FALL-OUT
“If we’re offensive and pose a threat/You fear what we represent is a mess/You’ve missed the message/That says it all/And you’ll never know why.” (Ozzy Osborne).
As Bikerdom had exploded during the late 1950’s and early 60’s, the blast continued through the 70’s, culminating in a fall-out that showered the biking world. The generation gap was being filled in tiers of fashions and ideologies that pushed after one another. It seemed that the genuine motorcycling fraternity was disappearing under a sea of outlawry and fashion. According to academic analyses, the 1970’s were a sold-out ruin filled with glam and glitter. A fun factor was predominant in chart music, pushing protest songs and rock music off the top slot. Outlaw violence and Hippy drug abuse were wearing thin as headline stories. As the dream of power to the people appeared to be crumbling, a lack of media attention seemed to indicate a decline in motorcycle enthusiasm. The rush created by Rockers, Outlaws and similar groups seemed over as far as mainstream society was concerned, but there were still people who chose not to ‘grow up’ - in other words, conform. To them, adulthood and responsibility were not excuses to hack away their identities or deny themselves the pleasure of living.
A compulsory crash helmet flattens big hair. Such fashionable dictates had put many youths into cars and other popular pursuits since the 60’s, but the underground was very much alive. Performers like Jefferson Airplane, The Ground Hogs, Bob Dylan, The Move and countless others provided musical derivations with their own scenes; as did the writings of Nostradamus, Lyle Watson, Kurt Von Dannegut, Carlos Casteneda and Aldous Huxley. Yet other authors were explaining how to read the Tarot and I Ching. Meanwhile, a martial arts fad kept the association of youth and violence alive. Some people were searching for meanings in life, while others were just out having fun. Magazines like Oz, International Times and The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers were passed between Bikers and Hippies. The unimportant crowd had sold out, but the thinking movements were enriched beyond belief. Living in these times was like paradise, if you ignored the growing unemployment and international conflict.
Biking publications included adverts for T-shirts designed around cartoonesque skeletons, bikini-clad females, and photographic stills from the film Easy Rider. Others showed actress Brigitte Bardot draped over a bike. Some were adorned with phrases like Milwaukee Mama and Asphalt Animal. There were also advertisements from firms selling arcane paraphernalia. The assumed biking image was being sold back to the Bikers.
Vietnam and Cambodia had seen outbreaks of war with deep reaching psychological and political affectations. Soldiers in Vietnam were using rock music, marijuana and LSD to try to alleviate the pressures of war in the jungle. Out of all this came another generation of war-torn societal misfits. In the US, groups of ex-military Bikers were again finding solace in each other’s company. The whole phenomenon of rehabilitation was once more, at the centre of concern. For those still able to ride, the biking seemed like good therapy, if it wasn’t already their lifestyle. The war veteran’s appearance often followed the denim and leather route, and they wore patches. By now, this look was a damning stereotype. But as with most biking organisations, biking was what they were all about.
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Motorcycle racing managed to retain a level of recruitment through heroes like Giacomo Agostini and Barry Sheene, who replaced previous heroes like Mike ‘The Bike’ Hailwood. He had ridden the Italian MV Augusta multi-cylinder bikes successfully, and had also popularised the Japanese Honda. Many Hailwood Replicas were sold, riding on his domination of the TT. At local levels, grass-track and speedway were going into decline. The impromptu competitions were also disappearing, under a sea of legislation, driven by the wave of expanding urban sprawl. It was urbanity - a result of modernity - that incited more protest.
The 70’s were concluded with another youth-flavoured alternative explosion, that of the Punks. They were primarily anti-establishment, with songs about suburbia being performed by such as the Clash and the Stranglers. Self-denigration was prominent, and the body piercings and plastic bin bags were rapidly taken up by the culture vultures and fashion designers. Hippy hair-colouring was put in the shade by luminescent Mohican styles, and while the bands were using the graunch of heavy rock for a base, Punks also began wearing the tattiest bike jackets they could find. A new generation was proud to call themselves Punk-Rockers.
