Sunday July 20: I don't sleep well on airplanes; especially when I have to sit next to a space-hogging suit-and-tie type. I originally booked a seat in front of the center bulkhead, but got moved at the last minute. Nothing to do but wait out the hours- contorted like a deformed fetus in my economy-class seat, and reading magazines written in a language other than my own.
My flight companions Tom, Rennie and Trish were in other parts of the plane. Tom and Rennie lucked out and were given free seat upgrades; Trish was on her own (like me), and blessed with having to sit next to a group of boneheads who had already taken her window seat. Trish likes her window seats however, so an argument ensued with some young ladies named Eva and Herta. "Eva" and "Herta" assumed (without asking) that Trish would willingly give up the use of her window seat, so more of their entourage could sit closer together. This scenario of Trish giving up her window seat was not going to happen, never, not in a million years. Trish ousted the offending passenger and sat in her assigned seat. But, the hassle wasn't over for her, because "Eva" and company tried to make her stay as miserable as possible for the entire flight. Trish is very resourceful however and managed to secretly place a few ice cubes into Eva's personal space (during nap time). Canadians know their ice, and are resourceful with its use. More power to Trish.
After 6 hours we started to descend, we were finally over Dutch air space and near to Amsterdam. I looked out the window during our final approach and thought that it must have rained. I could see all these smooth shiny streets crisscrossing the landscape. Then something struck me- there were funny-looking cars on these streets. Of course, this is John Brain the idiot, seeing things that aren't really there. These weren't shiny rained-on streets I was looking at, but canals! I promised myself never to tell anyone about my initial perception of Holland's landscape, I raise enough eyebrows as it is, and I don't need to help it along any further.
I didn't bring my own bike on this trip; it's too big and heavy for international travelling. But I did bring a bike. I brought along the Wasaga prize bike, for fellow Chopadero club member "UFO" (pronounced uu-foh). All this worked out well, and Rhalf at the "Chopperdome" graciously lent me the use of a cool "Basman" cruiser during my time at the FBI. Everyone worked together to make things right, it made life a little easier for us all.
From the airport we made our way to the Chopperdome- Sunday morning Amsterdam time. The truck's bed was full of boxes and luggage, and I was exhausted, having had virtually no sleep for the previous 36 hours. Luckily, it didn't take long to get to the store. We all dragged the Canadian bike containers to the back of the building for assembly, then I wandered around the Chopperdome showroom like a kid in a candy store. Here was the ultimate in kustom cycling pleasure, a room full of springer forks, kustom painted frames, unique pedal sets in glass cases, and fully assembled bikes. This was a real kustom bike Mecca before my weary eyes.
Rhalf's wife Kitty greeted us and said to me "you look tired John", I told her that I was ready to keel over. "I think you would like to rest", she said, I told her she hit the nail on the head. If I didn't get some sleep I was going to be in big trouble. Rhalf and Kitty took me across the street to their house, gave me a quick tour, and showed me where my bed would be for the next 10 days. I was grateful that it was in their basement where it was quiet and dark. I thanked them and lay down on the mattress. Within moments I was out.
I woke to the feeling of fur on my face, and purring. Then a strong little voice piped up from the stairs and barked "Roootsie!", at which point the light came on. I lifted my head and saw a little boy on the staircase. I said "Hello, you must be Yoda?" Yoda is the 4- year old son of Rhalf and Kitty. The response from him was firm, and in Dutch, like he was wondering who this person was - sleeping in his basement in the middle of the day. He sat down on the stairs and starting talking to me, although exactly what he was saying I didn't know. I kept hearing the word "Rootsie" being used. I looked at him and said "Rootsie?" Then I looked at the black cat lying on my pillow, and said to it "you must be Rootsie?" I sat up and picked up the limp cat, still purring, and offered it to Yoda. The boy jumped to the bottom of the stairs and with a flurry of words grabbed the cat out of my hands. Yoda looked at me cautiously and started talking some very serious Dutch. He then turned around and rushed up the stairs. A minute or two later Kitty called down to me and asked if I was rested. I told her I was, and that I had just met Yoda. She said "yes" that Yoda had just approached her to say that there was a "lady" in the basement with long hair and a beard. To which she smiled, and said "Oh no Yoda, that's no bearded lady, that's John Brain!"
There were just a few days to go before the official beginning of the FBI. Rhalf gave me a tour of the official bike build-off site, which was just down the street and across the road from the Chopperdome. This build-off pavilion was actually an empty butcher shop with a fully tiled floor. Donor bikes in all shapes and sizes were piled up against the walls, and a welding machine was off to one side near the back. The "build-off" was a new idea for the FBI and looked like it had potential. The plan was for three teams of builders to each make a cool bike to haul assorted cargo, and handle two people riding at the same time. Various races were to be held later on in the week. Spain, Holland and Canada were slated as the official teams taking part in the build off. Before leaving I gathered up a few donor bikes that I thought had potential, and tucked them in a corner. Tom "the bomb" and myself formed the Canadian contingent of this event, which would prove to be more complicated than we could have imagined, mostly due to a few unforeseen monkey wrenches thrown into our plans. Ah, but what the hell, this was Amsterdam and the FBI- good things were going to happen!
My Canadian travel mates took the train out of Amsterdam to meet UFO and "Sick Nick" in the Dutch town of Hengelow for a two day party. This gave me the opportunity to rest and venture down to the center of Amsterdam to see what I could see. Rhalf and Kitty set me up with a 7-speed "Basman" cruiser from the Chopperdome. I was a little worried about Amsterdam's reputation for bike thefts, I didn't want the Basman to go missing while I was walking around sightseeing.
Rhalf and Kitty van Heusden, of Chopperdome.
Yoda van Heusden
and Dad Rhalf.
Rhalf said "no problem" and came up with the most enormous lock and chain I have ever seen. No protection is infallible, but this set up was going to make it a lot harder for some jerk to steal the bike.
