Book Review

The Bikeriders
By Danny Lyon
(San Francisco: First Chronicle Books, 2003. 128 pp.
$22.95, ISBN 0811841618.)

Eric Primm

"Before Harleys were cool, there were the Bikeriders".

In an age in which millions tune in to the Discovery Channel each week to watch the drama that is Orange County Choppers, and the motorcycle has been elevated to a work of art (The Art of the Motorcycle exhibit at the Guggenheim), one can hardly imagine a time when motorcycles were not sexy and glamorous, bestowing status and prestige to their leather-clad masters. Once upon a time, the low rumblings of two-wheeled machines rapidly approaching from behind caused more than a bit of apprehension for a family out on their Sunday drive. It was also commonplace to hear, “Don’t stare honey. Just keep walking,” as a mother hurriedly crossed the street, child in tow, to avoid the “unsavory” characters milling around in front of the local beer joint discussing cubic inches and carburetion. This is the era that Danny Lyon captures in The Bikeriders. Certainly, the world Lyon presents is romantic, but it is hardly sexy; it is raw and sometimes downright filthy.

Lyon collected the material for his photo-documentary work between the years 1963 and 1967 “in an attempt to record and glorify the life of the American bikerider” (5). This 2003 edition of The Bikeriders (which was originally published in 1968) includes 29 previously unpublished photographs, 14 of which are in color. The book is broken into two main sections: the first consisting of photographs, the second of text (transcribed tape recordings), with an epilogue of additional photographs.

One of the strengths of this work is Lyon’s obvious knowledge of his subjects and the realm in which they lived. At the time, the general public, those outside the world of motorcycling, made no distinction between the varieties of motorcyclists and motorcycle clubs. Nevertheless, most of those who preferred to travel through life on two wheels were keenly aware of the differences and the uneasy coexistence between the factions. The groups the author documents are the racers and the outlaws. In the introduction, Lyon explains that most bike races “are sanctioned by the American Motorcycle Association … [and] membership in the AMA is required in order to participate in the events … There are and have been for many years … motorcycle clubs whose members are so far in spirit from attitudes of the AMA that they neither want nor could receive AMA sanction. These are known as outlaw clubs” (6). The AMA and the racers resented the “black eye” outlaw clubs and their members gave the sport of motorcycling, and outlaws seemed to resent everyone and everything.

The images and text from the racers take the reader back to a time before motorcycle racing was big business and before each racer had an entourage. This is a time when almost anyone with a little ability and even less sense could hop on a bike and see how far they could press the limits of their skill and luck on the track. One sixteen-year-old racer explains: “My dad’s never laid a hand on any of my bikes, you know. He tells me if you’re going to ride you’re going to race, you’re going to do all your own work. Says … if something breaks in a race ... You’ll know how to fix it” (79).

Lyon’s best work, however, is his treatment of the outlaws. This is perhaps because the lives and antics of outlaws tend to be more “colorful,” or maybe it is because of his closeness to these people, having joined and rode with the Chicago Outlaws Motorcycle Club during 1965 and 1966. What I found most interesting in the author’s photography of the Chicago Outlaws is the transformation in appearance that occurred. The outlaw motorcyclist and outlaw culture were evolving during the 1960s, and Lyon captured this on film. In the early photos his subjects were not too dissimilar in appearance from the racing crowd. That changed. Hair started to grow longer and shaggier, and though their hair was still oiled, the outlaws appeared to have switched from Pomade and Brylcreem to motor oil and bearing grease. More and more tattoos appeared, and their bikes became longer, leaner, higher, and seemingly more impossible to ride.

The text portion devoted to the outlaws is just as illuminating. At various points I was envious, saddened, sickened, amused, and confused. In the preface to this edition Lyon says his favorite storyteller was Kathy “who didn’t even ride a motorcycle but was married to Bennie, a member of the Outlaws” (2). In various stories she describes first encountering the Outlaws, her volatile and abusive relationship with Bennie, and being at a party in Milwaukee where she was nearly gang raped. My favorite account is that of Zipco who talks of trying (unsuccessfully) to join the service, and offers an “interesting” take on college and college students: “I don’t want no college pinko in my family. ’Cause I can’t stand ’em” (63).

The people documented in The Bikeriders are quite literally from a different era, and I find this refreshing. In stark contrast to a day and age when it seems as though everyone is clamoring for their “fifteen minutes of fame,” Lyon’s subjects are not posed, polished, nor fawning for the attention of the camera. They seek neither glamour nor notoriety, but merely the freedom of the road, the thrill of the ride, and the joy (and pain) that lies just over the horizon.

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