It was a big hit in 1968 for Steppenwolf and takes me back to my wild childhood and Easy Rider and bikers. Now in one incident in Laughlin Nevada last Saturday morning just the word "bikers" has been bloodied in one day that took motorcycle riders generations to erase in the minds of most Americans that remember the biker gangs of the 50's and 60's.

In 1969 Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper defined a generation when they hit the screen, the camera following two motorcycle riders heading down the highway on their chopped Harley Davidsons in Easy Rider. They bought the motorcycles with Cocaine money and we couldn't care less as long as they spent it on Harleys.

When I was a kid in Chicago there were a few motorcycle gangs on the fringes and I had quite a few friends with bikes, but we didn't really know much about the Hell's Angels until 1971 when they over-secured the Rolling Stones concert in Altamont California and knifed a guy to death after beating him with a pool cue. Before that there was only Marlon Brando and his gang the Black Rebels Motorcycle "Club" (B.R.M.C. on the back of their leather jackets) in The Wild One which didn't impress me until Lee Marvin and his motorcycle "gang", the Beatles (Yep, the movie was shot in the late 50's, years before the Beatles band was formed and named.) and Marvin showed up and lifted the soapy little black and white movie into a tough, gritty movie that may have shown what rival motorcycle gangs might really be like.

Last Saturday they didn't let me down as three of them were gunned down in Harrah's Casino in Laughlin Nevada. Although Brando and Marvin only duked it out in the streets of Hollister California, had they turned off the cameras I always secretly hoped Brando had a shank in his back pocket and for sure Lee Marvin was carrying a piece under that six pack in his saddle bags. It was the first time more than one person had been killed in a casino in Nevada's history and if I had to pick an incident when it would happen, it wouldn't be that the motorcycle gangs would come to fight their feuds in some bar in a Nevada casino while 79,900 others just came to hang out and party.

It was back in '94 when I took a job out at the Cal./Neva. Border and one weekend we were told that there was a motorcycle club charity run due to come to the casino bringing a couple hundred bikers collecting money and toys for kids for Christmas. This was such a nice idea, just a weekend with some kids that loved their Harleys and wanted to do what they did every weekend, but this time they would come together with a couple other Harley clubs and make some kids a little something that would otherwise have an empty holiday. By 3 pm. There were already over a thousand bikes lined up in the back parking lot. These guys were organized. Somehow they had already amassed a couple thousand dollars and a few hundred stuffed animals and toys.

By 6 pm there were over two thousand bikers, and the best motorcycle judging contest was wrapping up and they were headed for the casino. The leather bound, tattooed dudes and dudettes showed up, all of them wearing some sort of vests sporting their "team colors" and their obligated Harley Davidson insignias somewhere (although I did notice a couple of Hondas parked out in the gravel at the end of the lot in the mud.) I was due off at 8 and was looking forward to getting out of there because these guys were already pretty tanked up and the volume was already turned up to a high pitch as they gathered around the big bar and hugged and traded stories of the happenings of the last year since they last met on the annual "Christmas Run". Each year had gotten bigger and bigger and although most of the bikers were friendly there were a few biker gangs that just didn't like each other, like the Hatfields and the McCoys, they were feuding and it was handed down from generation to generation and they were due to carry out their obligations sometime that night.

The California Highway Patrol along with the Nevada Highway Patrol sent out a couple of public relation officers to greet the gangs and just ask them not to ride while they were drinking. So there were almost three thousand bikers and three hundred rooms, you do the math. When I returned Sunday there were no arguments, no fights, no shootings or stabbings, everyone got a room or got home and peace was in the goddamn valley. Sunday morning the Highway Patrol was waiting at the parking lot exit and let them ride out in peace and that's the way it's always ended. That is, until last Saturday morning in Harrah's Casino in Laughlin Nevada where three lives were taken over what amounts to nothing more than pride and revenge. No matter what you've read in the newspapers, I was granted an interview with two that were in the casino at the time of the murders and this is the story I got.