I was given directions to the center of Amsterdam, and how to get back. The great thing about Amsterdam is how flat the terrain is. The only hills you'll meet are in the form of bridges crossing the canals. This day would prove to be my only time free to venture into the city and I wanted to make the most of it. I headed out from the Chopperdome with the lock and chain in a shoulder bag. During my ride I noticed the buildings on the outskirts of town were interesting, but as I traveled on towards Amsterdam's core I could really get a sense of the city's history. Not only that but it felt really good being in a place where the bicycle is "king". Unlike cities in North America, Amsterdam is totally bicycle- oriented. The infrastructure is more than bike friendly - it totally embraces pedal power as the ideal form of transportation. I really got the feeling that cars in Amsterdam were the second-class citizens of the road. Bike paths were everywhere, and were often protected from cars by curbed barriers, and bikes often have their own traffic signals at many of the intersections.
I could have ridden all day checking out the beauty of Amsterdam's core, but felt that I should park and make it around by foot. I was looking for a guarded bicycle compound someone told me about, near one of the big museums downtown. I stumbled upon it after going down a few streets too many. What surprised me was that it was half empty, it seems that most people were content to park out on the street wherever they could, in order to save about $1.50 in parking fees. The attendant was a big Samoan who was fascinated by the Basman bike, he kept saying "My god, I have never seen such a bike" and "where can I get one?" I could see where he was coming from- Amsterdam has more bicycles per square inch than any other country in the world (except maybe for China; but they don't count). His reaction seemed to be in keeping with the look I got from many people who saw me out riding that day. In this large European city, with its millions of bikes, the one I was riding clearly stood out in a crowd. People noticed the Basman.
The attendant also liked the fact that I was from Canada, and asked if I had ever seen a polar bear. I told him I saw one only once, at the Toronto zoo. "Okay" he said; then pointed to a stone archway about half a block away and commented "this is where you need to pass through" I said "really?" "Oh yes" he said "whatever you are looking for in Amsterdam you will find it through that gate". Intrigued I took his advice.
Through the archway I went. The streets became narrower and quieter. People of many different nationalities stood quietly in recessed doorways. Two men smoked a hookah on a little round table in front of one building. It seemed a little darker too; the lanes were so close that not a lot of sunlight was getting though. I went around another corner unsure of where I was and found myself nose to nose with a young lady in a bikini. She stood leaning against an open doorway, and greeted my presence with a sly smile and one raised eyebrow. I no longer had to guess where I was; I had passed though the stone archway and landed right in the middle of Amsterdam's red light
district. After a moment she said "You are passing through?" I said "yes, just passing through", she noticed the Canadian flag on my denim vest and handed me her card "we give discounts to Canadians"; I said "oh?" She said "we love Canadians here". I laughed and said "I bet you do!" "Come and visit any time" she insisted. I said "Thanks for the card "put it into my top pocket and resumed my journey. Looking behind I could see her still looking my way with a smile; I said to myself, "now that's what I call a real professional". I saved the card and gave it to a fellow Chopadero member later on, as a humorous souvenir.
I passed though the rest of the red light district fairly quickly. It was like a Disneyworld of vice, and seemed to attract a similar kind of crowd as the Florida resort. Families sauntered through with baby strollers. Fathers had big smiles while leading their dumbfounded wives and kids by the shops; looking at each other in wonder while they peered through store windows filled with silicone accessories and pornographic playing cards. I wonder if the experience showed up on any kids "How I spent My Summer Vacation" essays when they returned to grade school that September? We'll never know.
I proceeded out of the vice district and headed towards a big center square. Buskers and fire-eaters were giving quite a show, along with a bunch of guys dressed like statues. These things were not of interest to me. I was looking for something a little more unusual. Across from the square in large bold letters was "Madame Tussauds" wax museum, I thought it would be a good diversion after exiting from the red- light district, so I went in. I was a little taken aback by the price, about 30 Euros, but, what the hell I thought. The museum was very good, I was especially happy to see a figure of the English comedian Benny Hill inside, my favourite. George Bush's dummy seemed unreal and a bit dense, quite realistic however. Along with these individuals were historical types like Rembrandt with his wild mustache. I was hoping that they would have an effigy of Boris Karloff, but they didn't have one; so, I had to settle for the equally scary personage of Michael Jackson, minus chimp or chicken.
I finally exited the wax museum with the intent of finding my desired destination out west of the core; at least I thought it was out west. So I walked, and walked; my feet feeling the pain of the distance. I sat down next to the canal along the road and re-examined my little map, it appeared that my destination was just across the street around a corner. I dodged a pedal cab on my way over, turned the corner, and found myself on a low rent street facing an unimpressive view of a canal. Was I right? Was I lost? No. I ventured down the quiet street and spied my destination a few buildings ahead. The wooden sign and dingy building welcomed all comers. Here before me was the famous "Amsterdam torture museum", in the flesh. How could I pass up the opportunity to see this attraction? It beckoned, and I entered. A little old man took my four Euros and I went though the ancient wooden door. Inside before my eyes was all manner of monstrous implements of pain, courtesy of the church and state. You had to walk carefully as the place was dimly lit. In one showcase was a set of thumbscrews, in another an iron skull crusher, in another case was nothing!
I think someone stole the exhibit. In the basement an "iron maiden" and "bed of nails" were featured. And then, just before the exit, was the icing on the cake- a very old and threatening French Guillotine. I would recommend the "Amsterdam Torture Museum" as a family-oriented attraction, but cannot, because the building is old, and not set up for the use of baby strollers.
I headed back towards the Chopperdome after partaking in another downtown horror show: the Amsterdam McDonalds restaurant. I knew I would suffer for it later, but I figured I needed the grease. It was Tuesday July 22, and soon people would be arriving from all over Europe for the beginning of the FBI. Some that very night.
Rhalf said the Germans had crossed the border and were heading towards the city, then laughed. "John" Rhalf said, " CruiserKing is doing a documentary of the FBI this year, and they want to talk to you", "on camera?" I asked, "Yes, of course" Rhalf replied. It seemed that CruiserKing (a kustom bike website out of Germany) wanted some background history on the worldwide movement, and thought that I could provide some information. I'm very nervous about live interviews, I always wonder if I'm going to stumble on my words or something worse. I just hoped the interview would come with a ten minute warning, so
I could loosen my tongue with a couple of drinks.
Some of the German Crew.
"George".
"Make PCC" from Barcelona, at the Build-Off.
Preparing for "Water Gun Cruise Wars".
