Hells Angels MC Good As Gold Brisbane Poker Run

When the opportunity to ride with the Hells Angels MC Brisbane raised its head, Jezebel was there in a heart-beat.

BEING A girl riding a bike in a predominantly man’s world isn’t always easy, but I do my fair share not to threaten their egos or offend their pride. That’s not always easy being a girl who has her own money, her own bike and her own opinions.

I was talking to a few guys who I ride with every now and then about going to the Good as Gold Poker Run in Brisbane. Most of them belong to one social club or another and they were all saying they would be arrested if they went. I listened to their concerns but secretly I was thinking about what to wear and if there would be any spunky guys there. Playing boys off against each other, flirting and capturing the hunk of the day, is a good day out for a girl working her magic in her mischievous ways.

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I know men and bikes. I grew up around them; lots of them. My dad rode with a now obsolete West Australian 1970s patch club. My three brothers all had varying degrees of bikes from chook chasers to old rigid choppers and sports bikes all competing for dad’s approval or displeasure depending on what faze they were going through.

But the shining star in amongst this tide of testosterone was daddy’s little girl. Being the youngest and the baby of the family, I got to see my brothers’ mistakes and watched in awe at some of the dad’s reactions at my brothers’ teenage antics, busted bikes and broken bones from drunken police chases and stints in the watch-house.

All of this influencing an impressionable young girl.

Of course dad and his mates were having a huge impact on me too, no matter how much mum tried to persuade me otherwise with bribes of shopping sprees, new dresses, girlie magazines and dolls. I could not shake the lure of the old man’s shed or the clubhouse with its smell of cigarettes, stall beer, fuel and oil.

So when the opportunity to go for a ride with the Hells Angels MC Brisbane raised its head, Hell, I was there in a heart-beat — the

threat of getting arrested only intensifying my desire to rub shoulders with the best known MC in the world.

How pleasantly surprised I was when I turned up at the Brisbane clubhouse on Saturday morning. There was a good cross-section of old and young men and women there. Approx 140 bikes and at least 200-plus people were going on the ride. There were woman and kids everywhere, mostly spectators to witness the bikes leave, but several girls on their own bikes and many as pillions. Well, I won’t be alone if I feel like talking to any of the sisterhood about cooking, kids, or who is the best looking guy here.

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The gates to the clubhouse were open and people were milling in and out. The clubrooms themselves were closed, apparently part of the previous Government’s attempt to stop criminal activities (all seems rather criminal to me, closing a motorcycle clubhouse).

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There was a stall selling run shirts and the well-known 81 Support wear. The lovely blonde promo girl talked me into parting with my $25 for a nice girls tank-top; the beginning of what could be my 81 Supporters collection — and maybe a new boyfriend all compliments of the poker run.

It appeared that only two actual patch members were there. One of them got on a loud-hailer and gave us an idea about the day’s ride and touched on some political stuff. I wasn’t really listening as I was focused on the huge bald guy standing next to him.

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Anyway, while I’m off in pixie-land dreaming about boys, everyone starts getting ready to leave. It was only then that I noticed the amount of cops in unmarked four-wheel-drives and a helicopter hovering overhead.

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The excitement and butterflies in my stomach of going on the ride soon made me forget about any cops or getting arrested, and as it turned out, the concerns of my male friends who didn’t come were completely unfounded. Not a single person was arrested, although I think a few got some defect notices and the odd traffic ticket. Fortunately, I wasn’t one of them as the bike is still registered in WA and passed all the requirements there.

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The first leg of the run got us out into the country pretty quickly. I gathered we were heading for the mountains in the south. Soon the twisting, turning corners tucked in amongst the rainforest trees gave us a reason to stay alert. 

I must say most of the those on the ride were considerate and conscience of those around them. Quite different from some rides I’d been on interstate as I worked my way across Australia several months earlier.

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A good 20 km of this delightful cambered bitumen, which my bike managed to get through with ease, bought us out in a quaint country town. It looked like the whole town was there to greet us; everyone was so nice.

Now I’m used to some pretty strange names for towns being from over in the West, but Woodenbong really takes the cake for the funniest name. 

I thought it was time to get a beer. I’m not a big drinker but what’s a girl to do — only way to strike up a conversation — and before you know it, guys were asking me about my bike and how long I had been riding and commenting on how I got through the corners as quickly as most. All the usual banter disguised as niceties but we all know what they really wanted.

We stayed for an hour or so, and on leaving, I decided to make my way up the front of the pack as I’d stayed down the back on the first leg. Of course, not too far up front, or too quickly, just slowly progress my way up there.

We went back the way we had come from for about 5 km then headed south-east further into NSW. It was the first time I’d been in this country and it reminded me of the south-west corner of WA. Huge gums and tree ferns as-green-as and postcard pretty.

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It wasn’t long before we came down out of the rainforest, through several small villages, and arrived at our second stop in Lismore.

Three hours after we had started on the run, I finally got to talk to a member, the big bald guy I’d been spying off at the beginning. Jeff is a big man with an air about him of someone you don’t want to cross. He works in construction and looks like it. I did get his number even through he said he had a missus, not that I cared.

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I spent the next hour asking Jeff every silly girlie question a girl could ask; he would either shrug his shoulders or give me a single word answer like “yes” or “no”. One thing he did enquire about was my bike.

I’ve owned lots of bikes over the 20 odd years I’d been riding. More than my share, actually, upgrading from one to the next as you do. The bike I was riding now was one I had just purchased before leaving my native state of WA about six months previously. A silver and black 2013 Harley Low Rider I got off a Maori who was working in Port Hedland on a gas project. He hadn’t passed a random urine test one day, lost his job and needed to get rid of the bike ASAP. A friend had told me about his dilemma and that he needed to get back across the ditch to NZ.

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So I wore a low-cut top, short skirt and batted my eyes like daddy’s good girl and literally screwed him on the price; getting it for $6000 less than he paid for it with $7000 in extras, only 10,000 km on it and still under warranty. I felt sorry for him and would have slept with him except for the daunting shadow cast by the mountain of an islander woman who never let him out of her sight.

My bargaining and bike buying skills seemed to get Jeff’s approval.

The ride from Lismore to the next and final stop in Murwillmbah took us along the tourist route through Ocean Shores; more nice winding stuff for the boy racer in all of us; going from occupied suburbia to farm lots then large acreage blocks mostly overgrown with lantana and groundsel; with cows and orchards lining the road on both sides as we whisked on by.

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I’d managed to work my way up through the pack by now, overtaking most of those riding except the members and prospects and several other clubs members from the Odin’s Warriors and the Gladiators. A girl’s game and up for whatever but overtaking patch members isn’t one of them fearless things you do.

We arrived at Murwillmbah where the winning hands were determined and prizes handed out. Great prizes like matching men’s and woman’s leather jackets supplied by the local Harley dealer, Gasoline Alley, on the south side Brisbane.

A gift designed for a charity was determined by a draw and nominated by the winner. A rider called Johnny drew the ticket and nominated the Make A Wish Foundation as his charity to receive the donation.

I managed to speak to a few other club members and prospects and their old ladies at this stop. What a friendly and welcoming group of people. I even got invited to an upcoming party.

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The master of ceremonies for the day, Terry, was the funniest one of them all. With a devilish smile and a blackest sense of humor, he had all those within ear-shot in stitches all day.

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I’ve never been on an Hells Angels run before, but after this one, I’m going on them all in the future. Roll on Good As Gold next year.

written by Jezebel

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