Bikers for Trump: ‘He’ll get my vote because he’s off his goddamn rocker’

Ahead of the New Hampshire primary, Adam Gabbatt went to the Chop Shop Pub in Seabrook and found out that the locals dont mince words when asked why theyre rooting for The Donald

Theres a guy here whos not like us.

It is Super Bowl night at the Chop Shop Pub, a biker table in Seabrook, New Hampshire. Bill The Boss Niland is addressing the crowd over a microphone. They announce him the Boss because he is the boss of the bar.

He talks funny, Bill continues.

The clientele look at each other, meditating who this interloper could be. Im standing near the figurehead. Im curious too. I look over my shoulder.

His names Adam, Bills tells. He is talking about me. He calls up here and mentions: Do we have any bikers here?

This is true, I did.

Well, do we?

There are cheers and wails of: Yes!

The Boss points to me. Hes with the Guardian, he articulates. He has a thick-skulled New England accent and it is just like Gahhhhhdian.

I wave. There are a couple of cheers.

Im at the Chop Shop to mingle with some bikers ahead of Tuesdays primary. New Hampshire has the second most motorcycles per capita of all 50 governments, so I would be remiss not to invest some time with the biker demographic. The prohibit is a one-story build with a small fish pond in the entry neighborhood. “Theres” nine gnomes all over the pond and several goldfish in the pond. There is also a skull in it.


Bill Niland outside the Chop Shop Pub in Seabrook, New Hampshire. Image: Kim Hebert for the Guardian

Introduction over, Bill applies the microphone down. The Tv capacity is turned up for the Super Bowl. A follower with a long gray-headeds ponytail leanings over.

Any politician who thinks weve got to be disarmed should still be strung up and killed. Write that.

The men refer is Bobby King. Bobby has an interesting voting history. He frequently votes for himself, as a write-in nominee. He is yet to win an electoral. There was a three-year season where someone else had his referendum, however.

And I voted for two daughters from “when shes” 10 to 13.

Bobby, 49, is at the bar with his girlfriend, Cherie. They have been dating for five years, although Bobby speaks it has been on and off. Cherie is noted in the biking community for her ability to fall asleep on the back of Bobbys motorcycle. It is a huge motorcycle, an Ultra Classic.

Its the biggest Harley. Its like a fucking Winnebago. I think its got 3 bedrooms, two showers, that kind of thing.

This election there is one candidate, Bobby replies, who might convince him to widen his poll beyond his immediate family. That campaigner is Donald Trump.

Trump is the only one whos going to get my referendum because hes off his goddamn rocker, Bobby remarks. Hes right, build a goddamn wall. Hes got the right ideas.

A big-hearted sandwich arrives and Bobby starts devouring it. I go to buy another drink because bottles of beer are$ 1 each before 6.30 pm and it is currently 6.29 pm. Lady Gaga has just finished singing The Star-Spangled Banner and video games is about to start. Everyone stood up for “the member states national” chant, facing a US flag on the wall. There is another US flag on the ceiling, and US flag bunting draped along the bar.


Hank( far left ), Bill( middle left) and friends at the Chop Shop Pub. Picture: Kim Hebert for the Guardian
Things got a little hazy, later on.

I get chit-chat to a woman wearing a leopard-print scarf and grey leather boots. I expect her what her name is.

Its Cooky, she supposes. With a Y, because Im not a food.

Cooky, 65, justifies her political beliefs. She likes Trump. She likes Trump because he will create jobs and safeguard our borders, hes gonna have good tariff proposal and hes self funding so nobody can buy him.

The other thing I conclude Donald Trump would be good for is the veterans and Ive read up on him and he is very generous and has helped a lot of parties.

But he doesnt boasting that about himself, Cooky adds, of a boy who has spent the past week boasting about how he has helped ex-servicemen.

Cookys husband Paul likes Trump extremely. Everyone likes Trump here.

He has a big heart and at his age he realizes that were going in the wrong guidance, Paul reads. Paul is wearing a New England Patriots sweater. He pictures me a picture of his motorcycle, a Harley Electra Glide. Its a big motorcycle.

You press a button and the windshield goes up and down, Cooky answers. The Electra Glide likewise arrives equipped with a heated bench and heated handlebar grips. The duet like to blast music out of the Electra Glides speaker system as they travel. They like country music, but also the Cure and Depeche Mode.

We start talking about the Antidote but my foreword from the Boss has reached me quite popular, and a being called Rick Sargent is flitting. He is another Trump supporter, although he is concerned what might happen should the businessman become president.

If Trump get in bureau I frankly think hell be assassinated, Rick tells. He doesnt offering a great deal of proof for his theory but he surely remarks it with conviction.

Political insiders are daunted shitless of someone like him getting in there, Rick replies, gravely. And accurately. He says he will vote for Trump in the primary, to send a meaning that something needs to change.

Its getting towards the end of the second one-quarter by this time and beings have been buying me guzzles for fairly some time. Its getting lively in the Chop Shop.

The Boss comes over and introduces a plastic Viking helmet on my chief. I have my image taken with a former marine called Hank , mentioned for his wiry chocolate-brown beard. A being called Timothy invites me to come back in the summer for a rail creeping. I realise three brand-new Facebook sidekicks.

I take the Viking hat off but am told exclusively Bill can end when someone can stop wearing the Viking hat. Theres a shop in the angle of the bar selling Chop Shop stock. A wife helps me try on a skull resound, which is far too large for what she describes as my little handwritings.

Im sitting on a stool, still wearing the Viking helmet, trying to describe the bars interior in handwriting that I will be able to read the next day when a serviceman called Bubba merely Bubba comes over.

Its a really nice place, he reads of the Chop Shop. Its like a big family.

Bubba is a Trump supporter: Hes accompanying a point of view that isnt common in politics.

Also pleading is the idea that Trump is a businessman, hes not a career legislator. Everyone likes that. Bubba says some other things too, but the magnanimity of the Chop Shop category to start to take its fee, and when I look back at my memoes it looks like Ive been attracting pictures of a rough ocean.

I proceed looking for Bill and find him in a back office wearing a dress hat. He offers no cause for the silk hat. He says he is known for wearing it and I am about to ask why when my phone hoops. Its a cab driver I called 20 instants ago. Hes outside and hes furious that I am nowhere to be seen.

Bill escorts me out of the bar and I get in the taxi. Its only then I realise a) I never even asked Bill who he is going to vote for, and b) I didnt say goodbye to any of my new, Trump-supporting biker pals.

Oh, and c) at some place I managed to molted the Viking hat.

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