We also got word that the Slovenians had their bikes stolen on the way over. Some of the Amsterdam crew decided to take up a fund to help them out. It was definitely a great way to show support to the international brotherhood of bikers. It really helped out with their unfortunate situation. I'm glad I'm part of a movement that tries to help out when things go wrong.
July 23rd was the first official day of the FBI, basically a day for registering and hanging out. Away from the Chopperdome the build-off pavilion was a flurry of grinders and welding goggles. UFO and the Canadian crew were refreshed after their party in Henglelow; however, Sic Nick was thrown off the return train by officials for some unknown reason and arrived a little later. Tom "the bomb" had his hands full all day welding people's broken bikes back together. The Spanish team was going wild on their creation, a three-wheeled utility custom. Designed to carry either cargo or lady hitchhikers. It served its function well on both counts throughout the entire FBI. It was also the day for the official water-gun cruise wars. About 40 people took up the challenge and came armed with their aqua weapons. At 8p.m. the melee quickly started, the German crew came especially well-equipped, with a high-powered arsenal. Everyone was fair game and a popular goal was to soak the ass of anyone who wasn't moving quickly enough to take preventative measures. I even heard that local merchants were armed for the occasion, being told that anyone riding a bike with a water gun was fair game. Rumor has it that one Turkish store-owner around the block was ambushing gun-toting riders with a pair of "super soakers" and a scream that would raise the dead! The front of the Chopperdome including the sidewalk and street were completely drenched with water. Someone who was cowering behind a stack of bicycles with an empty water gun got half a barrel of water thrown on them by two "Chopaderos". The goal of a fine beginning was met.
Thursday July 25: I was worried about whether my legs would hold up during the 50km night cruise happening later in the evening. The day started with FBI registrations at the Chopperdome and some more informal "meet and greets". As it turned out the number of countries taking part was quite phenomenal. There were riders from Finland, Scotland, Belgium, Russia, France, Germany, the U.S., Canada, England, Slovenia etc. The overriding thing I noticed was that the bikes people rode were highly functional, and meant for long-distance cruising. I did not see any bicycles with car tires participating at the event. Being at the FBI also put me into personal contact with a large number of my fellow bike club members; the FBI attracts the largest gathering of Chopadero members in the world. Other clubs were also in attendance and everyone partied together in positive unison.
I was told that the 50km night cruise usually attracted around 65 to 70 riders; but that estimate seemed low considering the number of bikes showing up at the Chopperdome that evening. Rhalf and the Amsterdam crew were checking things out and guessed that about 90 riders had arrived by 6:30 for the event. The 50k cruise was slated to take about 8 or 9 hours and would take the riders through city, park and country. Tagging behind the group of riders was a support vehicle, which was there in case of mechanical failure or human exhaustion. I was hoping I wouldn't need it. Along the way would be 4 scheduled bar stops for liquid refreshments. By 7 pm everyone was ready to move out. Stefan the youngest member of the Chopaderos (from Germany) said he would keep an eye on me that evening, which I thought was great cause who knows what the hell could happen. Stefan turned out to be a fantastic riding partner and a great conversationalist. There was occasion when I lost track of him in the darkness, but he always turned up again to see how I was doing. Stefan is all right with me.
"Bike-Build-Off" Pavilion.
Stefan from Germany.
Stefan and Brain.
As it turned out the 50km night cruise had a much larger group of riders than expected. About 45 minutes into the event came word that a count of heads had been taken. There weren't just 65 or 70 participants that night - but nearly 150! That's a lot of people traveling the roads on kustom bikes. And not only that, but this moving line of bikes never stopped, not for cars or traffic lights. This was accomplished by blocking the roads with event staff on their bikes, and also by getting a special permit from the police. Everybody wanted to ride their machines without being hassled by the "man". Good preparation made it happen.
Not all the motorists who had to wait for the passing throng of bikes were pleased though. At one point the line of cyclists held up a famous Dutch T.V. personality, riding around in his convertible Bentley. It was quite a scene as the man stood up in the back of his car shouting obscenities at the bikers. Of course the universal response by the riders was to bless him with the international one-finger salute. An interesting sidelight (according to one of the Amsterdam crew) was that the prick in the Bentley was considered by most Dutch people to be the biggest jerk on television. He said the rider's response to Mr. TV's childish tirade was appropriate, as it reflected Holland's general opinion of him.
"Tom the Bomb".
We continued on, through various streets and lanes, which finally opened up to the green of the country and its wide-open spaces. About half an hour outside of the city we entered an area that was especially park-like, with canals and small lakes. Along a road next to a canal the mass of bikes travelled. People in boats stood up to check out the spectacle and wave. Things were slowing down now, and eventually the group turned into a rustic drinking establishment in the middle of what I thought was a park, or maybe we weren't in a park, and this was just the way Holland looked to my untrained eyes. But, whatever it was (and where) we stopped, for liquid refreshments and socializing.
Although the 50k night cruise is an adult-oriented event there were a couple of youngsters making the scene. Most notably was a little blonde girl from France who was about 8 years old. It turned out she was also at the 2007 night cruise where she tried valiantly to complete the journey. The Chopaderos club was so impressed with her determination and effort that she was given some miniature club insignia for her little cut-off denim vest. The young girl was back again in 2008 with her father, prepared to take another stab at getting the 50km cruise patch, awarded to those who complete the journey. The young lady again tried valiantly to complete the journey, but it was again a little bit too much for her young legs to conquer. She curled up on the front seat of the support vehicle, and slept, when the night brought heavy eyelids to her journey. Undaunted, the little girl vows to try for the 50km patch next year. Now that's what I call a kid with spunk.
After about 30 minutes at the first watering hole came word that we were heading out again. Garbage cans full of empty beer bottles were left behind as the pack pedaled off into the sundown sky. The view was beautiful, with the route hugging a canal full of boats and ducks. Many of the people living along our route came out to see the procession of unusual bikes, and stood next to the road to greet us. To my delight I spied an old windmill on the other side of the canal at one point, and photographed Stefan riding with the mill showing in the background.
The sun was disappearing on the horizon. After about 45 minutes of riding and socializing (simultaneously) we came to the next bar along the route. It was in the middle of what I would call "upper-middle-class canal". The houses in the area were unique expensive and beautiful. We lucked out too, as the temperature and weather were just perfect. This was a great place to stop and relax, with wooden decks next to the water and a view of the great houses across the canal. Camera flashes could be seen now as the sun was just below the horizon, One half of the sky was dark, and the other half moldered with the red glow of what the sun had left to offer.