It was Friday night on a long stretch of highway in Arizona where a Hells Angel biker was gunned down on his way to the annual River Run in Laughlin. Weather the news was given to the other Hells Angels is not known. It is now thought that a member of the Mongols motorcycle gang shot the Hells Angel for revenge for something that happened earlier between the two gangs, or at least one from each gang. The various casinos were expecting 80,000 bikers and certain biker gangs stayed at certain casinos. The Mongols stayed at the Riverside Casino and the Hells Angels stayed at Harrah's. Although a truce was adopted at all the annual runs including Sturgis and Daytona Beach which got more like 250,000 bikers, it didn't guarantee there wouldn't be a fist fight here or there, you just can't mix beer and Harleys that simply in a small town like Laughlin Nevada. But there would be no revenge, no hits, no killings. No one would be seeking their "wings" in a death match with another gang. Besides, there was big money at stake for a lot of people.

The Laughlin rooms that were normally in the $25 range were now $250- $300 price range. The 99 cent hot dogs and 99 cent shrimp cocktails were now $4 each. There were hundreds of vendors selling everything from Harley Davidson bandannas that would normally sell for $3.95 were now marked up to $15 and hand-painted t-shirts for $25. The Harleys that were once put together for a couple thousand bucks back when I was a kid were now costlier than most modest size passenger cars. The engines are bigger, the paint jobs more expensive, chrome everywhere. These guys don't fuck around anymore. It's easy to spend $17,000 on a stock Harley and throw on another $3,000 on just chroming the screw heads and nuts. Then you have to add a custom paint job, an extended front end, custom handle bars, bobbed fenders, a wind screen for the highway, custom pipes, leather saddle bags, now you're up to $25,000 or more. And then there's the even bigger, more expensive Harley knock-offs, the Titans and the Vulcans that start at $25,000 and up, stock off the showroom floor.

Now these guys that wee once high school drop-outs and garage mechanics are now doctors and lawyers and old yuppie professionals that are hitting their mid-life crises on the back of a motorcycle that can afford to spend that kind of money just to spend the weekend riding with other Harley owners and have no intentions of mixing it up with any biker gangs on their weekends. I get these guys out at the casino every weekend and they never cause trouble.

They come to Nevada because it's a nice easy ride through the desert, they can stay up and party all day and night if they want, they can eat and drink and smoke cigarettes everywhere to their hearts content (in California, it's illegal to smoke a cigarette in a bar or restaurant.) There are bands and shows all night and they like to spend money. So the casinos eat them up too. They pump hundreds of thousands into our economy in the three days. They're just there to hang out and talk Harleys and business. Yep folks, it's networking in leathers for these bikers, armed with cell phones rather than Smith and Wesson's. And even though these assholes in Laughlin decide to raise the price ten times that they usually charge everyone else on the weekends. Even though everything from gas to ice is jacked up to take advantage of the 80,000 or so that show up to get raked by the casinos and other businesses in Laughlin and Bullhead City Arizona across the river for three days.

On this weekend a couple of bikers decided they just couldn't co-exist in the same casino. Two of the Hells' Angels girls didn't like the two Mongol girls sitting at "their" blackjack table in "their" casino. Weather bated by their boyfriends or on their own isn't yet known. When they told the other two girls to leave, they refused. The one Hells' Angel girl pulled out a knife and stabbed the Mongol gang girl while she sat at the table. I don't think the wound was too serious since she had the ability to walk out of the casino, grab a gun, walk back into the casino and put the gun to the girls' head that was now playing blackjack in her spot, and ventilated her brains all over the table and the other players.

After that all that was known for sure is that at least one member of the Mongols went out to the parking lot and returned with a MAC-10 and proceeded to ventilate the rest of the casino. When the smoke cleared, three were dead, thirteen wounded by bullet and stab wounds. The way it was described was that it sounded like Viet Nam in the casino. The dealers and players were hunkered down on the floor under the tables and it's not sure yet each detail. The police locked down the entire town of Laughlin. There are only three roads in or out of Laughlin, so it's an easy place for the cops to get a handle on and they took over before anyone could get out of town. They handcuffed over 100 bikers on the casino floor. Everyone that wasn't handcuffed was told to return to their rooms until contacted by the police and it was reported they were locked down for up to 10 hours without food or drinks available to anyone. The casinos were locked down for probably the first time ever. The tables were locked, the machines were shut down and Marshall Law was declared in the town of Laughlin.

