In 1974 a group of motorcycle riders met at a south Denver motorcycle shop, High Country Choppers. Most were in their early to mid twenties and hung out at the shop to drink beer and talk about motorcycles. We started riding together to the bars and other motorcycle functions in the Denver metro area. We met to ride, drink, play softball, drink, slow race, drink, grill some burgers, and drink. After a short time it became obvious we needed some organization so we talked about starting and riding together as a club. The outcome was the club being called High Country Choppers and we tore around town most nights and weekends going from bar to bar getting drunk and chasing the babes.
Most of what we knew about motorcycle clubs we learned from watching 60's biker movies. We knew we weren't 1%ers, but we weren't white wine and cheese guys either. We got some help from some old timers: Timber from the Galloping Goose, Animal Frank, and Tinker from the old Dead Men, and a few others. We also decided we didn't want to be confused with a bike shop and we considered a lot of different names. Our Secretary, Wild Bill, would write "...and all the brothers are Valiant" at the end of each meetings minutes. That Memorial weekend of 1975 at our annual run to Ogallala the Valiants were born.
Brother Roach bought a house by Federal & Alemeda that became our clubhouse after nailing a bar into the kitchen. From there we hit the Clown's Inn, Tap Inn, The Beginning, Ollie's Roundup, and partied with a lot of clubs in our area. We thought that one of the things that separated us from a lot of other folks (and still do) was the fact that we liked to “ride” our motorcycles and go places. It didn’t make any difference what you rode as long as you liked to ride and your bike was up to it. It was common to be hanging around the clubhouse at 3:00am and decide to ride to Cheyenne because we were bored.
We also learned that we didn’t need anyone looking for trouble because trouble found us soon enough. We did however need people that could, and would, stand up for their club brothers when necessary. During this time some of the early guys left and a few more dedicated brothers joined.
We started taking regular trips on Memorial Day, the 4th of July, and Labor Day to places like Ruedi Reservoir, Red River, the west coast, and Sturgis before the lawyers, CPAs, and doctors started trucking their bikes in and posing for pictures. Ahhh, the good old days; camping and racing bikes in front of city park (after somebody poured gas on the street and lit it), going to the races, getting shitfaced in the bars, and hanging with the big kids and old timers.
Boy have things changed. Drinking and driving - no body cared. Bar fights - if the cops showed up, which they ususally didn't, would ask if everybody was okay - then leave.
Stay Free and Ride Hard
Biddy (Old Valiant)