"The Little Blonde
Girl From France"
We said goodbye to the canal and its boats and headed out into the country. It was dark now, and ahead I could see a long line of red bicycle tail-lights winding out into the distance. I didn't have a headlight, so I tended to stay around the other riders who did. What was interesting was that there were very few cars out on the roads, which helped keep everyone feeling a little safer. For 40 minutes we rode our bikes in the dark along the narrow roads of the Dutch countryside. I was holding up quite well, I wasn't tired or exhausted, and my legs were holding out very well. We eventually went down a winding road with trees on either side, still dark until we came to a section with one solitary streetlight. In the area ahead I could see the landscape opening up, we were heading into a lightly populated area that might have been on the outskirts of a little town. Through the trees ahead I noticed a lighted intersection; then, I saw the presence of a massive gothic church spire looming above us as we approached.
Across from this ancient church was our next stop, a beer hall with plenty of seating and places to park the mass of bikes. I was looking for Benny from Spain who rode his trike the entire trip, he had some crank or pedal issues early on and I wanted to see how he was doing. I found him stretched out on a chair with two bottles of beer, having a conversation with fellow Spaniard and build team member "MakePCC" and Sick Nick, everything turned out to be fine for Benny, his pedal got repaired. I also found out that Sick Nick had discovered a cheap place for him and his girlfriend to stay while in Amsterdam, the two were going to camp out in the empty meat locker of the "build off" pavilion. Nick said the thickness of the walls would help maintain a constant room temperature for sleeping, but he wasn't sure if his girlfriend would go for the idea.
Sick Nick: "Hell yes I'll sleep in an empty meat locker, it's not like we're gonna have slabs of beef hanging over us or anything...We'll see how the oxygen holds out when we shut the door".
"Sic Nick"
The pack started rolling again after everyone had their fill and headed towards what I now call the black forest. The cruise leaders stopped at the trail entrance of a massive forest beyond the road. Since the last stop the way had been lighted for the riders by the occasional streetlight, but this forest looked like pure black India ink. Everyone halted for a while to let stragglers catch up with the rest of the group. After a few minutes "Chris" from the Amsterdam crew (best mustache champion for 2 years running) rode up from the back with word that everyone was ready and willing for the next phase.
Rhalf raised his hand in the air, and suddenly pointed to the direction of the forest's dark void. A narrow asphalt trail led from the road to the mouth of the forest. Young Stefan turned up just as it was my turn to head out; I commented to him "damn, I hope your headlight is in good working order?" he assured me that it was and laughed. Down the trail we headed - towards the trees. The light from the street pole very quickly dimmed and then completely disappeared when we entered the forest. This was a dark event; you could see no faces, only red tail-lights. Headlights were hardly helpful, but it would have been a disaster if nobody had one; we would have been hopelessly lost without them. Stefan and I were in the middle of the pack, and all we could see ahead of us were bicycle tail-lights jiggling and bouncing through the blackness of the curving trail. We tried looking behind us but could see nothing but headlights and darkness. One thing few reckoned on was how the bumpy trail would affect the large number of full bladders. People groaned and ached, but were afraid to stop lest they lose their way on the trail. I could hear someone ahead of us wail in agony over a particularly rough section of terrain "I must stop and piss" he yelled, to which the others laughed, and sympathized. Finally the long column of bikes stopped, right after we crossed a log bridge; then bikes fell to the ground accompanied by the sound of breaking branches and sighs of relief. I said to Stefan "have you learned something from all this?" he said "yes, you should always take a piss before you leave the bar!" I said "excellent observation".
I think we must have ridden in the dark for half an hour before there seemed to be an end to the trees. We passed though some log barricades and onto another section of paved trail. I asked Stefan if there were any problems with bears attacking people in Germany, Stefan laughed, and said that Germany did not have this problem. I said "how about in Holland, do they have this problem in Holland?" His response was to ask me if Canada had bears attacking people all the time. I said "not all the time". I said it was like in the old cartoon with the polar bear and the igloo; Canadian Polar bears like igloos, because they are crunchy on the outside and chewy in the middle. Stefan just shook his head and smiled.
I thought we still had about 2 or 3 hours to go after we got out of the forest, but it turned out we were way ahead of schedule. Within 10 minutes of being back on the road we were winding our way through the backstreets of an Amsterdam suburb. Stefan and the rest of the German Chopaderos went their own way at one point towards their campground, along with the Brit boys "Chub" and "Popey" (pronounced Pope-EE). As we made our way to the North end of town and the Chopperdome, various other factions of the group drifted off into the night, but not without receiving their 50km cruise patch. The patch is a coveted little item, a prized symbol for the true hardcore afficionado, and the chance to get one only comes one night a year.
Friday July 26: The afternoon was a casual meet-and-greet in front of the Chopperdome. I noticed that "Nice Clown" (real name Rene) of the Amsterdam crew had a stock of quality Dutch cigars, I was packing "Captain Black" mini's, so I suggested an exchange. He wasn't sure if the trade was interesting enough. I said that my mini cigars were cherry flavoured, "but they are very small" he retorted, "yes" I said "but they come from 'Florida'". He paused eyeing my red pack of the Captains "They are very small, but, I will try". With this we made the exchange and I stuffed one of Rene's Dutch Stogies into my mouth and he tried out one of my Captain B's. Both were lit and I was pleased with the taste. "How do you like your 'Captain Black' Rene?" I said, Rene responded with "nice taste, but, it will not last, it is very small", I told him "This is a good thing in a small package", Rene held the mini out in front of him and exhaled a puff "It's OK, very small, but OK".
