Putting The Brakes On Bikers' Big Night -- Alki Neighbors Complain To Police About The Uproar

The Seattle Police walked into the Alki Tavern last week and handed out lox-colored fliers.

Thursday Taco Night at the tavern, it would now appear, will no longer be the same.

Here, along this stretch of Harbor Avenue, with the downtown Seattle view so stunning the Kingdome even looks good, come the in-line skaters, the dog-walkers and the stroller-jogging moms.

The Harley-Davidson riders also come here, by the hundreds, dressed in their black leathers, riding their shiny bikes.

They come to the tavern Thursday nights to munch on 75-cent, make-your-own-tacos, drink beer, shoot pool, and smoke cigarettes. But mostly, they say, to talk and gawk bike.

The bikers have been coming here for years - and that's the problem.

Folks who live in a four-story condominium up the street say the bikers roar in and make way too much noise. Neighbors say they've complained repeatedly to police, hoping for some relief from the roars.

So last week, for the first time, according to the bikers, police walked into the tavern and handed out fliers outlining the laws that all good bikers must obey:

Have a good muffler; don't modify the exhaust system; don't knowingly cause any "unreasonable noise."

Last night, the bikers rode in like any other Thursday.

Except last night, there were no more than two dozen bikes at any one time parked outside the tavern - and several Seattle Police cars cruised up and down the street.

Nick Frisk stood outside the tavern, a freckled, mustached guy in Jack Daniels cap and Soundgarden T-shirt. He was getting his brown Harley-Davidson boots shined.

"We want to be free to ride our machines without the man," he said, shaking his head. "I usually drive my bike down here, but since last week, I got worried. Today, I drove my car."

Thursday night. Taco Night. Wouldn't miss it, he said. You get to come here and look at beautiful bikes. "Every motorcycle person gets along and has a good time."

"It's all about harassment," said Dave Goertzen, another biker. Last week, there were 350 bikes parked outside the tavern, he says. "Look how many there are tonight."

Goertzen started the Harley night at the tavern seven years ago, he explained, with the bartender who talked him into buying a bike. Back then, he said, Thursday nights were when the college girls would come down here.

But soon the place started getting talked about and it quickly became a good weekly hangout.

One night last year, he said, there were 850 bikes.

"We're not low-dog bikers. Dangerous criminal element. What we do: we raise money for children and we come here. That's it."

Everyone noticed how few bikes and bikers there were last night.

The woman who runs the Thai restaurant next door; the guy who sells leather stuff; Maxine Schubert and her husband, Ken, who walk past the tavern each night on their regular four-mile walk, noticed.

"We ate here tonight to see the cyclists. We walk here every day. I enjoy the cyclists. I've never seen them misbehave," Maxine Schubert said.

But a man in a pink shirt, blue shorts and shoes that told that he had just finished mowing the grass also noticed - and he was especially pleased.

He lives in the Seabird Condominiums. He's been living here since 1978. He and his neighbors are annoyed by the noise.

"Don't believe it. These people," he said, "they've never been so good."

On a regular Thursday, he said, there are 300 to 400 bikes.

Over the years, he said, he's complained. At least five times. Now the police are doing something, he says. That's good!

"Roaring back and forth. They (the Harley-Davidsons) don't purr like the Japanese bikes."

Which is exactly the point, Goertzen pointed out.

The thrill of a Harley, besides riding out in the open, is the noise it makes. "The vibration."

But what you have to understand, he continues, is that these bikes don't come cheap. Goertzen has invested $30,000 in his bike.

"Harley parts are pretty spendy stuff." And when an investment like that is made, he said, "you're not going to be racing it up and down."

The noise is a low rumble, a low thunder, is how he puts it. "Pocketa, pocketa," said another biker, describing the sound.

"No," Goertzen groaned. "Don't say that!"

And at that particular moment, a Seattle motorcycle officer drove by, making a noise that was more of a sputter than a roar.

"See that," Goertzen said. "That's not fun."