No room for people like me: Anti-gay bias in the motorcycle industry

I had chopper posters on my walls. I would draw a starting line in the dirt and rev the motor of my Honda 50 while convincing myself I was the next Jeff Ward. I would practice my holeshots and tell myself to pin it to win it.

All I ever wanted to do was ride motorcycles. I naively considered myself a "bike builder" after we built a Yama/Honda/Zuki/Davidson in my garage. It rode worse than it looked but it was mine and I built it myself. I was proud of that deathtrap and it was a turning point for me. I wanted to work with motorcycles for the rest of my life.

The night before I started my first job in the motorcycle industry, I was so excited I could barely sleep. All my dreams were finally becoming reality. That innocent enthusiasm quickly disappeared as I realized that there is no room in the moto industry for people like me. The problem is that I am "one of those Alphabet People."

Editor's note: See more #pridemoto stories.

No place in the industry for people like me

As of 2021, 20 million Americans openly identify as LGBTQ according to the Human Rights Campaign's analysis of the U.S. Census Bureau's Household Pulse Survey. There are countless others who don't openly identify. Over the years, most Americans have grown more tolerant of the LGBTQ community. Though some fight tooth and nail to restrict our basic human rights, others have opened their hearts and warmly accepted us as neighbors and friends.

However, the motorcycle industry has deep-seated, institutionalized, systemic, homophobia and transphobia that are barely concealed just under the surface — if at all. Over my years of working as a mechanic, a salesman, at the parts counter, as a warehouse manager, in customer service, and as an event coordinator, I learned that most of the industry still operates on a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.

In spite of that, some of the most celebrated pioneers of motorcycling fell into the rainbow of LGBTQ. Gay service men coming home after serving in World War II rode motorcycles and started clubs, the same way a lot of the straight service members did. We have ridden by your side, gone drinking together, fixed your bikes, bought and sold your motorcycles. But, the fear of losing our livelihoods and our lives has kept us in the closet for a long time.

I have always lived in the open, but soon after I started in the industry I learned that at work I couldn't be me. Openly gay, effeminate men are relegated to selling T-shirts and helmets, but I wanted to build and work on bikes. I slowly started learning to hide part of myself. I made sure to remove the nail polish from the weekend before I went to work. I had to have more jeans, more flannel, more moto bro shirts and a more "hell yeah, brother" attitude. Every general manager at every dealership I worked for gave me the speech that I had to look and act more like a "biker."

The discrimination was never blatant. Most managers understand there are laws against discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. The fear of repercussions coming down from HR meant that it was never really said out loud, but the discrimination was always there. Usually in the condescending way I was talked to or the way I was treated. Comments directed only to me. Closed-door meetings. The hushed and hurried back-of-the-warehouse discussions when no one else was around.

"I need you to turn it down."

"Can you butch up a bit more."

"You are going to burn people with those flames."

The openly hateful, blatant, and obvious discrimination typically came from the customers. I genuinely lost count of how many times a customer called me a faggot or pansy. The general customer consensus seems to be that only straight white men with gray beards know the technical side of motorcycles. If they don't trust you, they will literally walk past you and find someone else to help them. Your skills and knowledge don't matter because they won't even acknowledge your existence. As if they're afraid they'll "catch gay" just from riding a bike I fixed.

One of the dealerships I worked for had a regular transgender customer. She was always delightful and wore a pink bedazzled eye patch. As soon as she walked through the door, customers and employees would scatter and stare with disgust the entire time she was in the shop. She was a very loyal customer with many years of riding under her belt and impressive mechanical skills. I would gladly help her find the parts she was looking for or go through options of what might work for her bike. After she left, people would often come by my desk to tell me that I should sanitize everything, "just in case." Always said with a small laugh, because they were proud of themselves and their joke.

There is an odd contradiction in all of this. While it is not OK to be gay, it is OK to act gay. I can openly flirt with another male as long as it is seen as a joke. Countless games of "gay chicken" have been played in shops. It's acceptable to dress in full drag if it's Halloween. I can be flamboyant, within reason, until you find out I am not straight and then it's an issue. I had a pair of bright pink sunglasses that I wore all the time. Everyone was fine with it because, hey, he's the kooky silly guy. That was until the rumors started about my sexuality. I was quietly asked to not wear them again because it "puts off the wrong vibe."

Being yourself means risking your livelihood

As soon as you are outed, everything changes. Coworkers stop talking to you. Customers stop requesting you. The service writers stop sending you repair orders. Now that you aren't getting repair orders, you're labeled as unproductive and your hours are cut. You quickly go from "One of the best employees we've ever had" to "This isn't working for us. We are going to have to let you go."

The only way to break this vicious cycle is to quit, look for another shop that has no ties to your previous shop, and back in the closet you go. Because I still have bills to pay and need to put food on my table. So I learned to lock the closet door better. I shoved more and more of myself inside, to the point that it felt like I was living two separate lives. Most of my friends could not understand the duality I had to deal with in my chosen profession. My personal life is full of open, honest, and loving people — those who love me for who I am. My professional life was hypermasculine, pathologically straight, and I went to work with an underlying dread of being found out.

I wasn't the only one. One Saturday night I was having a wonderful time with friends at a drag show and ran into a fellow employee from my dealership and their partner. He was almost in tears as he begged me not to say anything at work. He offered me all the cash in his pocket to keep his secret. That is how deeply he feared being outed.

Personally, I have advantages that others don't. I was raised in the South, so I have an accent. I have a beard and tattoos. People don't look at me and assume I'm gay. I have even been told I "don't seem like one of… them." Through my perseverance and insistence on finding a place in this industry, I'm now able to say I work for RevZilla, where I have never been asked to be anything but myself.

I reached out to a few other LGBTQ people who have a history of working in the motorcycle industry to get their stories. They gave many reasons for not sharing. Most of them said that it's over and they don't want to talk about it again.

The industry is slowly changing. Most manufacturers understand that at the very least they need to accept that there are LGBTQ riders, even if it's just for their bottom line. Those who work in the motorcycle industry still have the fear of being outed and losing their jobs. They are still pressured not to report discrimination and not to talk about it after it has been reported. The issues haven't gone away. They continue to bubble just under the surface.

For myself and those like me, all we want to do is work on and ride motorcycles. What gender we identify as or who we love should have no bearing on how good of a mechanic and rider we are.

The LGBTQ community is here. We have always been here. We will always be here. All we want is to feel the wind on our faces while we chase the sunset. We want to enjoy the freedom that motorcycles offer.

I am a biker and that is all that needs to be said.