One time mortal enemy of The Drivers Club Jeff O'Weidnerelli
has become the latest nonbeliever to acknowledge the unmistakable
wisdom of the Drivers Club way

Jeff Weidner has recently declared himself a DC believer and now passionate follower of the Drivers Club.  Below you will find his unsolicited open letter.  While we understand this is more than likely a cheap meaningless attempt to garner the much coveted DC vote in the upcoming election, we will take what we can get.

Content edited for younger, sensitive eyes.

Terrorists or Missionary…..You decide 

It has been about 2 years now since I first heard of the Driver’s club. My initial contact was not a good one. I was sent to Station 3C and walked into an infestation of gigantic proportions. Almost everyone on the shift with the exception of the 3 pack a day Captain was a Driver’s Club Member. I figured with such a tight-knit group, there must be one of two things at work, either commitment or lunacy.

All day long the conversation was everything to do with bikes. Derailers, tires, grips, battery packs, you name the bike part and it could easily ensue an hour long discussion. Laptop computers were at their breaking point with last second bids to ebay for the elusive ‘good deal’. At times even regular fire department business conversations could some how be turned into something about these two wheeled, manually powered marvels of machinery. 

Out on the apparatus floor there were entire bike clinics being conducted. There were strange looking tools of which I’d never even considered trying to figure out what they could be used for. For years now, I’ve always fancied myself as a bit of a tool nut. My personal collection of tools takes up a considerable amount of room in my shop and I have just about all I need and then some. This was no match. These strange little creature tools fit into a small zipper pouch and when used, could completely disassemble these modern modes of transportation. There was even a special stand (I related it to a hoist in a mechanics garage) that the bikes were placed on to work. Tires changed based on road conditions, micro adjustments to cables and even some repairs from crashes. Strangely I felt this could have been my own shop but on a much different scale.

Then there was the friendly (an sometimes not-so-friendly) competition of who’s bike was better. This got way out of hand. Colors were insulted; components were brushed aside as “elementary” or “Entry-level”. At times it got nasty. The amount of money spent to avoid ridicule amongst them was nothing short of asinine. Some of the smallest details in styling were not left untouched. Entire components were changed out not for the sake of performance, but because their color did not match the scheme of the bike. It was ridiculous.

The mess. Components to this club could be found in almost every corner of the station. Muddy tracks to the basement (underground parking garage) and grease stains on the floor that had to be scrubbed with Zep were common. Every useable outlet in the station was occupied by either a laptop that was exploring bike parts or a charging unit for a battery-powered light. There were sweaty and sometimes muddy bike clothing strewn about the station and locker-room. The stench was nearly unbearable.

All of this led me to dub the group “The *** Bikers Club”. I guess that mostly came from their ordering of club jackets and jerseys. These items came in with a color scheme that rivaled a music festival hosted in Monte ray California. The red came out pink and got a lighter shade as the number of washings increased. Needless to say I was not impressed.

Curiosity eventually got the best of me and I checked out their website. At first, my reaction was one of disbelief. I could not fathom that these idiots spent this much time on something so stupid. Hell, they even visited the site several times a day just to get the visited counter to go up beyond the number of members who were in the club. How stupid could it get?

After some time I’d grown accustom to the lunacy of it all and I began to simply ignore all of it. It made my days at the station much easier when I decided these clowns were no longer worth my time. But, something changed. Somewhere between all the antics and the obsession they decided to embark on charitable causes. What inspired them to do so, I’ll never know. They set up a booth at the local Food Folks and Spokes event where they offered free bike tune-ups, safety tips, bike ride routes, and licorice whips. Next came the Rain Dance. Another charitable event where they not only worked the event, but donated money to purchase raffle prizes for the event. I was beginning to feel perhaps I judged them poorly in the beginning.

Back at the station I began to notice they were tracking their individual performance on some crazy website called My Cycling Log. Not only were they tracking their mileage among themselves, but against other bike clubs in the country. I began to wonder if this bike club thing had infected other places of employment. It had. This competition inspired them to do more miles, ride harder, explore new routes, but most of all strive for better fitness. New members of this club seemed to be joining rides almost weekly. Guys and gals from other stations were getting roped in this crazy club. Even friends and relatives of people on the job were riding with these knuckleheads. Perhaps they were on to something.

With the hiring of an outside Chief and a deteriorating relationship with fire administration came mass transfers of personnel. It was followed by a move to clean-up a few shifts because of the lunacy I refer to above. I myself was transferred to the A shift for no apparent reason. Just at the time where I was starting to understand this strange group, every member was transferred elsewhere. By now you’re probably thinking one of two things. Either the author was relieved to finally be away from these individuals who had disrupted a relatively stable working environment or possibly, this was the end of the *** Bikers Club all together.  Not so.

While the originating members of the group were treated much like the body of William Wallace,  the peasant Scotsman who led the rebellion against England and whose body was sent tin pieces to the four corners of the British Empire, so were they. Members were placed in assignments not just far from their ‘home base’ of station 3, but among others who viewed them as nothing more than the *** Bikers Club. But like the death of William Wallace, it did not have the desired  effect.

From the implosion of home base came resurgence unlike anything that has been seen before. Much like the war on terror in the Middle East, the bombing of a single cell led to the resurgence and formation of a Jihad. This Jihad drew in more members and got others to begin thinking about fitness department wide. Routes were altered, times were changed, organized meetings were held and support for a physical fitness program began to take a strong foothold.

Organized trips to biking events and stair climbs began to crop up. Persons who did not own a bike even competed as part of the team, all in the name of fitness. Despite a minor setback of having the department van towed at an event, the group continues to inspire others and plan future events.

See you on the pavement.

Respectfully submitted on the 30th day of January, the year of our Lord two thousand and eight

Weidner

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