Way back in 1977, a group of bikers in France got together and thrashed out ideas about putting together an M C. One that wouldn’t just be local but would spread its wings and gather together like minded people from across France and, little did they know at the time, other European countries. The group was led by Max, who had experience of biker clubs in Canada, having founded a club there some years earlier. He recognised that France was missing a trick, that the few and far between, small local clubs couldn’t replicate the sense of belonging and adventure that he had known. He chose the name ‘Dakotas’ from the Lakota language meaning ‘friend’ ‘ally’ ‘family’ and also, to a lesser degree, ‘territory’. It was January 1978 when the colours were chosen and the charter written, with the mother chapter in Lyon, south eastern France.
Pic are the colours of Max, the President, but after some years of wear.
The first year was pretty quiet but in 1979 it really took off with contacts across France and chapters forming: Paris, Le Havre, Cognac, LA (in France that stands for Loire Atlantique), West Coast and Cote d’Or. Club members came from a variety of different backgrounds and rode different machines, mainly choppers or customised by their owners. They had a shared ethos of camaraderie and being as one, a shared love of their bikes and biking, a shared dedication to having a good time and adventure.
It got into the rhythm of 2 major runs a year, one for Whitsun weekend and one for the summer. Each run taking place in a different part of France, initially. Each run an excuse for a mega party: good food, good laughs, plenty to drink. Each run, one of discovery: meeting new bros, seeing new places, having new experiences, living life to the full.
1980 a big year for the club
It was the year that Frenchie, from Brittany, would finally got to meet his future bros. He had been in contact, by letters and phone (emails and cell phones didn’t exist back then), for some time while working on building his Triumph 650 chopper, and finally all was in place for a trip to the South of France for the Whitsun run. Frenchie was a member of the Fort 72 MC, on the island of Jersey (formed in 1972 – hence the name – by a group of bikers who had been together since 1970). He was looking for a new ‘home’ now that he had moved back to France. Keen for his brothers to meet the Dakotas, Frenchie, with permission from Max, invited a small group of them to accompany him.
The ferry timetable meant a late departure from Saint Malo on the 600 mile trip to Amberieu. It was dark by the time they hit Normandy and all was going smoothly until suddenly, while Frenchie was leading on his chop, wending his way around corners on a steep hill, everything went dark – no more lights. His brother bikers immediately positioned themselves so their headlamps could show the way. They made a decision to stop at the first village they encountered, crash for the night, and continue their trip in daylight.
It was a small village, a few houses, a cafe, and a church with a churchyard – ideal place to kip they thought. Well not ideal for several reasons – the bells rang out every quarter! And then, after a very poor night, the priest, arriving at his church noticed these layabouts laying around his churchyard, and started prodding them with a stick and motioning for them to leave. They made their way to the cafe, which promptly pulled down the shutters locked their door and turned the sign to ‘ferme’ (closed). To top it all off, Frenchie discovered that the electrics on his chop were completely burnt out and his journey would have to stop there.
The rest of the group, led by Tony (aka TNT) President of Fort 72 MC, continued their journey to Amberieu where they met Max, the increasingly large group of bikers and some really smart choppers (including one that was made as a prop for a Pink Floyd tour) – some friends for life. They took down details and immediately made plans for Max and bros to visit the island of Jersey for a return run/party. So just a month later Max and a posse of other bikers and their ladies arrived at Frenchie’s for a trip over to the island and Frenchie got to meet his first Dakotas in the flesh after all.
So July 1980 and a few of the Dakotas arrived at Frenchie’s for the trip across the water to Jersey. On board the ferry was a ‘motorcyclist’ who asked if he could camp with them as he didn’t know Jersey. He claimed to be German, but 2 of the Dakotas were fluent German speakers and he wouldn’t speak in German to them, so they were already suspicious – turns out he was drug enforcement officer but they never discovered for whom. He was sorely disappointed though because he had been sussed out.
