to see a luxurious black leather interior, high tech design and smooth textures: glass, metal, high gloss surfaces. On the first floor I noticed a living room with black leather couches, home-cinema and a billiard table. Lars guided me up the stairs, where there was a bar, a kitchen and more lounge areas.
-What would you like to drink? Beer, whiskey, vodka? - He asked with a genuinely welcoming smile.
-Erm, don’t you think it’s a bit early for an anonymous alcoholics meeting?
-I don’t know, you’re Russian – you tell me.
-What else do you have? Do you have tea? I said casting a quick look at the buffed guy, who continuously attempted to shift closer to me, while I was opening the kitchen drawers, hoping to find something interesting and tasty. I averted his touches by slipping through his open arms in an artful, slick manner, looking surprised at him as if I haven’t had a clue of what was going on. Of course, I knew exactly what he was up to, but I quickly learned that playing the innocent card was the easiest method of self-defense from the licentious hands of insincere boys.
-So… Let’s talk about cars, - I suggested – I love your Merc. What model is that? Let me guess... E-500?
-What year? 2004?
-Aha! See I’m psychic! I thought so… I can see it from that side molding and that lovely chrome trim.
I blinked with a smug smirk on my face and then continued:
-And have you seen the new Chrysler 300C? Oh my gosh, I wanna be buried in that car! It’s so hot. There is something about it which reminds me somewhat of a muscle car design, you that mustang heavy weight look?
The rocker was eyeing me attentively.
-Girl, I think it’s a little too much car talk for me.
I padded him on his shoulder.
-No way! See that’s the problem I run into all the time, all my guy friends are like: ”I don’t like cars, I don’t know anything about them!” and I’m just like, what’s wrong with you people!
Lars was watching me, grinning widely, clearly confused in which category to place me. That’s when I took an opportunity to look around, walking across the room and examining the interior with curiosity. I stumbled upon a picture frame hanging on one of the walls.
The picture was one of a tattooed red bearded man, who stood with his arms crossed and looked rather vicious. Below the frame, on a table, there was little wooden chest – a moneybox – with a sticker that read: “Help our brother in need”. I turned to Lars intrigued:
-We’re just are raising money for this dude.
-Who’s the dude?
-Oh, he’s one of the Bandidos, he’s serving life in jail.
-Life?! That’s rare in Denmark. What did he do?
-Don’t know, he didn’t like that person, I guess.
Yeah, that totally makes sense, I thought sarcastically to myself. Lars suggested to go downstairs and watch some TV. We sat down on the expensive leather couches, and he lifted up his shirt to show off his six pack and a tattoo of some evil cartoon character, which for some reason, ceased to impress me. After a while, he got preoccupied with texting someone on his phone. Out of curiosity and due to an instinctive hutch I suddenly got, I slowly leaned over his shoulder, a move he didn’t notice, and peeked at a portion of the text on his mobile phone display. It was a sweet-talk message from someone called “Baby girl”. Needless to explain what kind of emotions of rage it provoked in me, a hothead. I could feel my face expression turn into something like the statues of communism - cold, hostile and merciless.
-So, who are you texting? - I asked casually, trying hard to hide the attitude in my voice.
-Just a mate in Sweden. He needs some help with moving some stuff.
-Oh really? A mate? Okay then…
I felt like someone has just punched me in the stomach. How dare he?! I thought in wrath, which started boiling in me. I paused for a minute, and then said in a deeper, commanding voice:
-Take me home. Now.
The rocker seemed surprised and taken aback with my sudden harsh tone. He looked at me not understanding, while I continued chewing my gum and staring at a TV screen blankly, with a face expression of a Russian police officer.
-I said NOW.
I heard a slightly hurt, disappointed “Okay”. The rest of the short ride home passed in silence. I was sullen and angry. He dropped me off in front of my house and I walked home not looking back. It was first when I opened the door that I saw him reversing his car speedily with one hand resting on the steering wheel, giving me the same kind of pissed off, ego-tripping expression that I used to get from other boys of his type. “Yeah, go screw yourself!” I thought, reciprocating his arrogant look.
I sat down on the couch not knowing what I felt angrier with: the rocker’s lie, the disappointment conclusion to a date or the vivid memory of Kaezar’s similar unappreciative behavior. Again, another random sleazy guy reminded me of him, and again I was suffering from the same frustrating feeling of betrayal, like I had prior to our break up. I knew I had to move on, but the progress was slow, because each date that ended this way was like a knife stab in the unhealed wound.
Ah, what the hell, I thought regretfully, who doesn’t remind me of him? It was as if Kaezar shone through every person, like some supramundane deity. It was as if every treacherous behavior, every ill manner, every criminal thought of every man with the features of my elusive villain, were representing him, as if they were all pieces of some monstrous puzzle that formed one big picture of Kaezar. I could see his expressions, manners, evasiveness and capricious charm in every con, in every man I came across, as if I was methodically searching for signs of him in everything I saw. But then again I wondered if that was just my infected mind demonizing and warping his true image.
A crazy thought would sometimes come across my mind – what if he no longer looked like himself, what if his face changed? What if he could see me, but I couldn’t see him? Enough. I need to stop. I sighed, rubbed my eyes and walked up to my room.
Next morning my mother walked past me in our usual meeting place – in the kitchen, where I was feeding my tea addiction with some strong Earl Grey. She stopped and said thoughtfully:
-Something strange happened last night.
-Really? What happened?
-I was asleep, and then I heard the sound of motorcycles. It seemed like a whole bunch of motorcycles drove past our house on the street, and people were shouting things like “you’re so dead” and “we’re going to kill you!” or something like that.
I looked at her surprised, raising my eyebrows.
-Motorcycle people? Like bikers? How many were there?
-I’m not sure, perhaps twenty or something.
-And they were shouting these things to… us?!
-I don’t know Dasha, I mean it seemed like they were in front of our house, but I really don’t know, I didn’t really check…
-Hmm. Okay, that’s so weird mom!
I picked up my phone and quickly texted Blondie. “Oh my god, you won’t believe this! Some bikers came to my parents’ house last night and shouted that they would kill someone!” to which Blondie replied hastily: “Bikers?! Kill you?! Haha! You got yourself in another trouble, messing around with Bandidos, you crazy girl!”
Luckily, that was the end of that adventure. I cooled off a little, and later that night texted Lars to thank him for the ride. He was calm and polite and we spoke a few more times together, until the rejected rocker disappearing completely from my radar a few days later, never replying in the end. I was a little bit sad about that – there would be no more motorbike rides. But my dream has finally come true, in such an unexpected, twisted way. And I still wondered about that BMW, thinking to myself:
Where are you now, anon?
#redbloodedwoman #writing #rockers #bandidos
Yeah, ur so right John. Nazis in russia is the most ridiculous thing I ever seen. Its like their grandparents have lost their lives defending the country and their future and these fuckers undo all that by worshipping the person who killed 9 mio of jews and another 27 mio of Russias. Disgusting.
here is proof!! ;D (referring to ur post tho, not the quote lol)
There is only one THE ONE, and that is ME ;) RBW
- University of CopenhagenDepartment of Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies, Russian Studies, 2009 - 2013
- University of CopenhagenCriminology, 2013
- Artist, model, writer
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