By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
By Brian Rinker
By Rachel Swan
Calamity picks up the thread, as if they are re-enacting the scene, ""OK, when?'"
""Tomorrow? Uh, what time?'"
"I was going to see this rockabilly band that night and party afterwards, so I was like, "8 a.m.?'" Calamity says. "But the next morning, Jess shows up at my house at a quarter to 8, and I'm still in my cowboy flannel jammies and she's all done up. So I pull out my bike, which is the quintessential rat bike because it's all fucked up, and we go up Haight Street and around the city and we set off a couple car alarms. And we just kept kinda looking over at each other and smiling."
"There was a definite energy going on. I would see our reflections in the store windows and, wow, we looked so cool," Goth Girl says.
After riding together for a few months, the two came up with the idea of doing a calendar and asked a few of their female biker friends to take part. In the course of putting the calendar together, it occurred to them how few serious clubs there were for young, hip biker chicks.
So Goth Girl and Calamity started their own club, the Devil Dolls, in the summer of 1999. From the beginning, they knew they wanted to create an elite club -- a three-piece patch club signifying outlaw status.
Nowadays, the Dolls are ubiquitous at biker parties, motorcycle runs, and swap meets, generally making appearances at at least one event every weekend. They sell their merchandise in the hope of one day funding a clubhouse and all their travels.
"We don't go by the rules, and we endorse vigilantism, but we're capitalist people," Goth Girl says. "We want to make a lot of money and ride all the time. We want to be America's favorite girl gang, the Spice Girls of motorcycles."
The members of the Devil Dolls Motorcycle Club ride like assholes. Charging down Harrison Street on their Harley-Davidsons, they assemble themselves in pack formation, weaving cockily from lane to lane, cutting people off like they own the road. Blasting up Fell Street, they unflinchingly maneuver the narrow space between two cars without slowing down. They smirk at two guys on a moped, and flip off a driver who tries to get in their way.
And this is a leisurely Saturday afternoon ride.
Leading the pack is club Vice President Theresa Foglio, or T-Rexxx, a feisty blonde who rides her brother's 1996 Harley Dyna Glide tucked and aggressive like a racer. As the frontwoman this day, T-Rexxx sets the pace. Using hand signals and body language, she instructs the others when to speed up, when to change lanes, and when to punch through the intersection. And she has to make sure everyone in the group can follow her without getting left behind or killed.
T-Rexxx is the club's resident party girl, and not long ago went on a showerless, five-day drinking binge with Calamity. But as club vice president, T-Rexxx puts partying behind her Devil Doll duties. At the big calendar release party, she drank Cokes most of the night so she could stay sober to run the event.
In addition to club duties, T-Rexxx also puts her job as a street cleaner for the city of San Francisco ahead of her partying binges so she can afford her small Redwood City apartment and her newfound outlaw biker lifestyle. But there were years of delinquency and homelessness before she got to this kind of stability.
"I was a little shithead at 17," recalls T-Rexxx. "I was snotty and I was always in trouble." So right after high school, T-Rexxx's father, who believed in "tough love," kicked her out of the house.
She began working as a bookkeeper and an office manager, and moved in with her first boyfriend, an older man whom she quickly discovered she despised. She decided to move out, but she couldn't afford her own apartment. Too proud to ask her father for help, she spent a few months living out of her car.
By age 21, she was homeless again. Her boyfriend had persuaded her to move to Hollywood from Reno to get married and buy a house. But three days before she was supposed to catch a plane to California, her fiance called to tell her that it wasn't going to work out. The problem was, she had already given her boyfriend her life savings for a down payment on a house in Hollywood. She lived out of her car again for 10 months.
"I had a lizard, a cat, and a dog, all living with me in my car," she recalls. "Living in a car fucking sucks. In the winter it's fucking cold. I felt like the biggest loser. And no one will hire you when you stink, and when there's no way to get ahold of you."
To pull herself out of homelessness, she eventually took a job that she'd "rather not mention" and cleaned up the drug addiction she had picked up from her junkie ex-boyfriend. She moved to San Francisco five years ago.