Now the Channel Islands were the only part of Britain to be occupied by the Nazis during WWII, so there are plenty of bunkers scattered around the islands. In Jersey, Fort 72 had commandeered a bunker some years before, named it Jack Boot, and used it for parties. So the Dakotas got to enjoy an all night bunker party for the first time, and Fort 72 got to show off their ability to have a good time. Big fun was had by everyone. Always an eerie quality to sleeping in a german WWII bunker but no tents needed as provides good shelter for cooking, eating, drinking, sleeping and partying.
PS, for any of you out there who do the boating side of things – try Jersey, Channel Islands, or Saint Malo in Brittany, France. Both wonderful places to visit but not sure that they are that well known to the boating community Stateside. Saint Malo is the departure point for the ‘Route de Rhum’ cross Atlantic yacht race every 4 years.
Due to his vast experience as a biker, something many of the new prospects of the club didn’t have, Frenchie was told he woould be patched over to the Dakotas as a fully fledged member after the next big run, which obviously added another reason to party. Some of the main bros from Fort 72 would also be given the title of ‘honorary member’.
After 3 days, most of the party made their way home, leaving just 3 who had longer leave and could stick around for a while. Now there are some very strict speed limits on the island of Jersey – the maximum being 40 mph. Sadly the three remaining Dakotas, including Max, fell foul of the law. It was reported in the local newspaper, calling them the 3 musketeers. They spent the night in the cells, where one of the Dakotas kept the guards awake by wailing for his mother all night – what a laugh. In Court the next day, they were fined £25 each (a lot back then), banned from driving for 3 months and had to pay an extortionate amount to retrieve their bikes. Then to add insult to injury, were later fined for ‘being in control of a motorcycle without wearing a helmet’ while they were pushing their mounts to the ferry.
PS They got their names wrong in the press.
The next item on the Dakotas calendar, the Summer Run, was by all means the highlight of the year. One of the members, Jean, had been in contact for some time with a certain Bob Bitchin of Chopper and FTW magazines in the US, and invited him along to the run. Now Dakotas runs had already become notorious as the place to be for bikers, featuring in the press wherever they went, but this special guest was something else. The run was to be in the outskirts of the town of Nontron in central western France.
Bob’s subsequent article about his adventures in Europe, which included the Dakotas summer run ‘Bad Craziness in Europe’, (also a chapter in his book ‘Biker’) hits upon how strange things were for an American in Europe – the stares, the hotel refusals, the amazingly old places, the great fun and games had at the run (seems it was the highlight of Bob’s trip too), the vin and biere (wine and beer). Believe me, the Dakotas and their friends were also living things that other French people were not: life experiences out of this world, doing their own thing, making their own merriness, applying their own rules. In Bob’s words ‘it was a madhouse’, but one that held no regrets, that would create memories that could never be erased, one that cemented friendships and brotherhood for life.
At one point Frenchie, for a laugh, got down on his knees, and held out his helmet to ‘beg’ for funds to buy some drinks. A lady stranger replied that she would put some funds into the helmet if she could kiss his head for luck, which she promptly did. Little did Frenchie know but, following having shaved his head a little later, this would become a feature that followed him forever. Still to this day, without him ‘begging’, strange ladies are forever asking if they can kiss his head for luck.
Having the great man as a guest also added a something extra special to that run. What better than to have access to someone, not only big in stature but big in experience, in positive attitude, and in heart. Bob Bitchin had so much to offer, and he didn’t hold back – totally generous with his life experiences and ideas and friendship. Still 45 years on, this run and meeting this special man, forms a major part of biker legend in France and Europe. If someone of a certain age notices that you are a Dakota, they will invariably ask if you were there, followed by a request to shake your hand.
The 80s – continued madness
The following year saw the birth of Channel Chapter, with Frenchie at its head and prospects/members from Brittany in France, the Channel islands of Jersey and Guernsey, and the UK. The Dakotas had become International.