It all started on I-40 in Ludlow Arizona where the Hells' Angel was found shot in the head, his bike lying in the ditch still running. Shell casings were found near the body. It ended with guns and knives and probably also ended any hope of future biker runs in any Nevada casinos for a long time. For twenty years these guys got together, lots of hugs and beers and CC's and now a couple hot-heads ruined it for 80,000 honest fun-loving Harley Davidson owners that just want to get together with old friends and head out on the highways. And maybe even raise a few thousand bucks for worthwhile charities while they ride. Now Laughlin Nevada and every decent guy or girl that owns a Harley has blood on their hands and there was nothing anyone could have foreseen to avoid the tragedy because it wasn't supposed to happen.

Thousands of riders had spent hundreds of dollars and time to show up only to be locked down like terrorists when all they were doing is having a couple of beers with friends. These weren't just riders from Southern California, there were riders that had come thousands of miles from Canada, the east coast, even a couple from Japan that rented a Harley to ride down there to join the other Harleys to experience an "only in America" tradition that now faces extinction.

Sure there are Harleys in Australia and Russia, Japan and Indonesia, but they're all American motorcycles and a way of life and always will be (who's AMF?)The guy I talked to today that was there was a regular guy, a truck driver from Oklahoma that put over 3,000 miles on his bike and spent hundreds of dollars as well as his only vacation to do this run, only to be locked down in solitary confinement in his hotel room for 9 hours and refused any food, and this guy didn't know a Hells Angel from a snow angel.

The other girl I talked to was from the Southern California chapter of the HOGS (Harley Owners Groups) who were comprised of mostly yuppie professionals that traded the Pierre Cardin jacket and tie for the Harley Davidson leathers and bandannas, unrolled the pony tails and put in the earrings, rolled up the sleeves to show the tattoos and popped the garage door and parked the SUV and rolled out the $20,000 Harley Low Riders and Heritages and Soft Tails. But they were good people. They gambled and tipped and didn't try to fit the Lee Marvin description of a bad-assed, shit-faced biker, but the more modest Peter Fonda or my favorite "Then Came Bronson" Michael Parks, mellowed out, peaceful and just wanting to be left alone to ride their Harleys.

But just like the end of Easy Rider, they're easily stereotyped when they put on the Levi vests and leathers that say nothing more than what chapter of Harley club they ride with, when all some people see are the Hells Angels' wings, a .45 sticking out of their waist, unshaven, smelling like piss and looking for a fight. And rather than wave as they ride by wishing they were out there riding with them on top of 1300 cc's, they'd rather pull out the shot-guns and end it on the highway before they reach civilization and rape their daughters.

Well, I owned a Harley back in the 70's for a summer. A 1942 Knucklehead I pieced together with a monkey wrench, a 2 x 4, electrical tape, and a hammer. It leaked oil from the cylinder heads but it ran and I rode as often as the bike permitted that summer. Usually having to run it down a long street and pop it into gear to get it started since it didn't have an electric starter like they do today, you had to kick it over and if you didn't hit it just right, the compression would get you and the peddle would kick you back over the handlebars and with my ape bars it looked more like a Harley kicking a field goal with a human being through the uprights. (You old bikers should appreciate that.) I had to carry a satchel full of tools and a quart of oil. I put on the Levi vest and leathers. I looked for other riders to hang with and talk Harleys and trash, and laugh at the Honda and Yamaha riders. I drank beer and acted bad, but never carried a gun, never stoved in any ones head with a hammer or chain, never shanked anyone in a bar and only went after one guy once with a beer bottle but never connected although I wish I had at the time. But I will tell you for sure, still to this day, if your daughter is not too young, and pretty enough, and really stacked, don't even let her near me.

Although I don't still own the Harley…I'M STILL A FUCKING ANIMAL!!!

--Ken Pearlman