members of reno-area motorcycle clubs consider

themselves patriotic americans. that's why they're

infuriated by laws that lump them with gangs and
terrorists
by deidre pike
riders fly up west fourth street, engines roaring. veer into a parking lot, lub-lubbing, and
maneuver machines into the rows of harleys behind mi casa too in reno. the bikers weave
their way through the bar. customers glance up and see worn patches, leather, long hair,
tattoos. they don't stare. they get right back to their margaritas.
downstairs, a large room is jammed with the members of around 20 motorcycle clubs in
northern nevada.
waiters deliver chips, salsa and beer as bikers hold forth on such topics as the cathouse
poker run, a motorcycle tour of nevada brothels that's held every year during street
vibrations, and the loss of comp night at a local strip club.
there's cussing. and praying.
a lanky biker who goes by the moniker gatekeeper takes the hand of his girlfriend, trophy,
and the two invoke a blessing on the enchiladas.
gatekeeper, who has the letters h-a-t-e tattooed on his knuckles, is a member of the
borderline riders, one of several christian groups in the northern nevada confederation of
clubs. gatekeeper explains, "in our club we say, 'it's not what you ride, it's what's inside.'"
a member of a motorcycle club calls the meeting to order. he's sitting next to a bulky,
well-inked biker with long strawberry blond hair and a stunning red beard. this man's the
founder of his royal priesthood, another christian motorcycle club.
roll is taken: "righteous ones ... branded few ... wild bunch ... vietnam vets ... silver
barons ..." everyone's present or accounted for. the booze fighters are upstairs.
"drinking!" someone shouts.
budget items are reviewed -- a donation to we the people, a populist think-tank, and a bill
from moana nursery for flowers sent to the family of a club member who died recently.
then it's on to politics.
who knew bikers cared about such things as maintaining web sites? hiring lobbyists?
assigning their leather-clad brethren to legislative committees?
turns out these guys need to care -- because many feel the freedoms they value are under
attack. invasive laws like the usa patriot act have turned these motorcycle enthusiasts into
activists.
at the meeting, bikers discuss the troublesome proposals in u.s. senate bill 2358 -- aka
american neighborhoods taking the initiative guarding against neighborhood gangs or
anti-gang act 2004.
the bill's goal: "prosecution of members of street gangs, and for other purposes." the
words "for other purposes" have folks worried, along with the definition of street gangs:
o members of any group of three or more people who share "a common name, insignia,
flag, means of recognition, secret signal or code."
o members of groups that have "a common creed, belief, structure, leadership or
command structure, method of operation or criminal enterprise, concentration or
specialty."
o members of groups that have "membership, age or other qualifications, initiation rites,
geographical or territorial sites, boundary, or location or other unifying mark, manner,
protocol, or method of expressing or indicating membership."
nevada motorcycle clubs share names, insignias, creeds and have membership
qualifications, e.g., "must own an american-made motorcycle with a v-twin engine."
"they can take this stuff and turn it around and twist it," warns a confederation member.
"if they consider you a gang member, they can put you in jail for 10 years."
besides fighting federal laws, the confederation also tackles local traffic issues, helmet
laws and, of course, the persistent problem of biker profiling.
gatekeeper, who considers motorcycling part of his ministry for god, says he's been
pulled over for ridiculous offenses.
"cop pulled me over and i said, 'why'd you stop me?' and he said, 'bad posture.'"
a member of the red devils says he's been stopped repeatedly for no reason, he feels, other
than the three patches on the back of his jacket.
"i'm going to go bankrupt if they don't stop pulling me over."
people shouldn't be concerned when they see members of a motorcycle club thundering
down the road, says the chairman of the northern nevada confederation of clubs.
"jesus saves bikers, too," it says on the cover of the biker's new testament. "whether you
run with the pack or ride alone, it's important to know where you're going."
distributed at events like street vibrations, the paperbacks are printed by six area
motorcycle ministries, including his royal priesthood, a club started by rick eckhardt of
sparks. eckhardt came to nevada nearly two decades ago with a group of evangelical
christians who wanted to start a church here. they started a nondenominational church,
and eckhardt started a motorcycle club. the church dissolved. the club didn't.
membership requirements for his royal priesthood aren't much different than those of
other clubs. have to be a guy. have to own an american-made motorcycle. hang around
for a while. become a prospect. prove your deep commitment to the club and become a
brother. members of his royal priesthood also profess christianity. but eckhardt says
they're not pushy about religious matters.
"we let people ask us," eckhardt says. "there are people out there who force it on people.
that doesn't work and it makes people angry. when people see our colors, they know what
we're about. they pull us over and talk to us. we don't give out what my wife would call
'unsolicited advice.'"
the tattoo of a female on his left arm -- that's eckhardt's wife of 16 years "riding her ride."
on his right arm, there's a tattoo of jesus knocking on a door.
speaking of body art, many people can't look past his tattoos, eckhardt says, to see the
images depicted. sometimes he'll walk into an establishment and people are "stand-offish
and maybe afraid."
