One cry brings them all and in the country binds them. In the land of Connecticut, where shadows of elm trees lie, the fathers the Flaming Knights of New Haven ride hard and free.¹

Here is the Knights' Tale that calls to me. It began with King Dragon in the Elm City on the 27th of April, 1968. He and the founding members had dared to ride against the tide of their times. They founded an organization built on brotherhood: a club freed from the shackles of race, sex, and class. A club that cared not what bike was ridden, or who was riding it, so long as it was, by someone. It is written (well, on the internet) that this is so. It is the same way today as then. Our members still believe in the same dream as King Dragon did, That all bikers are brothers, and united we stand. It is a great honor to be a Flaming Knight, And more fun than you can imageing [sic] Anyone who Respects themselves and others can join us at the Round Table of Fire.

Those seated there will soon share their tale with me of who they are today and who they came from; a King Dragon who nobly furthered Civil Rights ideals through nothing less than the common human desire to be cool, have fun, and go somewhere. The group's longevity lies in the inclusiveness on which it was founded; only 23 days after Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination. To whatever extent this King's daring vision was politically motivated, whatever its inspiration, the message stuck, was fruitful, and multiplied.

There are currently close to 30 Flaming Knights chapters, from New York City to San Diego to Hong Kong to Berlin. And everywhere they believe in the same code.

My cab, taking me from my dormitory to the Round Table of Fire, arrives. Its driver, a beefy Italian-American man, sports a black wife-beater crowned with more chains than I can count, and his bulky arms are branded by multiple tattoos. A large heart with several female names listed underneath it; Anna, Brandi, Jessica, Trisha - catches my eye. I notice the Gothic cast to this skillful work of body art and question Mr. Anthony Arnone on a hunch.

"What, do I look like a bikah or somethin'?" he chortles, charmed by my plucky inquiry. I answer in the affirmative. He asks why I wanna know. I announce, with no wont of enthusiasm, that I'm on my way to meet the Flaming Knights of New Haven. He whirls around to look at me, eyes enlarged with a sort of fatherly concern. All 250 pounds of Tony have never, would never set foot in 504 Whalley Avenue, and he seems concerned that it won't be safe for me, a female half his size.

"God bless you, though," he says, shaking his head as if I'd just told him I'd been drafted. As I'm thoroughly convinced the Knights are a noble and fun-loving bunch, I wonder why Tony should worry. For the moment, however, I want to know all he can tell me about bikes.

After all, Tony used to ride with Charter Oak, Dirty Old Men, and even the Slumlords (in a darker day). Biking just had to go when times got rough for his family. And as he lovingly points to that giant heart emblazoned on his mammoth right arm, I learn that Trisha, Brandi, and the bunch are, in fact, his daughters. Evidently, Biker and Family Man are not mutually exclusive. For as the New Haven Flaming Knights themselves proclaim: all you need to ride hard and free is a love of the road, not some outdated macho image. Maybe the Knights aren't the only bikers out there who break the mold.

"They're black, you know," Tony says, turning to me abruptly. "You do know that, right?" Well, what I do know is that all are welcome. "I'm not prejudiced either, you gotta understand. Back then it was mostly white people, you know what I mean? It's like that movie, Easy Rider -- you know what I'm talkin' about? Dennis Hopper, and who's that guy."

Peter Fonda. According to Tony, Easy Rider (1969) told you what these '60s biker guys were all about: fellas - white fellas - who just wanted to up and go places, looking for a good time; wearing tons of leather, and creating their legendary image - exemplified by that Steppenwolf song on the soundtrack, "Born to be Wild."

I recall the Knights and their own Steppenwolfian motto "Born to Wander." just as we draw near their den. Or rather, where it should be; between 508 and 500 Whalley is nothing that remotely resembles a clubhouse. Tony is mystified. "Back then, it used to be like, you know, a garage widda big sign."

Two African-American men sitting on the porch of 508 Whalley might know where to direct me. I ask Tony to let me off here anyway. His eyes widen as he bears witness to my courage. He gives me his cell phone number and asks me to call him when I'm done. "Or if you need anything." The men on the porch of 508 Whalley look surprised to see me in their part of town, and even more surprised to hear me asking for the Flaming Knights. Kindly pointing me to a small building between 508 and 500 Whalley, they confirm what I'd already come to suspect:

"Yeah, Mike's right there, that's where you'll find them Flamin' Knights."

Mike's is the barbershop next door.

