Last night, I feel asleep reading this.
Collaborative artwork with three-year-old Milo:
Hours of research of local motorcycle clubs have led me, repeatedly, to the East Bay Rats. Fortuitously, their clubhouse is about a mile from my apartment, which has led to a couple "lurking" incidents:
taken from my car, parked conspicuously outside
Lucky for me, my friend Audrey is a damn good sport, and agreed to go prowling for bikers with me tonight. Our first stop was Godspeed, which was unfortunately closed. After driving by the Rats' clubhouse (no one home), we headed to the Ruby Room, a reliably "Rat"-infested watering hole, which was a straight-up gold mine. First of all, the president of the MC was the doorman. Secondly, the bartender had a huge EAST BAY RATS MOTORCYCLE CLUB tat on his forearm. Thirdly, two dudes approached us at the bar, revealed that they were Rats prospects, and invited us to a biker party Saturday night at their warehouse. Let the investigative research begin!
I should have been one of those undercover journalists. Wish me luck! And if you have any inside info on where the Hell's Angels hang out, holler at your girl.