"Nice Clown" Rene
We noticed a body lying out on the covered stairs next to the Chopperdome. Other people noticed too, and went to check "him" out. From the sidewalk all you could see were a pair of black engineer boots sticking out from the shade; when you got closer you could see that he was sprawled out in the crucifix position. People climbed the stairs to figure out what was going on. One young lady climbed a few steps and said the man looked like "Lenin". Rhalf happened to wander by at this moment and we asked him if he knew the man, as we were worried that there might be a problem. Rhalf smiled and said "This is no problem; this is 'Finland'- Finland Chopaderos". The young lady then walked back up the stairs and took a picture of the man. The flash caused the him to react, he said quietly "I am sleeping, I am not dead, you think I am the dead man...You... are wrong". He continued: "It was very long trip from Finland, and now you wake me". I told him I was going to the corner store for a Turkish pizza and asked if he wanted one "No" he said quietly "But, If you find beer - you can bring me beer". I laughed and understood. A little while later I returned with a Turkish pizza, and a beer; which I handed to him. He was still in the prone position but lifted his head enough to grab the bottle. With his face once more positioned towards the ceiling he said "you are good man".
Drag races were next in line. Rhalf sat under an umbrella in front of the Chopperdome with a stopwatch and called the action. The starting line was down the street and across the intersection. It turned out to be kind of a combination event consisting of both drag racing and the dodging of pedestrians. Coordination with the stop-lights was crucial, as Friday traffic was picking up on the streets. I'm not sure but I think there were about 35 competitors. The "build off pavilion" across the street had a number of people standing outside to watch the action. The Pavilion was a popular hangout for a number of people over the course of the FBI and proved to be quite the tourist attraction. The drag racers had to time their launch just right and needed a good yelling voice; pedestrians who veered onto the official drag strip lane seemed to understand the situation and jumped out of the way when cued by the kamikaze riders. There were only a couple of wipeouts and no bikes or pedestrians were injured.
It being Friday, most people enjoyed riding around Amsterdam for a day of sightseeing. And later most everyone who had registered for the FBI had assembled at the Chopperdome to head over to "Westerpark" for some refreshments and activities. "Westerpark" is the official location of the FBI's bike show (the "COTY") and is a sprawling vista of recreational land, with paved bike trails, green areas, swimming for the kids and drinking establishments. Friday's Westerpark activities took place at the "Westergas Terras" an upscale bar with outdoor seating and a large paved area near a gigantic circular building once used for gas storage 90 years ago. In fact I was told that the entire Westerpark property was once an old industrial area. The reclamation of the land and buildings was done magnificently, and is a tribute to the forward thinking of Amsterdam's city fathers.
Around 8:30 p.m. I accidentally set off the security alarm at Rhalf and Kitty's house. I had keyed my way in to get a change of clothes and realized I messed up when the alarm started wailing. About 3 minutes later Kitty arrived and said, "I forgot that you might come into the house." She explained that there was a flurry of phone calls between her, Rhalf, and the security company. Kitty said "It's good that one of us was close by or the Police might have come". "Damn!' I said, 'that would have been a drag". Rhalf was already at "Westerpark", so, I finished up with a quick change of clothes. I headed over as soon as my legs would take me.
I parked my Basman next to the big round "Gashouher" building and walked across the plaza to the "Westergas Terras". This would be the official FBI and COTY congregation point for the rest of the weekend. And let me tell you, the place was packed. Kustom bikes of every description filled the entire open area. It was like a maze of paint and chrome lit by colored light bulbs and flood lamps. This is what the FBI is all about, hardcore bicycle people from all over the world having a party together. It was like a real United Nations of kustom. At least 10 different languages were spoken, but everyone was communicating just fine.
The Choppernation Olympic Heptathlon finals between Holland and Spain commenced a short while later in the center of the main plaza. A combination drinking event and cargo carrying bicycle race was its official description. Spain's entry was especially well made, having two wheels in the front and one out back. For the entire weekend The Spanish team used this machine to haul all kinds of human and non-human cargo around. Some of the cargo it carried was very pretty too. A mostly fun event, the two participating teams went through their paces in the race and basically wound up getting hammered by the end of it. In this sense both teams won, and enjoyed the fruits of their hard labor. But it was Spain which won the trophy and champion accolades.
Spain's MakePCC,
"Cargo Trike" and "Cargo".
We were so busy enjoying each others' company, that we didn't notice the time. I had a blast getting into conversations with everyone and finding out all the crazy things that people encountered while visiting the city. Most everyone agreed that Amsterdam was probably the most bike-friendly place in the world. On this point I really did agree. If I were able to move to Amsterdam I wouldn't own a car; it wouldn't be necessary. I wanted to know how people first got into the kustom bike scene, and I received a wide range of responses. There didn't seem to be any universal reason why people got involved with kustom bikes, but everyone did seem to have a general concern that the world needed to get itself into better shape, and that the new bike culture seemed to be a fine place to center this attitude around. The bike part was like a visual symbol of the attitude most of the participants had; like it meant that the "alternative bike" is related to its riders "alternative outlook", on a lot of levels.
The one universal thing I did notice was that everyone had a joyous communal feeling going on; people had strong opinions on a lot of subjects but mostly saw eye to eye on the important issues affecting them. It was incredible how instant the sense of rapport was, like family you hadn't seen in a long time, but still the closeness was ever-present.
Saturday July 27: Saturday was the main event; Both Rhalf and Kitty were up early that morning as things at Westerpark were going to get busy, and they needed to get there to co-ordinate things. On the main agenda was getting things ready for the COTY bike show (COTY could stand for Chopper, Cruiser, or Cycle of the year, I think). Tents needed to be raised, paperwork needed organizing, and visitors seeking information would need answers. We left from the Chopperdome at around 8:00 a.m and rode to Westerpark in about 10 minutes.
"COTY PAVILION"- Westergas Terras
The Amsterdam crew was already there along with Elvin and Olaf "The Metalwork Brothers". After having a bite to eat I put myself to work sweeping up broken glass out on the plaza. The busted glass came from the night before. When it's dark and you're wandering around with hundreds of people all over the place you're bound to knock over an empty bottle or glass or twoor three. So there we were, getting ready for the main event. Rhalf and Kitty were absorbed in their organizing duties, along with the Amsterdam crew. COTY participants also started to arrive early and set up on the inside of the building. It was developing into one hot mother of a day, which was fine. A lot of people had commented upon how lucky we were to have such fine weather for the show. I'm told that Amsterdam can go through some very wet cycles of weather, but that definitely wasn't the case that Saturday.
