You chose to be here now bloody embrace it!Chopper cosplay to a Helsinki jazz fest? No, wait, come back...
Let’s start at the end when everything fucks up. Four hours from Roterdam and the ferry home, after riding my motorbike across five countries and back, it all unravels. At cruising speed, sharing a dual carriageway with heavy traffic, suddenly I’m heading towards a wall of brake lights at 70mph. Shifting down, braking hard and lining up with the gap between cars, I think I can stop, then I sense a roaring behind or above me and a hard jolt sends me left then veering from side to side. I try to ride out the death wobble, but the road is coming up to meet me now. It all feels deliciously, deathly calm. I hit the ground and slide across two lanes. In a fleeting look back, I see a big, blue truck towering over me.
Just like the music at the Helsinki avant-garde jazz festival I’m returning from, there are more questions than answers. Risks have been taken, lessons learnt, improvisation, epiphany and joy, as well as pain, anxiety, challenge, friendship and failure.
Now, back to the beginning. One day while having a tattoo, I mention l’m thinking of going on a solo motorcycle trip to a jazz festival in Finland. Most people seem to hate jazz, but tattooist Jimmy Wizard says he likes it, doesn’t know anyone else who does, then says he’d come too.
A few weeks later, we set off to ride 2000 miles to the Odysseus festival and back.
Jazz, motorbikes, blokes cosplaying roles from Easy Rider. One of them middle aged, must be having a crisis, co-owns a fashion brand. The other a tattooist, has a name that sounds made up and plays in a hardcore band. I’m aware this story is lining up to be a game of hipster adventure bingo, so thanks if you stick with it.
Days later, at the festival, musician Dan Nicholls talks about the risks of improvising an experimental piece of music, but explains that if he doesn’t take this chance, nothing will happen. He sits cross-legged on the stage in front of a cinema screen. We’re swept away by his music and the immersive projected video, and it resonates with our sketchy journey. We accept the discomfort as well as the joy, both in his music and on our trip. We bought the tickets and took the ride…
The hardest thing with a big trip is getting started. You can’t just jump on an old bike and ride to Finland. My 1200CC chopper is made from bits of different bikes. The Harley engine is mainly from the 1970s, but other stuff on the bike dates from the 50s. It’s a simple machine, but purposely made more difficult to ride. It has a foot-operated clutch and hand gear shifter (rather than 99.9% of bikes on the road, which are hand clutch, foot shift). To ride it, you must be fully in the moment, where the danger, discomfort and impracticality, but also the absolute thrill and joy, come from. When you stack up the miles you enter a state where you only think of riding, there’s no room for everyday worries.
It’s a 14-minute ride from Jimmy’s place to the Hull ferry, where we’re boarding the ship to the Netherlands. Between the two I see an incoming call on my phone that’s fastened to my bars. It’s from Jimmy. Surely, he can’t have broken down already? He pulls up next to me. ‘You were ringing me,’ I tell him. ‘Oh shit,’ he replies, ‘that’ll be my girlfriend, I must have forgotten my phone.’
By the time we reach the port he’s already lost his petrol can. He will also lose his spare T-shirt, socks and spark plugs. His dry bag turns out not to be waterproof, so his sleeping bag and clothes get soaked. When he dries his gear round a campfire his socks catch alight, leaving him with ankle warmers. His phone runs out of credit and his bank card fails occasionally. Components fall off his recently rebuilt bike, a couple of bolts, a mirror, and his lock and chain slip onto the back tyre. That could have been nasty. He hasn’t done much like this before, has zero bike repair skills, but never moans or panics and finds solutions and learns. He can endure and improvise, making him a great partner for this adventure and we develop a bond that will last beyond the trip. Jimmy lives fast and loose. Oh, and his surname really is Wizard.
Odyssey To Odysseus
Matti Nives is founder and artistic director of We jazz; a record label, magazine, shop and this festival. I ask him why the festival is called Odysseus.
‘We wanted to brand our festival as something that doesn’t automatically link back to We jazz, as the idea was not to do a jazz festival, but a celebration of music we love without stylistic boundaries!’
We ride highways, taking quick gas stops (they become highways and gas stops as soon as we leave Britain). No getting coffee or checking your phone at every stop. Pull up to the same pump together and take turns to pay. We’re something like a well-oiled machine and ride 560 miles in 12 hours.
We reach Copenhagen and head for Motorious, one of the best menswear shops in Europe as well as a motorcycle haven. You can upgrade your wardrobe and stock up on hard-to-find bits for your
old Harley. There’s also knowledge to absorb from the riders who work there and those who pass through from all over Europe. We leave with tips on good roads and camping spots.