The 80’s bike scene ripped in not only on muscle bikes, but on the 250 and 350cc Yamaha LCs - heralding the cult of the Elsie. They were basically racing bikes for the people, available in the high street. Aboard such disgustingly fast and inexpensive machines, some Punks (would they prefer punks with a small ‘p’?) got into biking, and some Bikers got into Punk. Before you could say Margaret Thatcher, Bikers at rallies could be heard singing: “I am an anarchist.”
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In keeping with the degenerate Punk taste, survivalist and rat bikes began to be appreciated. The rat bike looks like it was rescued from a breaker’s yard. Its life has been sustained by makeshift means, replacing lost or damaged items with household or other borrowings. There are those who claim that the rat is British - there are no models of American or other nationality that are true rats. As time passes, everything ages, and any bike can become of the type, if not worthy of the name. What the rat often states is that the owner is not an artist or mechanic in the sense of the flash customiser. Daubs of underseal replace dragons, and ignored expanses of rust hide chrome. Tattered seats remain uncovered, and a sense of dilapidation teeters between precious relic and scrap. Squeaky toys and beer cans are their badges of ‘who cares’, while others are work-a-day bikes with nothing added or taken away - they just keep running until they fade... otherwise known as a dog. The latter more often belongs to someone who just uses a motorcycle, the rat being the property of a (perverse?) enthusiast.
The survivalist machines that followed a military theme tend towards a rat appearance using dusky colours, though are often tidier. Some even carry spades and fuel cans, and echo the devices built during the war periods. Of these, there were some that used caterpillar tracks at the rear. Bikes have also had ski-type appendages fitted for snow travel, and other extreme condition/terrain vagaries - including a combo for use on railways - that inspire the survivalist. Wire mesh and matte black items add to the ratesque survival bike that sometimes looks as if it’s just been discovered in a field. This essence of survivalist had arisen partly from green and militant views concerning the future of the planet - and its inhabitants. It was mostly however an essence of urban guerrilla, a freedom fighter - on a bike. Camouflage clothes founded the imagery for this, along with the shemagh - a large tasseled scarf as worn by Israeli and other Eastern peoples. Put on your wrap-around shades, climb aboard your survivalist machine, and what do the public see? The Biker as an international terrorist.
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From the 70’s onwards, the cogency between the multitudes of biking clans - from those in US jails, through European to Antipodean Bikers, was becoming absolute. It was logical that some could see a global community. If it worked at local levels, why not more extensively? No-one protested this, as international relations between motorcyclists had existed since biking began.
It is said that art holds up an image that real life tries to emulate. Celluloid and journalistic art had selected and elected to glorify the cigarette-smoking, drinking, hard on women and the weak, type of coward. Even documentaries were swamped with re-enactments of the down or silly side, performed by actors who scarcely knew the front of a bike from the back. Filmic inaccuracy created a guffaw, not a gasp of awe. Riders would remove the throttle hand, yet the bike would keep going rather than slow down. Actors even neglect to find neutral gear when stopping. Genuine Bikers saw through this mirage.
The earliest fraternities had striven to be sportsman-like, with an unbiased fairness. They had rightly earned their assumed knighthood. When the central core had become a bastion of pride over magnanimity, disenchantment had re-founded the knightly order among the outlaws, Hippy Bikers and café clientele. These younger generations found aspects of genuineness among certain curious adults who behaved outrageously compared with the straights - teachers, parents, et al. It seemed that the original momentum of the biking scene was to be found on the fringes. However, political and legislative issues alone drew most organisations and individuals into a mutually inclusive domain. An acknowledgment of varied tastes went without mention, let alone question. Even Christian Bikers had some good to speak of Outlaws and vice-versa. It was perhaps an embarrassment to some older enthusiasts, who, without any name for themselves beyond motorcyclist, at least felt it. But it was the younger Bikers who had woken up to Biker globality and then declared it. Even so, it remained nameless. The term Bikerdom isn’t hip, but its occasional uttering represented a greater collective than just Biker Nation, whatever. The biking world had continued to expand, flinging itself far and wide. During the 70’s and 80’s, it had drawn back in on itself, becoming concerned not just with the contention from within or outside, but with a greater longing for unity at an emotional level.