There's the Tennessee Stud, a long and low, bright-yellow recumbent bike with handlebars that jut out from under its rider's hips. There are also the Silver Coffin and That Goddamn Bike. This is one of the Hard Times Bike Club's hangouts. Formed four years ago by a couple of guys and a welding torch, tonight's group is 25 strong. The bike club has no dues, no regular meetings or rides - that would be much too organized for a group with so many homeless members, drifting members, members without phones and members dedicated to pursuing liberty.
Meetings happen by chance.
They may, on occasion, gather for a parade. Tall bikes inspire viewers to gawk, rather than smirk. In Uptown a few weeks ago, a lone club member whizzed through the traffic of beautiful people. The biker, sporting dirty denim, hovered over the stopped cars at Lake and Hennepin like a raven gliding to a stop. Even a lone rider on a tall bike can induce visions of a skeletal Cirque du Soleil mutinized by Alfred Jarry.