"Metalwork Brothers"
After sweeping a few mounds of broken glass out of the way, I went to have my first look at the COTY show. It was still early and not all the bikes had arrived yet, but it did allow for an un-crowded view of the machines that were there. Quality and innovative design were the order of the day. It's obvious that an incredible amount of quality work was coming out of the Continent. There were entries from as far away as Russia, Finland and Slovenia; plus a fantastic showing from some of the other EU countries as well and, of course, great home-based cycles were there from the Netherlands. This was a classy venue to be sure. The show itself was in a reclaimed industrial building that kept many of its vintage features, lots of wood, brick and metal were saved as part of the general restoration. The bikes featured inside were of varied style and were built with a high degree of fit and finish. Functional kustom cruisers with all manner of paint, plating and drive line components were popular, along with the traditional chopper bicycle styles. Also in abundance were hints of 1950's hot rod styling, like racing-themed paint schemes and hand-fabricated gear mechanisms with long shift levers. The paint job that really blew my mind was seen on one of the Russian entries, the frame appeared to be made from polished wood and hand made steel joints, but it wasn't, it was actually a hand- painted illusion that was brilliantly executed. Continuing on, I managed to corral a few of the bikes before they went inside, and shot some photographs of them. General participants were beginning to arrive too, and I took the opportunity to mingle and talk before the big crowds of the afternoon moved in.
The day developed into one gigantic party atmosphere. Out on the terrace were hundreds of kustom bike people from all over the world. It was like a reunion too, and many people shouted with joy when they greeted someone they hadn't seen for a while. Around noon the event started to get a little bit of rain, which caused a large number of people to gather inside at the Westergas and under the event tents. It was quite warm which made the whole rain experience fairly comfortable to ride out. I had been crossing the outdoor terrace quite a bit to meet and talk with people, and was getting rained on to the point that I must have looked like a drowned rat. The coldest beer on tap was inside at the Westergas, and to cool off I made it a point to take beer breaks at regular intervals.
I noticed that someone had opened one of the large doors on the big round "Gashouher" building. A number of people took this open door opportunity and stepped inside to get out of the rain. I went over too, just to see what was on the inside, and wow! Inside this enormous building was.nothing; nothing but a gigantic, awesome, incredible open space. I marveled at its size. It was perfectly circular, with no support beams, but too large for me to take a proper photograph of it. One of the guys rode into the building on his trike and stopped in the middle, then some park official came out of the woodwork and started to evict everyone. I grudgingly made my way to the edge as the mass of
people was directed back out the open door.
I grudgingly made my way to the edge as the mass of people was directed back out the open door. I was looking for my camera equipment I'd I put down against the wall, which I found, and when I went to pick it up I got a tap on the shoulder. It was Rhalf; I thought he was going to tell me the park officials were freaking out and wanted everyone to exit immediately, but no: "Cruiser King' has been looking for you, John" he said. "You mean for the interview?" I whispered, "Yes of course" said Rhalf. "Do I have time to get another drink?" I inquired, "You'll be fine John, you'll be fine" said Rhalf (still smiling); I wasn't sure. "And here is the "Cruiser King" crew right here", Rhalf announced as he introduced me to them. We greeted each other warmly; I was familiar with the "CruiserKing" website from the Internet, as it's one of the top kustom bike sites in Germany. I asked them if they wanted to conduct the interview by the bar. "No" said Marcus with his deep German accent "we have permission to do it right here in 'zis big building". I asked "Does it matter if I look like a drowned rat?" Marcus replied " Zis is a great look you have John, very informal und natural". We walked to the center of the building about a half football field away, and stopped. "I look like a drowned rat" I said again, "You are fine John, zis is the perfect look for our documentary" he explained. I countered with an "Ok boss", and we proceeded. It turned out to be a fun thing to do. I told him my name and where I was from. He asked about some of the history of the movement and I told him a bit of what I knew on the subject. And then he asked about the "Chopaderos" bike club (which I belong to), I told him that the Chopaderos was a worldwide group of hardcore kustom bike builders, and I also said that the Chopaderos like to party, and that's what we were going to do at the FBI, have a party, and that it was going to be good. The Cruiserking interview turned out to be a positive experience; it was nice of them to ask me to do it. I have always admired them for all the great work they've done in promoting the European bike movement. CruiserKing has a really good handle on the pulse of the kustom bike scene in Europe.
I noticed the sun was out again as we left the Gashouher building, Marcus was off to make preparations for the party cruise later on, and I was getting ready to cover the mini-bike races that were coming up in a little while. I had already photographed most of the German crew and wanted to catch up with "KAOS" from Scotland and the Brit boys "Chubb" and "Popey". "KAOS" is a blacksmith working at a castle in the nether-reaches of Scotland, where the snow in winter is almost as bad as Canada's. I wanted to ask "KAOS" about his project to break the world's record for tallest functioning bicycle, I had seen photos of his tall machine and it looked like a skyscraper. Chubb and Popey showed up eventually and I photographed them by the pond with their machines. Everyone was having their own personal adventure while in Amsterdam.
The mini-bike races were a blast, with both drag racing and competition oval circuits. These little machines are "mini" in every way too. I'm still trying to figure out how some of those 200lb guys managed to ride them at all. Another good thing about mini- bike races is that the riders are very close to the ground, so that if you do wipe out you don't have far to travel before your face meets the pavement. All the mini-bikes were fairly equal in a mechanical way, as far as I could tell. So I figured that it was going to be the riders' individual physical characteristics that would make the difference when it came to winning or losing. The mini-bike races turned out to be one of the most popular of the FBI spectator sports all weekend.
The evening's main event was the "Party Cruise" which started at 8 p.m. A grand multitude of kustom cycles were assembled at Westerpark, ready for an assault on the city. This would be the first big trip "en masse" into the core of Amsterdam. Again, because of the sheer number of riders a special police permit had to be taken out by the organizers to avoid any hassles. This was the event that showed just how big the Amsterdam FBI really is.
Every roadway that this massive collection of bikes went over quickly ceased to function as normal. On a couple of occasions the police were parked at the sides of the street we were going down. They would give us little salutes and seemed to be very amused at the show passing in front of them. In fact everyone along the way seemed to me amazed at what they saw taking place. People in cafes stopped what they were doing and stood up to get a better look. This was something most bystanders had never seen before, and they didn't know what to make of it.