The first run of the year was organised by the newly formed Orleans Chapter. Camping among the vines in Sully, visiting the Sancerre (wine) caves and participating in a Sancerre ‘baptism’. Also saw a confrontation with the forces of the law, unwarranted arrestation and confiscation of passports – both totally illegal. The guys with the kepi hats on said they would call for backup – to which Frenchie replied “we have back up too, plenty of other brothers in camp”. In the end the ‘flics’ had to back down. This was one of many runs organised by the brothers from Orleans, each one adding new experiences.
The summer run was back in Nontron, although was marked by Cote d’Oc and Provence chapters. and some individuals leaving the club as they wanted it to be an all Harley club. One of the mottos of the Dakotas is – it isn’t the bike that counts, it is the person. Yes, each and every bike was individual, many choppers but nothing ‘straight off the shelf’ – but many were not necessarily HD. In fact Harleys were very few and far between in France at the time, and very much the realm of the wealthy. One of the essential elements of the club was its diversity. L.A. Chapter, having lost its Pres, became West. The following year, L.A. Chapter would also part ways.
Even more international, the next run was held in Switzerland by a Swiss member who belonged to the mother chapter in Lyon. Frenchie will especially remember this run though as his ride home, as passenger, ended with both rider and passenger eating asphalt. No other vehicle involved, the rider had fallen asleep (way too much partying). They picked up the bike and made their way home but three days later Frenchie was under the knife with a ruptured spleen.
Then a run at La Fleche, near the Le Mans race track. Each and every run very different to the others. There were other occasions for get togethers too and the main runs often spilt over – brothers accompanying other bros home, even though it might be at the other end of the country, and continuing the party spirit. After the La Fleche run, for example, Frenchie and the Channel chapter were accompanied back to Frenchie’s place in Brittany by President Max and Vice Pres Big Frank and a couple of other members from the other side of the country. They arrived back in Saint Malo and just kicked off their kit and started relaxing when they heard a rumble of bikes getting louder and louder. Another 12 bikes arrived to join the 10 already parked outside Frenchie’s flat. People gathered around in wonder, leaning out of their windows to catch a glimpse.
The party continued in Saint Malo, hurried arrangements for a restaurant for the hoard, grateful that the cafe-bar ‘Le Pecheur’ – local haunt for the Channel Chapter – was big enough and big-hearted enough to accommodate the 30+. The fun part was about making room for everyone in Frenchie’s one-bedroomed flat – people kipped in the bedroom, living room, kitchen, hallway, bathroom with a few sleeping in Frenchie’s bus. What a squeeze, what a blast!
The next Orleans run was hosted by a French rock band and saw the Dakotas featured for the cover photo of their album. As always, much merry making, including the tap on the buttocks of a ‘lady cyclist’ as each biker passed, only to see in their mirrors that it wasn’t a lady at all – rather a shapely man with long hair and a full beard. That was hilarious.
Then came the summer run of 1983 and Channel Chapter’s turn to play host. Frenchie, by this time, had moved out of his flat to a wild place in the countryside. The house had no electrics, no mains gas, no running water but a huge space outside, a neighbour’s field for people to camp, and a ‘friend’ with a Chateau – with bar/night club/swimming pool (all for the 4 star campsite paying guests, but a great outlet for the bikers). Bob Bitchin had thought that the Nontron run was a madhouse, wonder what he would have made of this run – it was a party and a half. From beginning to end it featured much madness, much hilarity. From the moment the old fella neighbour exchanged ‘cigarettes’ with one of the group and didn’t want to swap back – ended up totally out of it for 48 hours – to the hoard jumping in the swimming pool fully dressed, leaving a slick of oil that meant it had to be fully emptied and cleaned out before the inspectors came the following day! The barman (will always remember the young Sebastien) who filled the glasses, took the coins as payment, and promptly dropped them into the bottom of the glass so they could be ‘spent’ again. The main meal also took place at the chateau, and afterwards the group provided entertainment by riding their steeds in a circle in front of the chateau, whooping and hollering, sirens ablaze, before finally making their way back to camp. It was another Dakotas run that would become legendary.