"my tattoos are nothing scary," he says. "they don't look. they just see the ink."
and do cops stop bikers wearing crosses and jesus patches?
"i've been pulled over for just about every violation there is," eckhardt says. "three-
quarters of the time, it's bogus, and they end up letting me go."
he doesn't expect that the problem of profiling will go away.
"maybe if i rode a [honda] gold wing and didn't have a patch on."
a few years back, harley-davidson sought to patent the sound of its engines. harley
engines have two pistons connected to a crankshaft with one crankpin. this oddity,
combined with the v arrangement of cylinders, means that pistons can't fire at even 360-
degree intervals. instead piston 1 fires, then piston 2 fires at 315 degrees. there's a gap of
405 degrees. the sound you hear is the escape of compressed gas in the cylinder when
each exhaust valve opens.
piston 1, piston 2, gap. po-ta-to, po-ta-to, po-ta-to.
karkas drinks from a plastic cup in the south lake tahoe parking lot. he's wearing the
colors of the brotherhood mc along with many other patches. one says: "fuck off." he's
reflecting on what some bikers refer to as the life.
"it is freedom and doing whatever's right," he says, looking at his drinking partner, h.b.,
who rode in from gardnerville. "isn't it?"
it's early afternoon on a saturday in late august. the brotherhood's hogg wild ix, on
highway 50 across from meek's, is off to a rousing start. a band plays johnny cash covers.
kids climb a portable rock wall, ringing a bell when they reach the top.
"if i had a gun, i'd shoot that bell," grumbles a longtime brotherhood member called
shiloh.
vendors hawk everything from silver jewelry to black thongs with the brotherhood logo --
"they're edible, i swear, just a little chewy!" -- to homemade biker soap in the shapes of
skulls and the christian fish.
the money generated from this year's hogg wild goes to the veterans of post 795. many
brotherhood mc members are vets. skinny bob, 68, served in korea. bob, who also has a
degree in business administration and a minor in nevada history, has been riding
motorcycles since he was 14.
skinny bob calls the patriot act a "knee-jerk reaction to an obvious problem" that can be
used to persecute all kinds of groups who certainly, in their own estimation, aren't
"terrorists."
"the biker community on the whole, nationwide, is as patriotic as any group," bob says.
"there's not one of us who'd hesitate if we had to serve again. we'd go at the drop of a
hat."
"look at what we're wearing," adds brotherhood treasurer john straham, pointing to the
flag on his cut. straham served in bosnia in 1996 and iraq in 2003, where he was
wounded and sent home.
brotherhood members, straham says, are business owners, plumbers and real estate
agents. the club gave thousands to charity last year.
"this is like the elks, the lions, the optimists. it's a fraternity, a group of guys who share
common interests in motorcycles and individual freedom."
straham motions across the parking lot, which is filling up with families.
"look around. people bring their kids ... we're not trying to improve our image. this is who
we are."
sign at a motorcycle clubhouse: "snitches are a dying breed."
sure, there are some cases of crimes committed by members of motorcycle clubs. but
crimes are also committed by members of law enforcement agencies, regas says.
dealing with law enforcement is nothing new for regas.
"i've been put in jail for a christmas card," he says.
some background: in the mid-1990s, 31-year-old regas and his father, jay regas, were
arrested on a plethora of drug charges. their trial lasted 11 months and cost an estimated
$30 million, according to the las vegas review-journal.
"the federal government seized all the assets of 'drug kingpin' jay regas -- $3,000 -- and
ended up giving him more time than manuel noriega," an r-j editorial said wryly.
jay regas is serving a life sentence in a california prison. a jury found troy regas, who'd
been charged with enough misdeeds to generate a possible 450-year sentence, guilty of
"conspiracy" and "continuing criminal enterprise."
jay regas, writing from prison, tells his side of the story at the november coalition
("working to end drug war injustice") web site: "i was convicted ... without ever having
been observed in any criminal activity, without my name or voice heard on any tapes,
without having any records of drug activities, without any weapons, without assets,
money or any drugs."
of the government's 22 witnesses, the elder regas claims, he and his son were the only
gainfully employed individuals who didn't have police records of drug activities or
weapons or any "opulent assets."
those who testified against the father and son were "allowed to keep their assets and their
freedom for their cooperation with the government."
when troy regas got out of prison, he sent a christmas card to a fellow inmate. he was
tossed back in for three months.
"if people know us, they like us, and that's probably the best thing i can say," regas says.
"we're always there to help each other," regas says. "you know it's like that thing -- in
sickness and in health, we're there for each other."