Bikers are celebrating but you’re definitely not invited
Hundreds of Hells Angels are coming to Carlsbad Springs this weekend, but you won’t find signs of opposition in the community
A sign on the chain-link fence surrounding 5416 Piperville Rd. in Carlsbad Springs reads NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
It’s almost entirely obscured by scrubby trees and other foliage, mind you, so the accidental tourist might need other hints to determine whether he is welcome inside.
Some would not be so obvious. The mailbox, for example (one of those post-mounted rural types found by the road and usually equipped with a little flag to indicate the presence of correspondence) could offer a mixed message. The name on it is “AFFA,” which one could be forgiven for not knowing is an acronym for “Angels Forever, Forever Angels,” the slogan used not by teenage girls who keep gratitude journals, but by the apostrophe-less Hells Angels to indicate that they’re in this game for the long haul.
That wrought-iron front gate, though, with its imposing, winged Death Head skull logo, might steer some away. And if it didn’t get the message across, there are, at least this weekend, sentries and other men about who will gladly encourage outsiders to head elsewhere, including one well-tattooed young man whose body ink includes a teardrop at the corner of his right eye — the international symbol to indicate one has either killed someone, done time in prison, grieved a lost loved one, or simply become a collector of clichéd body art — and who, between sips from a heat-quenching Slush Puppie — was busy Thursday parging the gate’s stuccoed columns. Company, after all, is coming. Behind those uninviting gates, great hives of activity were putting the final touches on the Hells Angels Nomads compound, as the Ottawa chapter readies to host this weekend’s Canada Run, a celebration that will attract hundreds of members from across Canada. An Ottawa Hydro crew was busy working on site, while others landscaped fresh sod, and a half-dozen Porta Potties — oh, the indignity — were set up.
Nowhere in Carlsbad Springs, where Boundary, Piperville and Russell Roads converge, will you find a banner welcoming the nation’s Hells Angels, such as you might for a chiropractor’s convention, say, but neither will you see much, if any, visible opposition. The rancour in this community of some 900, judging at least by the lawn signs, is instead directed at a proposed dump.
In fact, many in this community — originally known as Boyd’s Mills but renamed Carlsbad Springs when it was discovered that upperclass Ottawans would pay good money to reap the recreational and medical benefits of the sulphur baths and mineralized waters in the area — seem to welcome the hirsute bikers and their chained wallets.
“We’ve put on extra staff for the weekend,” says Kennedy Gaudet, a server at D&S Southern Comfort BBQ Family Smoke House & Grill, which in a previous incarnation was known as Jacques’ Trap, and before that, Oasis, a strip club that bikers affectionately referred to as “The House.” The establishment, right at the main intersection, holds nearly 250 people, has loads of parking and, according to one customer who requested anonymity, excellent food; ideal for out-of-town guests.
“But we don’t know what to expect. We haven’t heard anything directly from them. But they come here for takeout, or in groups of five or six. They’re tame in here. They’re nice, and they tip well.”
Across the street at Carlsbad Pizza, pictures of Frank Sinatra and Hollywood stars adorn the walls, including, one of Marlon Brando on a motorcycle, from the 1953 movie The Wild One, considered the original outlaw biker film.
The 65-year-old owner, who’s been there 26 years without any trouble, won’t give his name, but says that he, too, has no problem with the bikers. “Just last week I got a $100 order from them,” he says. “They’re good to us, we’re good to them. They give us business, we’re happy. One of them was in the store next door this morning, and bought cigarettes and Tylenol.
“A lot of people around here are on their side,” he adds, “because they know nothing bad is going to happen with them around. They protect us.”
This seems to be the sentiment in the area, that if you don’t step on the Hells Angels’ toes, they won’t step on you, especially this weekend, when the long lenses of law enforcement will be trained on them. “I feel safe,” said another nameless resident. There’ll be cops everywhere. How safe can you be?”
Rene’s Corner is a Beer Store/ LCBO/variety store/Sears catalogue outlet/dry-cleaning drop-off and gas station with weeds growing around the pump islands, just a couple of country blocks from the Angels’ compound. Owner Judy (who declined to offer a surname) serves them all the time, and scoffs at the notion of trouble.
“One of them came in and said to be sure we had lots of cigarettes this weekend,” she says. “But they’re organized. I asked one of them if they had their ice all arranged, and he said ‘We have an ice machine.’
