Smokin' Boss Hoss
I’VE HAD all sorts of motorbikes, a few Harleys—I used to drag race one with NOS; I loved the power!—but this time I wanted something different.
I still remember the first time I sat on it. I cranked over that engine—the awesome noise, the torque throwing it from side to side as it idled, the big lumpy cam—it just got my adrenalin going big time. I put it into gear, rolled on the throttle, and I haven’t stopped grinning since.
You know it will do 200 km/h in the blink of an eye, and if you want it to, it will lay rubber all the way too.
I reckon I have only ever hit three-quarter throttle—even then it wants to rip your arms out of their sockets, or pull the handlebars off and you just keep wondering how good are the bolts in these handlebars. The J forces, especially with an open face helmet and wearing sunglasses, are sensational—you hit 200 km/h and you’re still only in first gear. Bang it into second gear it leaps away smoking up the tyre!
Your balls must be big to ride this bike. I’ve some mates who ride bikes and they don't even want to sit on it; they’re that intimidated by it. But I just love it. You know, I just look at it in the garage every morning before I go to work and I can't believe this—I’m the luckiest man in the world.
The road in front of the clubhouse had onlookers from surrounding factories admiring the large variety of custom rides—an enthusiast’s candy shop. You could tell this was going to be one hell of a ride…
Lone Wolf MC
Road Rage Run
words & pics by Chris Nilsson
THESE DAYS the publican and the bikie are great mates! With the invention of the poker run, it has brought the biker closer to the public—the sight and sound of a large pack of bikes converging on a pub no longer sends fear down the drinker’s spine; it is more likely a draw card with people coming from near and far, even waiting for the arrival of the pack like a reception party. The pubs are usually a buzz by the time the pack rocks up.
The Lone Wolf MC is steeped in history and has an iconic image in Australian biker folk law. The Lone Wolf old boys of the club project yesteryear’s biker image, with their dress and character reflecting the likes of the Aussie cult movie Stone. We had Arm, Merve and Burt, with 82 years between them in the club, sporting their original denim cut-off vests and patches of 30 years. Arm tells me founding member Sy, of Sy’s Harley-Davidson, still wears his cut-off of 36 years; and five of the top 10 still wear their denim cut-offs. The majority of the club (the young blokes) are supporting leathers. Arm is fine with that explaining, “It is the 21st century.”
It was a day of celebration for the boys. Burt celebrated the coming of age of his son Jake and his membership to the club. At age 14 Jake told his old man he was going to be a member, and at 21 he’s just that, making Burt a happy old man. Arm also celebrated his anniversary. Burt and Arm graced the cover of Ozbike 21 years ago; Arm made the cover twice and be warned, boss (Skol), he’s gunning for his third. Arm likes to think of the old boys as old timers in a different century—having a fuckin’ good time still!
Back to the run…
The 3rd Annual Lone Wolf Road Rage Run begins at The Lone Wolf Mt Druitt clubhouse. The first leg takes in Sydney’s M7 and M5 to The Bangor Tavern in Sydney’s south. The Bangor is a small tavern with a carpark servicing the local supermarket and small shopping centre. You could imagine the faces of the Saturday morning shoppers when a pack of a couple of hundred bikes rock up, jamming up the carpark. The welcoming party of local drinkers were there in numbers to take in the show.
Time for a beer and a feed and it’s off to the legendary Viking Tavern, or as it is known today, The Palms at Milperra, site of the Fathers Day massacre.
From here we head homeward stopping at the Mt Druitt Inn. The run, up until now, has been in 30 degree heat so it was only natural the sky would open up with lightning and torrential rain for the home leg. The pub was a welcome sight. Time to dry off and throw back a schooner or two.
The Wolf had pre-arranged a wet T-shirt comp with 500 bucks prize money. The pub was packed with onlookers but no contestants so it was a couple of quick schooners and back to the clubhouse for some not so secret bloke business. The rain was still falling but it wasn’t going to dampen our resolve to complete the run and thank fuck it didn’t!
The clubhouse was warm with a well-stocked bar and the girls from Allsorts stripping off for the jelly wrestling. The sight of naked women wrestling and knocking the shit out of each other was well worth the admission price.
If you’re reading this story and you’ve got a licence but no bike, here’s tip from my new mate Michael. Michael hired himself a Lowrider for the weekend for a couple of hundred bucks and reckons it was money well spent—all the fun without the overheads. So really there’s no excuse! Get your arse on a run!
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