Starting your own independent business, going on the road trip of a lifetime, or staging a music festival can all seem daunting. I ask festival organiser Matti Nives how he finds time to run the Odysseus alongside his other commitments. ‘Sometimes it feels easy, sometimes it feels very difficult. I think it’s about finding the structure and staying fresh and open to new ideas. I have a saying: There’s always plenty of time until there’s none.’
Time doesn’t wait, we have another country to cross and a ferry deadline, but are struggling with the pace. The solution is a swim in one of Copenhagen’s sea pools. It works.
We stop for fuel at a modernist masterpiece designed by Arne Jacobsen, that opened in 1937. Making functionality beautiful shows a love for life and it rubs off on us as we fill up with petrol and ice cream. A lad approaches looking eager to talk, ‘It must feel amazing to ride those bikes, a real experience’ We explain that you feel every mile, nothing is easy or convenient, but it forces you to focus on staying upright, immersed in the moment. It was good to explain this to him and remind ourselves too.
Downhill Death Grip
We’re now in Sweden and it feels like California, with open roads and miles of forest. Classic American cars cruise by and every cafe seems to be a diner. Chopper culture has stayed strong here since the 60s, and we ride into that dream until evening mist turns to rain and I lose faith. With no idea where we’re going other than following a dropped pin, I’m feeling sorry for myself. It’s nearly dark, and I’m convinced we’ll never find firewood and if we do it’ll be wet. It’s now that I have a talk with myself: You chose to be here, now bloody embrace it. Then the road improves, the lakes turn pretty and I’ve a feeling we’re going to strike gold.
Nearing the night’s camping spot, the Tarmac becomes dirt track. It’s a fight to avoid the ruts as we slide in the mud, death grip the downhills and keep off the brakes to stay on two wheels. It’s chopper motocross and insanely good fun on these inappropriate bikes. We laugh so hard we have to sit still and stare into space for a bit before we can make camp.
There are no ‘keep out’ or ‘private’ signs. In Sweden there’s a law that anyone can have access to open country (not someone’s garden or a cultivated field) and camp for one night. With the rights come common sense responsibilities. Leave no trace, pack up and go in the morning. England should become a civilised country and legalise our right to roam. Humans need time in nature to be healthy and if we’re not given that opportunity then we should take it for ourselves.
Next to the lake is a wooden shelter, so we don’t need our tents. There’s a wood store and soon our fire is roaring and wet clothes steaming. Cooking up ramen adds a cosmopolitan flair to the primal setting.
We feel so Swedish, taking our morning dip in the lake, that we nearly sing The Winner Takes It All. People wish us good morning, a surprise when you’re used to the ‘Get off my land’ attitudes at home. I swim right out, feeling the stress fall away, imagining myself as a point on the map, sky huge overhead, the water holding me.
Failure Is Not Death
If you’re thinking of doing a passion project of your own, be it a business, side hack or an adventure, I’d recommend you also heed Matti’s advice on that. ‘Do it. Failure is not death and there’s a good chance that if you have passion and skill, success will follow. Always idea first. I think too many organisations begin with the math of how to make things work before having really thought about what it is they are passionate about. It’s also important to find like-minded or similarly adventurous people to work with and then the new ideas will come. It’s a bit like surfing. Sometimes you need to paddle a bit, but when you’re riding the wave it can be sweet.’
We finally make it to Finland but can’t see much of it because of heavy rain. Visibility is low due to the spray from double length trucks and cars moving much faster than us. Water makes its way through our gear but at least it’s warm. I manage to glimpse an ancient forest landscape peppered with pink and grey slabs of granite.
Helsinki feels huge after days of open country. Somewhere on the last stretch Jimmy hit a pothole at speed while changing gear. He’s stressed by the metallic noises coming from his engine. I’m wondering whether writing ‘Helsinki or Bust’ on his pack was now a mistake. The next day we start checking the bike and reveal another problem. One of the bolts holding the rear drive sprocket to the wheel is missing a nut and all the other bolts are loose. Unchecked, the consequences could’ve been horrendous. Referring to YouTube videos, Jimmy is working through the issues. Fixing your own bike is rewarding and having basic tools gives you independence.
Still, making it to the festival is a glorious moment for us, even if it’s not strictly the jazz festival I thought it was. Whatever kind of music it is, we’re immersed in it for two days. Our bikes are locked up, but the music keeps us travelling. We take a trip into experimental contemporary and world music, free jazz improvisation, trance and the undefinable.
