BOLT of Iraq?
Sent by Ray
"Mr. Khathim played down the idea of a motorcycle counterculture. “We are not rebelling against anyone, just the traffic police and the police,” he said."
BAGHDAD — Just before dusk they begin to arrive, first the motor scooters, then the bigger bikes rolling up in a cloud of leather and noise. For an hour or two each Friday, on a wide boulevard beside the Tigris River, the complexities of Baghdad life give way to a few universal questions: Can I pop a wheelie when people are watching? Can I sneak out of the house without my family noticing? And wouldn’t it be cool if there were girls here?
On a recent Friday, Ali Hamra, 28, sat on his motorcycle, watching a crowd of about 75 cyclists doing tricks on the machines that are the loves of their lives. Some rode standing upright on their seats or handlebars; others pulled the front wheel in the air; still others spun their rear wheels to create clouds of black smoke. In the United States these tricks would barely turn an eye, but in Iraq the bravado looks like the baby steps of a nascent youth culture, modeled largely — and imperfectly — on a vision from abroad.
“I feel I am a rebel,” Mr. Hamra said, displaying a forearm tattooed with the logo of the rapper 50 Cent. “We took this as an American style. It’s like the idea of being warriors. Motorcycle people listen to rap or rock — they have their own warrior style.”
He added: “In America the rebels have their own streets and coffee shops. So we are following them.”
His friend Ahmed Hassan, 23, wore a Che Guevara T-shirt he had bought in Kurdistan. By his account, he was one of a handful of riders who started the impromptu motorcycle shows in 2002, before the war and sectarian violence drove the riders back into their homes. Now, as security has improved in the last two years, they are back in force, and Mr. Hassan has become something of a minor celebrity, appearing on the news and earning the title Ahmed Damages for his ability to repair broken bikes.
“It makes me happy to be an idol, a famous person to them,” he said, seated on his bright green dirt bike. “A lot of the original people left the country because they were sick of the security situation, getting harassed by the police. Now I’m teaching a new generation how to do tricks.”
Sunni and Shiite, the riders came from all parts of the city — defying parents, avoiding the police and hoping for safe passage through a city still dotted with danger zones. A police cruiser kept them under close watch.
Haider Ahmed, 19, parked his scooter by the side of the road to watch his friends. His family does not approve of his being part of this scene, he said, so he had to sneak out of the house. His brother had threatened to crush his scooter if he caught him in the shows, out of fear for Mr. Ahmed’s safety.
“When we’re here, we forget everything around us,” Mr. Ahmed said. “Sometimes the police come and stop us, but we come back.” Twice the police stopped him for not having the right license plate and fined him the equivalent of $25.
Mr. Ahmed, who works in a wire factory, said he spent all of his money and spare time on his bike, as others here do. A trick can take a month to learn and be over in a few seconds. Everybody tries to do a new trick every week.
“It’s dangerous, and it’s not easy for anyone to learn and dare to do tricks, so that’s why I feel special and different from others,” he said. But he tempered any rebellious swagger with practical caution. “When I come here,” he said, “I’m always afraid someone will catch me.”
As the sun went down, the riders seemed unwilling to return to their daily lives. One more trick, a last stunt in front of their friends — it was what they lived the rest of the week for, said Ammar Khathim, 22, who wore a T-shirt that said Street Boys.
Mr. Khathim played down the idea of a motorcycle counterculture. “We are not rebelling against anyone, just the traffic police and the police,” he said.
Still, he added, riding in Iraq came with particular challenges. Replacement parts are nearly impossible to come by, so the riders had to worry about damaging their bikes.
And for all the riders’ wistful thoughts of “The Wild One” or “Easy Rider,” one essential element was missing from the scene. Because the sexes in Iraq do not mingle in public for religious reasons, the shows have been a strictly male affair. Riders who have girlfriends say they cannot ride together on the men’s motorcycles.
“It’s a babe magnet,” said Messar al-Saffar, 33, speaking English, “but in Iraq, it’s hard to get your girlfriend on the back.”
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