I push my way through Mike's crowded doorway and ask the first man I see inside for Cutty, the President of the Flaming Knights of New Haven. Turns out he is Cutty. Yeah, he was expecting meÐÐhe didn't forget. He's finishing up with someone and will be with me in a second. I have a seat.

A few other people (some customers, some friends) are sitting with me on Mike's blue vinyl couch, just chilling and looking around. Some of them are watching Black Entertainment Television on the shop's small-screen T.V. The long, narrow room -- lined with mirrors, paved with old linoleum, and studded with greenish-yellow, built-in fluorescent lights -- is drenched in the smell of too much hair product. Pictures and posters are taped up everywhere: Malcolm X, Cutty and company in assorted personal photos, and Mariah Carey posed seductively atop a motorcycle on a poster for her movie Glitter. Save for Mariah, there is nothing that marks this as Flaming Knights territory.

But the doorway crowd filters out, unveiling the Knights' presence in this small neighborhood barbershop. Just to the right of the entrance is a corner cluttered with feel-good photos, plaques, and trophies. King Dragon Award 2000 to Mike 'Cutty' Lawhorn as a member of the Flaming Knights in recognition of outstanding leadership and performance. Another trophy is over five feet tall. Jay Hawkers Motorcycle Club of Washington, D.C.: First most represented club.

Cutty charges his friend $4.50 for a cut before turning to me for a more proper introduction. Although I gather from his numerous trophies that he is Mike Lawhorn of Mike's, he introduces himself to me (for the second time) as Cutty. "I'm Cutty because I'm a barber," he smilingly says. "Here, you are what you wanna be call."

Cutty's big. He's got big corn rows, big eyes, and a big, sedated sort of half-smile. Nothing like the reckless, charismatic Knight I had envisioned. He seems to like me, but he's the type of good-natured guy who would probably like most anybody. I ask him about his Jay Hawkers trophy that's as tall as me and he likes me even more. They got it at an annual round-up in Maryland, where the New Haven Knights were greatest in number.

"I'm President because I didn't miss no functions," he explains. "I stay on my bike all the time. And everyone hangin' out at the barber shop. "This year I'm tryin' to do nuttin', cause I don't need no more trophies!" A stylish young woman with short hair laughs from the Knight's corner. Her name is Cheese, "You know, like . . . Cheese." With the enthusiasm of a girl scout, she tells Cutty he better watch his back, though she's only been a member since May, she's got quite a few patches on her vest already.

Every Flaming Knight has a black leather vest. On the front are patches representing all the places each Knight has been. But the back of each vest is essentially the same. At its center stands a statuesque red and yellow Flaming Knight wearing a horned helmet, brandishing a flaming sword, and holding a shield reading "Flaming Knights Motorcycle Club." Above this central patch is the group's motto, Born to Wander. Below it is its cry, Second to None. Other slogans like FKFFFK are also prominently embroidered, although I don't yet know what the mysterious acronym denotes.

Cheese removes her vest and fingers its back patch as she tells me, in her lilting voice, why she chose to become a Flaming Knight. For her and the rest of the Knights, it has to do with the meaning of each and every patch and slogan found on the back of their club vest.

We ride with pride, dignity, honor, and respect. There are currently about 30 Knights in the New Haven chapter. These are the people who can ride with the group and wear their colors. Proper knightings are simply formalities -- you get on one knee and get a tap on the head with a sword. "You just do the sword thing," says Cutty, "say, 'You've been knighted,' and yeah, that's about it." Sure, there's a six-month squireship (probation) period before the knighting but that's just to make sure you're a respectful person.

"We don't want no rowdy people, who gonna put our colors on and do somethin' stupid," Cutty explains. Being stupid will get you kicked out. "When you ride with the group, it's like you're an individual, but still part of the collective," Cutty explains. The collective extends well beyond those who ride with the Knights. If you go out with a Knight, for example, you automatically wear the colors and become one, too. And there are plenty of other people who are socially included in the brotherhood. Like Cutty's own children: a 10-year-old daughter who now owns a four-wheeler, and an 11-year-old son who rides a dirtbike. "Took me a couple years to get the second bike for my girl," Cutty tells me. "Know what I mean?"

Our motto is Born to Wander. The Flaming Knights are Easy Riders, too. "Ever gotten high before?" Cutty asks. "Ridin's like that all the time, but you're not chasin' it." Rain, tornadoes -- the Knights have been sunburned and weather-beaten, reduced to shielding their eyes with a free hand to be able to see. "You get so tan that you look like a raccoon," Cutty laughs. He's put over 34,000 miles on his bike in four years. Let someone else ride it? "You can have my girl before you can have my bike," he says. His girl, after all, didn't bring him to the Rocky Mountains. "I had tears in my eyes," he recalls. "It was off the hook."