Our first stop was in a small square near the center of town, and it was a very quick stop. Everyone got off their bikes to check out a life-size bronze sculpture replicating Rembrandts famous "Night Watch" painting. After a little clowning around, the group set off again down the road. One thing was more noticeable now; we saw camera flashes going off. I was riding alongside a member of the Chopaderos named "ZAZ Von Schwinn" from France. During our ride that night "Zaz" had an inexhaustible list of questions to ask me about kustom bicycle history, he especially wanted to know about the mysterious "Huffy Penguin". "Is this bike just a myth?" asked Zaz. I told him it was no myth, that the "Penguin" was the first factory made bicycle with high-rise handlebars and a "solo polo" banana seat. I told him what I knew, and that he could read the full story on the bike in a coming issue of Bike Rod and Kustom.
We went over a few canal bridges, which caused a couple of bikes to grind out due to lack of ground clearance. Riders made compensation though and just looked at the scraped paint as nothing more than a few battle scars. We rounded a few more corners and headed towards a giant circular park next to an apartment building. This round park was separated from the adjoining shops and trendy cafes by an encircling roadway. As we rode inside it felt like we were players in a sporting event, camera flashes were going off everywhere. I looked up at the apartment building and saw the balconies filling up with people, and they too had their cameras clicking away. The apartment building became like a giant bank of camera flashes overlooking this grand display of bikes. Many new participants arrived as time went on, and people got busy exploring the details of the finer machines on display.
For about half an hour everyone mingled in the big circle, took photos, and answered questions from people who came over to check out the display. What a great venue this was! We invaded the area like a combination "rolling party" and bike show.
Soon, the sun disappeared from the sky and the incandescent lights of the city became the main source of illumination. This was the signal to get prepared, and everyone did. The bikes and their owners queued up at the ready, like a kustom army preparing to roll out; and like water pouring out of a vessel, the bikes exited the circular park. The pack seemed larger now as it headed back towards Westerpark and the evening's final revelry. You could see how this group of riders really was different from the spectators lining the street, different not only in dress and attitude but also because of the unspoken feeling of unity that was apparent to anyone taking part. This really was a concrete example of how the bike scene has developed into a real movement; of like-minded and determined individuals.
The temperature was unusually warm for a July evening in Amsterdam, but it was just perfect for the riders out on this party cruise. After another half hour of rambling though the night on their kustom machines, the pack headed into Westerpark towards the Terrace. The plaza had been transformed into a lighted runway for a fashion show. It seemed that the FBI was taking place on the same weekend as a big international fashion event happening in Amsterdam. I was near the head of the pack as it arrived, and I think the fashion show people must have thought that the number of bikes arriving would never end. At one point someone got on the PA system to ask the bikers to remove their machines from the runway.
The runway was heavily lighted and situated right on the esplanade in front of the Terrace. Some took the open runway as a chance to show off their wares, and rode down to the middle of it to strike a few poses to the admiring and friendly crowd. But, as quickly as the fashion show and bike party was shaping up so came the rain. And boy did it rain - it poured a deluge. And it came suddenly and without warning. The outdoor lights for the show hissed, and kicked up a fog of steam as the rain hit them. Everyone rushed to either side of the plaza to seek shelter. I was holed up next to one of the big wooden doors of the "Gashouder" building under a big overhang. I found myself there with Zaz Von Schwinn, and we spent quite a long time there, talking weather and kustom bike history again. At the first opportunity of calm we headed back to the safety of the Terrace bar, and hung out with the other riders inside.
A special private party was being held in another part of the building, and this was where all the models and fashion people were hanging out. It seems they had a dress code ,though, and a number of Chopaderos who had been invited in by some of the ladies were asked to leave, but not before having a good time. I heard the club members refused to be rushed, and actually held it together better than some of the fashion crowd. Later on, one of the "Dero's" was overheard to say, "They were careful not push us too hard, we got invited in by some of the girls and we made our way to the bar, after while some official came up to us and said we had to leave 'cause our outfits didn't fit in with the scene they were having", He went on " This fashion guy said he didn't want any trouble, and we said 'there won't be any trouble unless you people try and start something'! We got invited in by your models, and your door attendants said nothing about it".
To make a long story short the Chopadero members chose to leave before the fashion wankers got themselves into big trouble. The bike club guys showed a lot of self-control in the situation, as well, they figured the action out by the terrace was much classier than any fashion show happening inside. This was undeniably true. As it turned out the fashion people went after each other later on, in a flurry of martinis and pink poodles they slapped each other silly. Even some of the fashion models went ballistic on each other. The news was met with laughter out on the Terrace "I saw the whole thing from the lobby man, some guy holding a poodle screamed that this other guy was a bitch, and they went to town on each other, craziest thing I ever saw".
It appeared the bike crowd displayed the most self- control that evening; while apparently being a slave to fashion just seems to bring the worst out in some people.
Sunday July 27: The final day of the FBI had arrived, once more we got to Westerpark early and I took up my position with the broom to sweep up broken glass. This was also the last day of voting to choose the winners of the COTY; every registered FBI participant was given a form to write down their top choices of the show. As time slowly ticked by you could see a rush of people with pens in hand - running around trying to figure out which bike to vote for. In the meantime the "Metal Work Brothers"(Elvin and Olaf) manned their booth giving pin-striping demonstrations and showed off some of their latest in handmade metal craft. I wanted to get something from them but found my money situation was too depleted, to be left for another day by mail order.