Jimmy is the front man for the hardcore band, Higher Power. He’s been a touring musician all his adult life and now makes his living from music as well as tattooing. The music at Odysseus blows his mind as most artists there look ‘normal’ but play passionate, dissonant, anarchic and challenging music with complex timing. He compares this with his scene of hardcore and black metal, that has a fuck the world attitude and appearance, yet is usually played in regular four-four timing. Jimmy talks to Marcus Warnheim, who we’ve seen in a couple of bands, about motivation. ‘Sometimes I just want to kick stuff over, want to find physicality in the music. Some of it is cathartic. I love the heavy sound of John Coltrane and the way that pain as well as big love was expressed by music in the civil rights era.’
We watch hugely different performances. There’s a wild three-piece from Slovakia called Sirom, playing many instruments including a three-stringed acoustic bass, made of wood and animal skin that lays down a hypnotic rhythm accompanied by a frame drum and a hurdygurdy guitar thing connected by a spring to a drum. I’m in the front row and one of the players jumps up and throws dried chickpeas onto his drum from a metal bowl, which he then plays. It’s fantastic, trance-like music said to be inspire by the mountains, plains and world of caves the players come from. It makes me feel like I’ve been there and can understand why they love the place. At the end I’m brushing peas off myself and chuckling.
An intense but joyous looking man, Otto Willberg plays a very funky electric bass with clashing synth sounds. He works hard and sweats. Hatis Noit from Japan sings alone and without accompaniment. I feel claustrophobic in the dark room and her music is so minimal I want to scream. To end she makes an amazing final cry, off microphone, calling like an animal for home. It’s uncomfortable and beautiful.
Otis Sandsjö’s band Y-Otis was my highlight. Saxophone, keyboards, electric bass guitar and drums, the music was driving in its dynamism, danceable, polyrhythmic, with soothing melodies as well as riotous moments of free jazz. Otis also play a series of pop-up shows with Petter Eldh, accomplished producer and recording artist, ‘Just for fun’ he tells me as ‘we’re here anyway’. That top musicians, prime movers in their field, were happy to busk with no fuss or a big crowd spoke volumes. Their soft and beautiful melodies edged into discord and were underpinned with love. Their energy was electrifying, music spontaneous and I loved the integration of electronic with analogue sounds and thought it similar to riding a primitive motorcycle guided by an iPhone.
Helsinki is a lovely city full of great modernist architecture, green spaces, but it’s time to leave.
My friend Rille the Swede phones, we’re planning on meeting him on our ride back through Sweden. He asks about our bikes and if we need any help and when I tell him about the issues with Jimmy’s, he says he has the parts and we will be able fix everything. It’s a good feeling and we feel part of something, accepted for who we are because we dare to travel this way.
When Rille was a small boy he saw a chopper and hot rod magazine called Colorod in the sweet shop. He bought it instead of sweets and decided that he wanted to ride choppers and play in a rock and roll band. He’s not stopped since and over the years he’s bought and sold hundreds of Harleys, hustling his way up to be able to own better bikes, collect cool parts and make some money. He has one I’d love to own and he hinted might be for sale.
Blissfully Unaware
Back on the road our rhythm is dictated by the autobahn’s relentless straights and a terrible surface, that go right through us. We chose rigid-frame bikes so can’t complain. Some cars hit speeds of over 200kmh, passing us like we’re stood still. Seeing a recent crash with dust and smoke still in the air, a lorry on its side having ripped through the barrier and a twisted wreck of a car upside down, gives me the chills. We ride until after sunset, only giving up when it felt too dangerous, and put our tents up on grass next to where the trucks and motorhomes park, blissfully unaware of what the morning’s ride will bring.
So, back to where we came in with this story. I’m riding along, thinking about the bike in Rille’s garage, and if I should trade up mine for his… just as I crash. Luckily for me, the blue truck stops just in time. My leathers and heavy boots save me from the worst of the Tarmac and I’m amazed when I stand up and walk away to the hard shoulder. I’m limping but nothing feels broken. My bike doesn’t do so well.
Low-key jazz plays at dinner in my hotel. In a way it’s like the lullaby played by Otis at the festival. My calf is swelling and I’ve no idea how I’m going to get home and not sure what my bike is now worth. I’m really in bother, but nothing else matters because I’m alive. I feel calm with a hint of swagger about me. This is not the end of the road.
Words: Ed Oxley Photos: Ed Oxley, Jimmy Wizard
First published in Issue 2 of Bother Magazine, August 2024.
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