A slim Knight named Chill Will's put 6,000 miles on his bike since May. "That's my dog!" Cutty exclaims, high-fiveing his protégé. "Rain or shine, you see every pebble on the ground," Chill Will adds. "You see everything, smell everythingÉ"

A Knight named Body (she used to model) shows me her key chain -- a photo of herself on a ski lift with the Smoky Mountains in the background. "I had a ball in Tennessee," she remembers. "You know, between last year and this year since I've been a Knight I've traveled more than in my entire lifetime." Body plans on seeing it all. "Born to Wander - that means everywhere," she says. "Going new places with different kinds of people who are all your brothers and sisters."

We have always believed in No Color Lines, No Gender Lines, and No Brand Lines. Our cry is Second to None. The Knights take enormous pride in the working-class, family-oriented makeup of their group -- even if it means less time spent together and fewer road trips. "We just don't roll as deep," Cutty says. "Times is harder. Money, kids. We got too many spring chickens, like me- with commitments. We can't always just up and go."

"We got people in medicine, contracting, law enforcement; lawyers, businesspeople," Body adds. It's obvious to me that she is particularly proud of this feature of the group. "But all of them, they just love the road and the bike."

The White Knight, at King Dragon's side from the beginning, is a guardian of the very soul of Second to None. "Yeah, White Knight - he was one of the originals!" Cutty laughs, showing me a picture of the now 60-something White Knight (a tough Santa Claus look-alike) as we flip through one of his Flaming Knights photo albums. "He's still riding around." I comment on the group's racial diversity. Body falls serious. "See what this says?" she exclaims, pointing to the group's cry. "That means Respect All. And that means everyone."

Remembering Tony and his baseless fear of these gallant Knights, I ask all three about any stereotypes of bikers they may harbor. No one is ignorant of the image of the fat, tattooed, trouble-making white dude with a ponytail. Everyone laughs at my description. "They all knuckleheads," laughs Cutty. "But if you ask all them white boys, they probably married." "And back in the day," Body somberly reminds her fellow Knights, "we were considered a gang." Again, I remember Tony's concerns on my behalf, and realize that some still fear them just the same. The Knights can't help but sense this. The urgency with which they uphold King Dragon's inclusive vision is telling, as is the intense pride they have in the upstanding, working-class makeup of their group. What was the King fighting against and working towards? What did he have to prove?

Considering all the trophies, by-laws, play-knightings, and bourgeois wanderlust, the dynamic of Cutty's charming and earnest group seems somewhat warmer and fuzzier than I imagined King Dragon's to have been. I glance at Cutty's photos of Knights laughing and smiling together in their good-naturedly kitschy gear and recall a photo I saw online of the King's founding group -- a bunch of tough guys that looked like they were up to something fresh. And what happened to that clubhouse Tony remembered -- the garage with the big sign? I'd read that the Flaming Knights' very name came from the way the fellows was promiscuous with the ladies so since they thought they were Hot it was suggested that they call themselves Flaming Knights.² I doubt Cutty, proud father of two, would have named his group in honor of his own promiscuity.

"Men ain't like they used to be," sighs Little Dragon from his garage in Palmdale, California. Though his suburban street is lined with identical track houses, the vibrant red and yellow interior of his garage is unique. It is a Flaming Knights shrine, immaculately covered with photographs, posters, and each and every set of the groups' colors -- framed. "My dad wouldn't be happy that Flaming Knights forgot about motorcycling. He was true to motorcycles and his friends -- not to organized social clubs," he says. "It was just like a big party, that's all it was. Whistlin' at girls, talkin' junk, thinking about where they wanted to go. Politickin', ego-trippin' played no part in it. He really didn't care about structure. I guess after 35 years you gotta get some," he laughs.

Leroy Bolden, Jr. was eight years old when his father first brought the Knights together in his grandmother's garage on Hurlburt Street in New Haven. "What I'd notice is when they'd leave, when they'd pull off on their loud bikes," he remembers. "You never knew what they were gonna do. I used to stand on a streetcorner and cry if I couldn't go with them. My mom would have to distract me when they pulled off."