At three o'clock the drag racing finals started out on the esplanade in front of the Gashouder building. This was a real spectator event and was well attended by the crowd. It also turned out to be the most dangerous. The most interesting aspect of the drag racing event was the finish line area. Participants really needed to have a good set of brakes in order to stop in time. Failure to do so would catapult rider and machine over a brick embankment and into a man-made pond next to the Westergas terrace. The brakes were generally holding out for participants in the event, but there were a few close calls. The most interesting occurrence happened during one of the mens' preliminary events. Just as the racers took off from the starting line, another speeding bike and rider took off ahead of them on the drag strip. It was "Sick Nick" blowing off some energy by trying to lighten the tension in the air. Nick was speeding ahead of the other bikes by about 15 feet, but disaster struck when he tried to stop his careening machine, his brakes failed to work adequately at the danger point, and Nick was forced to jump off his bike before it went over the edge. Nick rolled, but the bike kept its momentum and balance and continued at full speed over the edge of the brick embankment! Nick's bike went flying through the air, hit a row of brickwork, and then bounced wildly into the pond to the roar of the crowd. The bike survived to ride another day. Nick fished it out of the water, and found it totally covered with slimy pond vegetation. There were also a couple of major wipeouts during the drag races too, which caused severe road rash on the skin of the racers involved. The problem seemed to lie in the handgrips. Some of the riders had machined aluminum handgrips that were held on by small allen-head screws. Well, it turned out than some of the screws weren't on as tight as they should have been. During the middle of one of the men's races a rider yanked a grip off while pulling back under full power. This caused his sudden ejection from the bike, which then somersaulted into a total wipeout on its own. Luckily nobody was hurt from any of these accidents, and lived to see another day. Both the womens' and mens' races continued to drag on (so to speak) and were basically "run what you brung" events, with the winning riders having a combination of physique, age and drivelines working in their favour.
"Sic Nick
heading for disaster"
"It came
from the pond
covered in
weeds"
The last of the votes were in for the COTY show and the Amsterdam crew started to tally them on a laptop computer. The excitement was picking up with the anticipation of the awards ceremony, and people started to move in the direction of the indoor pavilion for the presentations. Rhalf eventually came in with the final count, took stock of the crowd and called out that the award ceremony was about to begin. The last of the stragglers took heed and made their way into the building. The COTY show has quite a number of entries and categories, making the judging broad and fair. After making his way through the general announcements about 2008 being the most successful and well-attended FBI ever, Rhalf was pleased to announce the many winners of the show itself. The winners of each category selected prizes from the general pool of goodies out on display, everyone was pleased. Then came the big event; the trophy presentation for the entry with the most points, and winner of the FBI's 2008 best in show award. Was it going to be presented to a bike from France, Germany, or Holland?...no. Europe's top kustom bike award went to a builder from Finland- Ari Sinkkonen.
Sinkkonen's bike was well deserving of the prize, and his machine was no trailer queen either. This winning bike was ridden an enormous number of kilometers throughout the week of the FBI. Ari is the kind of guy who wants the full experience of kustom bike building, and that meant taking it to the street. The bike itself is best described as a radical kustom cruiser, featuring quality components and a very unique frame design. Attention to detail and cleanliness were obviously paramount in the building of the bike; this machine looked great from every angle and had everything it needed for both show and go. For the winners prize Ari chose the "Gehirn" laser cut springer kit complete with springs and retainers. He says he will put it to good use on his next project, which we're all looking forward to seeing when he gets it completed. Congratulations to Ari Sinkkonen, Europe's top kustom bike builder for 2008.
Ari Sinkkonen and
his COTY winner
The end of the awards ceremony was not the finish to 2008's FBI activities. There was still one more final thing that needed to be done. The FBI would end in a bang with a high speed non-stop assault on the city, culminating with a radical Speed Cruise through Amsterdam's red light district, in all its glory.
The wild bunch assembled about an hour before sundown. Only about 60 riders chose to take part in this excursion, and all were ready for anything that might happen. I decided that the safest place to be was right near the front of the pack, I was warned that being in the middle was more dangerous as the narrow streets gave little room for mistakes especially in the red light area. If you didn't have a bell then you had to be able to yell for people to get the hell out of the way. Rhalf looked very serious as the bikes assembled at the last exit of Westerpark, then he looked at me and said "cross your fingers, here we go", and by God we did. The launch was fast and soon we were screaming down the bike way. Everyone who saw this group bearing down on them was pulling off to the side to let us through. We left the main thoroughfare and travelled along some side streets for a while, bells ringing constantly, people and other riders heeded the warning and pulled over to let us by.
We went around a corner and came upon a road full of cars; Rhalf did not hesitate, or slow down. There was a bike path but it was too congested, so through the intersection and onto the sidewalk we went. As soon as our bells started tolling, people ahead of us would look to see what was going on. They quickly hugged the walls of the buildings to be safe, and let us by. Then, we saw a clearing on the bike path; we jumped over to it and went down it a ways, past a small park, and down another side street. The road was a little quieter now, but behind us we could hear cars honking, people yelling and tires skidding. Rhalf looked at me and smiled. Eventually we veered down another side street and over a bridge, and then turned left onto the adjoining road. The street was narrow and roughly cobbled, and there were more bridges coming up ahead.
At one point we hit a traffic light and were forced to skid to a stop when the street was too busy to cross safely. The riders behind us were catching up quickly, with most of them panting lightly. Rhalf said the red light district was just up ahead and to be careful. We were off again with gusto, some mounted the sidewalks and some blasted down the street next to the canal. We went through one more dark laneway and headed towards a small opening in a wall at the end of the road. Moving fast towards the hole we were suddenly upon it, Rhalf quickly looked behind and yelled out "watch yourself, this is it". Just through the opening we found ourselves careening down a very narrow laneway, and with all bells ringing out we headed quickly towards an area that was illuminated with colored light bulbs and filled with music. My heart skipped a beat as we flew through the little intersections, I didn't have a bell on my Basman so I had to yell ahead to avoid hitting pedestrians. Behind me I could hear bells and the screaming of riders, along with the occasional skid of tires. At one point a number of bikini-clad professionals came out to wave at us as we blasted by, a moment later another one yelled something unintelligible to the pack, in anger. The road was getting tight and I had my teeth clenched, things behind us must have been wild, and I'm sure I heard the awful sound of a metal garbage can being knocked over suddenly, all to the accompanying noise of screaming and laughing and skidding.
We approached another canal, and headed down the adjacent roadway towards a quiet main street. The pack behind us was still laughing and yelling, and seemed to be none for the worse. We were in downtown Amsterdam, and bolted down one more street, then, Rhalf slammed on his brakes in front of a quiet pub with an adjoining parking area. This is where we would spend the rest of the evening, having a brew with the gang, and going over the highs and lows of the previous day's events. It was also the time we said a lot of goodbyes, as many of the riders would be heading out the following morning. My only thoughts at that point were about the fantastic times I had during the previous week, the great people I had met, and what gracious and understanding hosts Rhalf and Kitty VanHeusden were. I am grateful.
