Russia: The leader of Moscow's easy riders reminisces to Chris Stephen about the pre-capitalist days of community spirit and religious faith.
An explosion of noise along a quiet Moscow street announces the latest revolution to hit Russia - biker gangs. A minority pastime a few years ago, biking is now big business.
Hoping to cash in, US manufacturer Harley Davidson has just opened its first Moscow dealership and Russian manufacturers, after years in the doldrums, have brought out a new bike named The Wolf.
This bike is named after Moscow's premier biker outfit, the Night Wolves - Russia's Hells Angels equivalent.
The similarities with the Angels are many, from the low-slung bikes, the beards, leathers, chrome handlebars and the girls riding pillion.
Then there is the attitude: hard stares and frowns greet you when you show up at their headquarters, a sprawling bar and stage complex named Sexton near the city limits.
But their founder, nicknamed The Surgeon, insists there is no relationship with the Hells Angels. For one thing, the Wolves have religion. "We don't like the name Hells Angels. It has connotations of devil worship," he explains. "The Night Wolves believe in Russia, we believe in the church." While the Angels see themselves as outcasts, the Wolves portray themselves as flag bearers of ancient Russian traditions: many wear the crosses of the Russian orthodox religion.
The Wolves were founded in 1989 in the dying days of communism.
Anyone with a bike can theoretically join and the organisation has 23 branches - called chapters, the name of Hells Angels branches - across Russia, with new branches in Germany and Poland.
The Surgeon - real name Alexander - fits the bill as Leader of The Pack. He has a solid build, square jaw, tight beard, a blue tattoo creeping down his neck, and a scar on his face I don't want to ask him about.
His nickname is because he was once a real surgeon, working in a Moscow hospital in the 1980s. Then he discovered biking, and that was it. He was hooked.
Back then biking was one of the few outlets for those bored by the drabness of communist life. "In those days the cops only had Ladas, so we could always outrun them," says The Surgeon wistfully. The coming of capitalism saw some changes, not least with the police, who got American-built Chevrolets for booming after the Wolves.
But the last few years have seen a renaissance in biking with a whole new breed of rebel: more than 20,000 are thought to belong to Russia's biker gangs, with one study saying the numbers increased 160 per cent in each of the last three years.
For The Surgeon (42), this is the result of more than a lust for excitement and the open road. He sees the root cause as the erosion of community spirit, prompted by Russia's rush into capitalism.
"Bourgeois individualism is accepted by Russian people," he growls. "The old Soviet Union lost some good things. There is too much individualism. Russia is thirsty for community. We have community."
Community spirit thrives at Sexton, which features bars and a sound stage built from giant pieces of machinery from ruined Soviet-era factories. The result is a cross between Blade Runner and a gothic castle - all dark corners, iron pipes, rusting turbines and what look like giant-sized bicycle chains.
"Mad Max, yes?" he asks.
"Yes," I tell him.
While the Angels inspired fear in the United States in their heyday, the main criticism of the Wolves is the racket - there are no anti-noise laws here. But Muscovites are careful not to cross the Wolves. "We are not provocative but we don't avoid conflicts," he says carefully.
The Surgeon has turned the Wolves into a full-time occupation. An English language website announces upcoming events and shops sell T-shirts, hats and motorcycle leathers with the Wolves' logo.
The Wolves' playground is a wide stretch of highway that curves down from the gigantic Stalinist Moscow State University building to the Moscow River.
Among tonight's riders is Elena Borisova, clad in black leathers but nervous about showing off her bike - only a souped-up scooter. "It is all I can afford," she explains. "I want to get a Honda." Elena (22) works at the Moscow office of a western law firm and is one a new breed of Russian women who have chosen career over their mothers' advice to marry early.
For Elena, biking is about the lure of the open road - and with nine time zones, no country has more space to lose yourself in.
Now women like her are muscling their way into the once all-male biker world. "We come here for the bikes, not the boys," she says. "Well, the bikes first anyway." While Moscow's police have a tough reputation for dealing with errant car drivers, motorcycle cops are another matter. "They like us," says Elena. "The cops ride BMWs, they are motorbikers. They understand us."