Alex King
November 1, 2018
With jobs still scarce in Athens, cheap forms of escapism are all the rage. That’s where the madness of The Rotten Race comes in. Alex King dons his best fancy dress and enters the world of this surreal annual motorcycle bonanza.
A low and throaty grumble of motorbike engines is reverberating around the winding Ottoman-era streets of Athens’ Psyrri neighborhood.
An impressive line of vintage and custom motorbikes is parked in front of a shuttered building that’s covered in layers upon layers of scrappy graffiti. Across the street, the bikes’ owners are decked out in leathers and smoking roll-ups, shooting the breeze on the stoop outside The Real Intellectuals—an accessories shop and hangout spot for the custom motorcycle enthusiasts of Athens.
With the Greek economy still in tatters, people are seeking cheap forms of release. As such, the custom motorcycle scene is booming. After all, once you have two wheels and a full tank of gas, the open road is free.
With the Greek economy still in tatters, people are seeking cheap forms of release. As such, the custom motorcycle scene is booming. After all, once you have two wheels and a full tank of gas, the open road is free.
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Since opening in 2014, The Real Intellectuals has become a mecca for Greece’s alternative motorbike community. Owner Nikos Theodoropolous, a graphic designer by trade, also founded The Rotten Race in 2015, a raucous annual carnival of live music and flat track racing (a race around a relatively flat, oval dirt track).
It’s April 2018, and I’m joining The Real Intellectuals for something of a pleasure cruise—a ride up to nearby Mount Parnitha. My goal? To better to understand the gasoline glue that binds the crew together.
From Deus ex Machina’s Temple Of Enthusiasm in Bali to Sideburn Magazine’s Dirt Quake events on both sides of the Atlantic, that scene is now global. “We’ve grown up doing this, traveling around the country by bike,” Nikos explains. “Greece has a strong tradition of motocross, so we’ve tried to bring custom bikes and motocross together. That’s how The Rotten Race was born: Some friends, a dirt track in the suburbs and lots of ridiculous costumes. You should come back in October and check it out.”
Flash forward. It’s October. The seed planted by Nikos has blossomed: The lure of putting my own dog on the back of the bike, packing a tent and driving between beach-side campsites proved too much to resist.
I have a full motorbike licence, but, after registering to participate in The Rotten Race and with race day rapidly approaching, I am yet to secure a bike.
The race. By my third and final lap, it’s starting to feel right—just in time for me to sail across the line in last place. My racing career over, I’m free to relax and soak up the absurdity of the event. Three men in bright overalls appear on stilts, playing the French national anthem from a wind-up music box, pronouncing loudly to anyone willing to listen: “What eeeeeees going on eeeeeere? Thiiiiiis is all so roooooooootten!”
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I follow them back over to the track, where Memos Pilaftsis, one of the crew I’d met back in April, is strapping himself up in a homemade bubble-wrap ‘armored’ suit to compete in jousting on tiny motorbikes—adjudicated by the aforementioned stilt posse. Ready to go, Memos and his adversary hurtle towards one another, both connecting painfully with the torsos, but Memos stays upright and claims victory. It’s not quite knights of the round table-worthy, but it is something.
Men and women of all ages and stages are milling around in various states of disrepair. I spot a racer dressed as ‘a tribute to Japanese porn’, complete with a strap-on dildo. “The Rotten Race is unique: It’s the bikers’ Burning Man,” explains Vagelis Tsingounis, the owner of a custom-painted Italian-tribute Vespa. “I suck as a rider but I like dressing up and making fun of myself. It’s so liberating, you can be whoever you want.”