“They’ll have everything they need. They did this a few years ago. They had a big party around Canada Day, six or eight years ago. It’ll be noisier, because of the bikes, but that’s about it. They’ll have outings … back then they had a riverboat cruise, and took two or three buses to the river.
“But we never worry, because if they get out of line, someone will take care of them.”
Judy remembers an occasion a few years ago, when the Nomads first arrived at the Piperville Road compound. “Some of the younger guys were a bit snotty. Fresh. So you’d just tell one of the older guys about it, and the younger ones wouldn’t come back.
“But I don’t make a fuss. They come in, they’re customers. My sister always says ‘You know where their money comes from?’ and I say ‘Well, some people do have jobs. They’re just part of the club.’ Other than that, they’re customers. They’ll come in, and you know what, you won’t even hear a swear word.”
Near the pump outside, a member of 13 Crew, considered a “puppet” group in the Angels’ hierarchy, stops to make a call on his cellphone. His black leather vest is adorned with red-and-black patches, one of a skull bearing the number 13. On his bare right shoulder, a tattoo of a heart is overlaid with the word “Mom.” Asked about the weekend’s activities, he politely declines to comment. “I don’t say nothing, man. Sorry.”
Back at D&S Southern Comfort BBQ, a customer arrives to pick up a couple of club sandwiches. He, too, prefers to remain anonymous, noting that he, like many others in the area, expects nothing untoward to happen this weekend.
But he adds a comment that is seldom heard. “They travel as a group,” he says.
“It’s intimidating, and people are not comfortable with it. And if something does go wrong in their group, it’s not going to be a small something. It’ll be a huge something.”
Meanwhile, at the Petro-Canada at Boundary and Thunder Roads, site manager Jason (who also kept his last name to himself ) is preparing for sales of high-octane Ultra 94 to soar this weekend. “Only Petro-Canada has it,” he says.
And, regarding the expected influx of bikers?
“People treat you as you treat them, and we’re pretty good here.”
But they come here for takeout, or in groups of five or six. They’re tame in here. They’re nice, and they tip well.
Crime and criminals are strangely romanticized, a reaction fuelled by popular culture, though it shouldn’t be that way. Such is the case with hundreds of Hells Angels roaring into Carlsbad Springs for their Canada Run. The location for the annual meetup is selected, we are told, just like the Olympics: the local chapter bids, then there’s a vote. How very interesting.
The big bikes, the tough image — all of which, in the romanticized version, naturally conceal a heart of gold — mask what, and who, the Angels really are. So who are the Hells Angels? Lennoxville, Que., 1985: Five members are invited to the gang’s clubhouse, ambushed and murdered. Their corpses are recovered from the St. Lawrence River. This kicked off the Quebec biker war, fought between the Hells Angels and the upstart Rock Machine gang.
Montreal, 1995: Daniel Desrochers, 11, is killed when a car bomb explodes in Montreal. He had been playing outside, in the grass near a school. Shrapnel had lodged in his brain; four days later he died in hospital. It took his death to spur police to lock up many of the top bikers directing the inter-club battle.
Montreal, 2015: Quebec cops round up leaders of the Hells Angels, the Mafia and street gangs, suggesting a sinister alliance between those running drugs and committing crime. Indeed, a leading member of the biker gang was arrested this week in Montreal as part of a that drug-trafficking investigation.
So biker gangs contain their share of thugs, dealers, pimps and murderers. It’s unfair to tar and feather the whole lot, of course: Not all of the Hells Angels are convicted criminals. But neither are they romantic rogues.
“The power of that patch is a big part of who they are. By having the numbers here and riding through the community, it’s going to have an impact,” says Det.-Staff Sgt. Len Isnor, head of the Ontario provincial biker enforcement unit.
Those who live in Carlsbad Springs have reason to be concerned. For example, a weekend party in Windsor in 2006 led to four Hells Angels facing charges after a brawl outside a strip club. Police said 40 other bikers watched the four fight the other group, men visiting from Michigan. This is a gang that doesn’t shy from violence.
Police forces from all over the country will be present this weekend to keep an eye on proceedings at the clubhouse of the Nomads — a Hells Angels chapter — in Carlsbad Springs. Still, police are warning people to steer clear. These are not people you want your children hanging about with.
The club’s dangerous and sordid history makes this a little bit more than a weekend barbecue.