0060937548 by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-10T18:48:12+00:00

8

RUNNING

THROUGH THE

JUNGLE,

PORTERVILLE,

AND SHOOTING

POOL WITH AN

AUTOMATIC

In the beginning days of the Hell’s Angels, we really didn’t travel any great distances. We rarely rode outside of the state of California.

We rode around Oakland. A trip to San Jose—fifty miles away—and back was considered a long trip. Five-hundred-mile rides to places like San Bernardino during the late fifties—man, now that was an adventure! You were special on the highway. It was rare if you saw another motorcyclist on the road. You’d wave. That’s how many bike riders there were when I first started the club.

Today, the USA Run is one of the annual Hell’s Angel events.

Every member who can get away for a couple of weeks tries to go. It usually takes a week to ride cross-country and a week or so to get back home, with a few days in between at the site. USA Runs are held in the middle of the country for convenience. The American East Coast clubs will sponsor the run one year, and the West Coast hosts the next. There are also World Runs, which are held in Europe one year and in the States the next. Sometimes it’s in Australia, Canada, or Brazil. If it’s sponsored in the United States, we try to combine our USA Run with the World Run.

Bass Lake was one of our favorite places to go on runs. Only fourteen miles from the entrance of Yosemite National Park, Bass Lake is seven miles from the exact center of California, making it 104 / Ralph "Sonny" Barger

nearly equal distance from San Francisco and Los Angeles. It was the ideal, centralized spot in the wilderness for all the different chapters to meet.

During the early Bass Lake Runs, we traveled light. No sleeping bags; a bag looked uncool on the back of your bike. If you had an old lady on the back of your bike, where was the room? There were no tents or provisions, and staying in a motel—well, forget it. Besides, even if we had the money, who the hell would give rooms to a pack of Hell’s Angels? Instead, we just pulled over to the side of the road and after a little partying we’d sleep where we fell. We built big-ass bonfires at night and would wake up covered with ashes and smelling like burned wood.

We settled a lot of bad blood between members at the Bass Lake Runs. If you had a beef with somebody in the club that had not been settled, then you knew you were going to settle it up with them there. What better time to take care of it? No cops around, just Angels going toe to toe, crossing swords.

Another favorite Oakland Hell’s Angel pastime was the Bakersfield drags. Other clubs had their patches, and while there were lots of motorcycle clubs in California—especially ones out of the Los Angeles area—going to the drags, we were different. Forty or fifty of us would get on our bikes and leave the clubhouse together. When we’d show up in Bakersfield, the people’s reaction was off the fucking map.

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