The lowdown on low-riders
Staying away from gangs once you’ve joined is never easy, but for these kids, a bicycle is a move in the right direction
Photo By David Robert
For Roberto Nerey, a close-up view of a drive-by shooting (he was in the car being shot at) when he was a teenager gave him pause to reconsider the lifestyle that had been all too easy to slip into.
Born in Mexicali, Mexico, and raised in Reno, the former gang member is now trying to give teenage gang members a second chance. He is the executive director of Unlimited Intervention Gang Alternatives and Training, a program that provides creative and athletic outlets to kids who’ve been busted, imprisoned, released and paroled, all by the tender ages of 12 and 13. (Vandalism and methamphetamine possession are often the crimes; “belonging” is often the motive.)
For 14 years, Nerey’s been coaching young ex-gangbangers to focus their energy on other things—like playing soccer, boxing or customizing their low-rider bicycles—and trying to provide them with the guidance to stay on the straight and narrow.
Members of the Viejitos Bicycle Club, all students at Traner Middle School, convened on a sunny afternoon to give the RN&R the lowdown on low-riders.
1. Luís Arregue, 13, looks in the other direction while he talks about bikes in a cool, smooth, movie-star voice. Even on a topic he’s fond of, he doesn’t reveal much at first. His tone is professional and composed. His voice is barely audible.
Photo By David Robert
2. The guys, including Juan García, 15, sport baggier versions of the Polo shirts and button-downs that used to be the uniform of rich preppies. Collectively, they form a near-silent wall of machismo …
Photo By David Robert
3. … until they get going—which doesn’t take long. Given the opportunity to talk about their involvement with their bikes and the club one-on-one, they don’t have much to say. But, assembled as a group, they speak eagerly and perpetually, expounding on just about any topic. Their one-line comments are strung together, as though the young men were prepped on what to say to a reporter. But the answers aren’t studied. It’s just that the guys have a lot in common. They’ve all committed to trading in the spray paint cans and allegiance to gangs for stock low-riders that they’ll customize and the solidarity of a new group. Standing, from left, are Juan, Mario Sánchez, 13, Jesús Guillén, 13, Manuel Sánchez, 13, Mario Rosiles, 12, and Jesús Guererro, 14. Luís and Fernando Guerrero, “almost 13,” are seated on bikes.
Photo By David Robert
4. The club only has a few bikes between them. So far.Jesús Guererro points to his sparkly paint job and twisted chrome steering wheel as the primo features of his low-rider. Juan checks the rearview and points out where the audio system and television should be installed once the club reaches a certain level of prosperity.Nerey tries to scrape up sponsorship dollars. He makes a strong case for investing in programs of this nature: “Hopefully, it’s worth it. Considering the things that might happen to them or the things they might do in a period in time. … We know that gang activity occurs, violence arises, you know …” he trails off.
Photo By David Robert
5. But the guys elaborate, ensemble-style, on what gangbanging is all about—"going around tagging, jumping people"—and what made it seem like a good idea at the time:"We weren’t mature yet.” “People who don’t have anything to do.""The only reason we started gangs is we weren’t mature yet.""So people will notice us.""Just to get respect.""Just to have friends.""To just be a bully or something.""So people give you respect."`But, Mario says, of club president Luís (pictured here hanging out with Jesús and Jesús), “He had, like, motivated us to do this. He sounded excited. Instead of just going from school to home, not doing anything …”
Photo By David Robert
6. “You do this little thing where you get out of violence and not gang-banging and things, that stuff,” adds Fernando. He messes around on someone else’s bike. “I don’t have one yet,” he says. “They’re going to fund it. They’re going to give us bikes. … Most of the kids that don’t have money, they’re going to get a bike, so then that’s going to help them so they’re going to, you know, not stay home. They could have something to do here. Then they’re going to fix it up, not all the same, but just like …” He’s momentarily at a loss for words …
Photo By David Robert
7. … but when the topic of low-rider-design elements is posed to the whole group, the guys let on that they’ve been dreaming big. They unleash a pride-fueled echo:"Steering wheel.""Raiders stuff.” “Mirrors.""Paint job.""144-spoke rims.""TV.""Neon.""A motor.""Make it a little lower."And, in another instance of a style detail that’s gone from trendy to obscure and back and crossed a few subcultures: “purple.”
Photo By David Robert
8. Smiles and laughs have begun to punctuate scowls and toughness. “Their maturity level, at a street level, is very high,” says Nerey, even though they joke around and fidget like kids. There are convincing traces from each and every club member that they’ve started inhabiting the world as men before leaving their posts as children. They are both.The eight guys scatter to goof off. They take turns on the bikes. Juan demonstrates some slick moves.
Photo By David Robert
9. Traner Middle School social-studies teacher Cheryl Flippo and Unlimited Intervention’s Nerey have a lot of cred with the club. Club President Luís (who is also Nerey’s nephew) volunteers some information about the old folks: “Some kids, they don’t have nobody else to go to. Sometimes their parents are too busy working, and they can’t go to them, and, like my uncle, he’s like a person who will talk to you, and you can trust him in that he won’t say nothing, and that he’s a good person to come to when you have problems, or Miss Flippo, or someone like that, but most of the teachers, they say you can go to them, but, when you tell them something, they’ll go tell the other teachers and then it goes around."The other guys are quick to chime in about Nerey:"Berto, he’s like a counselor.""He talks a lot about doing stuff.""You can go talk to him.” Luís says, “I used to be a gangbanger. Since I met my uncle, he’s calmed me down. I used to didn’t care and that. He gave me a chance to express myself. So I got to give thanks for the help he’s been giving me and giving to my friends and all that.”
Photo By David Robert
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