The following year was a painful one. At the Whitsun run Max announced that he would be leaving the club – he had other things on his mind. Frenchie was chosen as the new President and Channel would become the mother chapter. The summer run, organised by Cognac, was also to prove traumatic as n road accident caused the death of the young drummer of the group that was entertaining the Dakotas. He was passenger riding behind one of the English members, himself seriously injured.
The fun and laughter returned for the Whitsun run in 1985, which was again organised by Orleans. Laughs a plenty. A visit to Chambord Chateau where the usual ‘family photo’ took place. It was suggested everyone lined up outside a favourite bar for another family photo – only instead of the photo there was a bucket of water from an open window. A water fight ensued. The water fight was to become a must at Dakotas runs.
The only photo showing any evidence of the water fight but it lives on in memories
The Toy Run.
Not knowing, at this point, that the very first Toy Run EVER had been organised by our good friend Bob Bitchin, with his riding partner LACO Bob Lawrence, back in December 1973, Frenchie and Channel Chapter decided it was about time France had its very first Toy Run, so the ‘summer’ run of 1985 was just that and saw many other clubs invited, so they could take part. ‘Summer’ in inverted commas as it proved to be a very wet run.
Usual party antics, a makeshift stage for visiting musicians providing the soundtrack, a visit to Mont Dol – very very steep hill to negotiate on two wheels, but they managed it – and then the handing over of the toys, with the Mayor of Saint Malo, the local press and an invite to visit the part of the walled city that was reserved for VIPs.
What was not reported at the time was that the Mayor offered Frenchie ‘Freedom of St Malo’ – an honour that had just been offered to Eric Tabarly (French Naval Officer and Solo Round the World Yachtsman), what an honour!!! However, Frenchie turned it down saying that he wasn’t alone, that it would have to be for all of the Dakotas or none.
There was another Dakotas run, the following year, in Cognac. Then the runs were postponed – bad news about the founder, Max, RIP. Brothers, for whatever reasons, doing their own things, having to move to distant places, Frenchie and his lady moved to the UK – quiet times.
Bob the Field
It was a number of years down the road when Frenchie decided that he wanted to get the club up and running again, but living in the UK and at quite a distance from France, he realised that a place was needed in France for any future parties, a rallying point. After much searching, he came across the ideal place, a field with a private entrance, hidden from view, in Brittany. After much wrangling, including finding himself threatened with a shotgun, he was finally allowed to purchase the plot. He was told that he would need to go to the Town Hall to ask what the name of the plot was. He imagined it might be, I don’t know, ‘deer field’, ‘blossom prairie’, ‘hog meadow’. When he discovered that it was ‘Champ Robert’ (Field Robert) he declared – ‘I am buying a field called ‘Bob’.
That was 2007 and slowly but surely former members came back together and new ones joined them. Many, sadly, had died, and many more could no longer ride but relished being able to be in touch with their former bros even if they were not riding with them. Not as many members but the same strong spirit.
Not all the runs are on Bob the Field, many taking place in Northern France, the site of much of WWI; in the Loire valley; in Normandy, including a visit to Colleville-sur-Mer – the American cemetery above Omaha, where one of the group worked and where the Dakotas got, once again, treated like VIPs. Smaller get togethers too in Jersey, Channel Islands, for the Holidays for Heros Ride Out.
Now there are members in France, including the French territory of Reunion Island, the UK and Germany. Most important of all is that the ethos with which the club was first formed, that of family, of enjoying life to the full, of a shared vision of biking, of discovery, is still there for all members to embrace. Still people, who are now of the older generation, who come across Dakotas, who know their story, hold out their hands so they can say ‘I have shaken the hand of a Dakotas’.
PS. The reason I know this story so well is that I am Frenchie’s lady, Jo.