The Knights and their turf were irresistibly cool to the young Little Dragon. They performed clever, somewhat adolescent pranks on each other, particularly during initiation, when prospective Knights were blindfolded, made to hear glass breaking on the ground, and were told to walk barefoot across what was, in fact, potato chips. And even though most of them were married, Roy remembers them as men who "kinda had their ladies." He shows me the studded, faded blue-jean vest of a Knight named Sir Sex. The patches on this particular vest are more personal in nature, such as a naked couple embracing over the caption "ride on!" under a similar patch reading "eat my BANANA."

Roy's Pop's first colors are up there, too. They're worn, untorn, and faded. It bears only Flaming Knights-related patches in a red and white '70s bubble print. King Dragon was a large man; that this jean jacket would fit me suggests it fit him rather snugly indeed. "They definitely wanted to look good," Roy chuckles. I look at all Roy's pictures on the wall and realize there is only one in which King Dragon is not wearing sunglasses. In another, he sports a process and 5-inch heels. In several more, he wears outlandish costumes with feathers, goggles, and capes. And as for the name: "My dad thought dragons were cool. And if you're going to be a dragon, you might as well be the King."

The Knights' first Castle, at the corner of Congress Avenue and Avenue 5, was at the heart of a red-light district brimming with pushers, pimps, and color. The clubhouse itself was white, with a large red sign and dozens of bikes parked out front. "You'd get there and just laugh till your side burst," Roy remembers. "There was this one cat, Chas, who always had lit cigars in his mouth. He had this bodacious voice. One time at a barbeque they threw him in a lake while he was sleeping with a cigar in his mouth, and he just popped up out of the water, took a puff, and cursed them all out."

The fun lay in the mischief inherent to standing on corners, looking good, and whistling at girls. "You know, the kind of thing that doesn't hurt nobody, but just aggravates people, nobody wants to do that no more," Roy says. "But if you don't cause any trouble, it ain't motorcyclin." According to Roy, the '80s are responsible for the petering out of the mischief, the good kind of wild he holds so dear. Why stand on a corner to pass the time having fun when there's money to be made? "Upstanding citizens didn't used to be cool. But like I should talk! Here I am with my physics books," he laughs, pointing to a shelf in his study. It wasn't like the original Knights were looking for fights, he adds; it's just that the current ones refuse to "aggravate."

Troublemaking in the name of good humor may have died out with time, but King Dragon's egalitarian vision has endured. Though the "I Have A Dream" patch on Sir Sex's vest may have had a double meaning, I am eager to know what civil rights had to do with the groups' founding principles. Despite my suspicions to the contrary, Roy assures me that the Knights were never a political group. "We didn't have no die-hard J.F.K., Martin Luther King, or Malcolm X followers," he says. "People just wanted to be free and have fun." For Leroy Bolden Sr., this meant being free to do so with whomever he pleased. Throughout his entire life, the King had little tolerance for discrimination of any kind. "My father, it's weird, but he didn't like anything you labeled black, like B.E.T.," Roy recalls. "I grew up in this militant era, with prejudice just a tip of it compared to him and I'd look at him, at his complexion, and I'd just be like, man, he ain't got a problem with no one! As far as he was concerned, we're all American. If you didn't like someone because of the color of their skin, you'd get slapped."

As far as their reception with the non-biking community, Roy and his colleagues are happy to prove that they are just a mixed bunch of people looking for a good time. "When I meet people I try to smooth them out," Roy says. "But I never been on a road yet where people tried to cut me down." He's been offered free food and drink in restaurants displaying confederate flags. 40 armed, white bikers in Hope, Arizona paid for his meal when they found out he was a biker too. And though a restaurant manager in North Carolina once said to him: "We don't serve your kind here," he meant bikers. "Not like that."

"If the whole country could only learn the lesson my father taught me, the world would be a better place," Roy says.

King Dragon died on January 17, 1994. He's buried in Evergreen Cemetery in New Haven. His tomb is a rather large pedestal with a cross on top. Inscribed in the pedestal is a poem written by Little Dragon himself :

FKFFFK: Flaming Knights Forever Forever Flaming Knights. Roy tells me the original Flaming Knights never would have guessed they'd become this global, not to mention this many in number. But they probably wouldn't have cared one way or the other. What mattered to them was having fun, being cool, and going somewhere with the freedom of going with whomever they pleased. What matters to the Knights now? The opportunity to take a great trip, as a break from the hard work of which they're intensely proud. The sense of place provided by a close-knit community from knowing its historical trivia to sporting its kitsch. But what matters most is taking pride in the knowledge that one of the most rewarding parts of their lives is founded on a rich legacy of equality.

King Dragon entertained no political agenda. But the way in which he entertained himself and his diverse body of Knights has lasted, and will last, far beyond his lifetime.