Move over Bandidos. There is a Border Rider in Bellingham

—Bob L.
from March 2005

Some times you just have to laugh—that is once the adrenaline rush is over from watching your life pass before your very eyes.

I started hanging with the Border Riders in the early months of 2003. I had just found myself in unanticipated retirement and purchased a 1997 Harley Sportster. Throughout the spring and summer I attended day runs, meet and greets, and weekend camping runs. It wasn't long before I knew that I wanted to be a member of the club. My buddy, Ryan S. sponsored me that same year. The club voted me in and I received my colors (colours for you BC members) prior to the anniversary dinner in Vancouver, BC. I was excited and proud to me a member of the Border Riders Motorcycle Club. Time was short and I needed to find vest and get the colors sewn on.

The next week I raced down to Bellingham Harley Davidson and purchased my black leather vest. Next stop was the sewing shop in town that does great leather alterations, fabrication, and patchwork. I dropped of the vest and colors. The three day wait seemed like a month. Finally I got the call. The vest was ready. It was the day of the Anniversary Dinner and I was in a hurry.

I arrived at the shop to find a 1967 El Camino parked in the front. It was painted bright yellow with red flames all down the sides. I recognized the vehicle as belonging to the local Bandidos. Now, as some of you guys know, I don't always think things through. Foolishly, I decided to go in to get my colors.

Inside I found not only the owner of the vehicle, a very big person, but George, the International President of the Bandidos. I knew George from Bellingham Harley store in town, of which he is an owner. Both his driver and George would top the scales at 280 or so and are about as wide in the shoulders as the Peace Arch.

George and the other Bandidos were talking with the shop owner. I patiently waited, trying my best to be invisible.

The shop owner concluded his business with George and returned with my vest. He wisely placed it on the far end of the counter, away from George. I then stood between George and the vest, and tried to conclude my business there ASAP.

George turned and walked around the back of me and up to the counter. He leaned his big belly against the counter and stared at my vest and studied the colors. He deeply growled, "hmmmm, hmmmm" for what seemed an eternity. Time stopped and I am sure I heard a whimper from deep within my chest.

Finally, George turned and looked my in the eyes, expressionless. No, I think there was an expression. The cold stare of death that reminded me that I was unarmed (this is America, eh?).

George and his escort left the shop.

I paid my bill and turned for the door. Outside I could see the two Bandidos waiting for me.

I knew there must be a back door, but I had parked my bike right next to their vehicle. (Remember me mentioning that I don't think things through?) Time to face the music.

I walked out and George ordered, "Come over here." Gulp. He asked who the Border Riders were, and were they setting up in the area. Through chattering teeth and shallow breath I told him that it was a recreational motorcycle club that had members in Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver, BC. I proudly told him that tonight was the 33rd anniversary party.

George demanded, "You mean to tell me a motorcycle club has been around 33 years and I have never heard of them?"

I told him that it was a small club. He dismissed that comment. George told me that it was his business to know what clubs were in his area.

Time to fess up. I said, "George, Border Riders is a small club and the members are Gay men motorcyclists."

I knew the crappolla was about to hit the fan. George smiled a big scruffy grin and chuckled. He looked at his Bandido driver and laughed. His driver looked skyward with great disgust and dove into the driver seat. George turned back to me with a hearty laugh and said, "Well ya got me on that one," extended his hand for a shake, and rode away in the Bandido-mobile.

I stood there on shaky knees wondering why, of all Border Riders, do these things happen to me?

Copyright Border Riders Motorcycle Club The Border Riders Motorcycle Club provides social and educational opportunities for members and other gay men interested in recreational motorcycle touring. The club promotes motorcycle safety and education, on safe and legal machinery, following all applicable laws and regulations.
Border Riders, the Club Insignia (also known as the Club Colors), and the Charter Colors are trademarks of the Border Riders Motorcycle Club, Inc.
Click here for information on the BRMC privacy policies.