Lifestyle
A look at the Aztec Rebels, a family-oriented motorcycle club based in the Bronx
Jossiel Estefes, known as “Onex,” stands next to his bike at a gas station in Connecticut during a ride on March 17, 2024.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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Mayolo López Gutiérrez
“Look at what you built, we started with four men and now check this out,” Sergio Garcia, the sergeant at arms of the Aztec Rebels club, told Andrés Lucero as he pointed at the packed party, while their kids ran around the space and women chatted at one of the tables. Andrés didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all — the pride of seeing his dream become a reality, surrounded by friends who had become family.
Thanksgiving night. The South Bronx.
A small opening reveals concrete stairs that go down to the basement in a quiet New York City street. But the silence doesn’t last too long. The smell of lime and oregano mixes with the faint aroma of beer as the sound of banda music fills the basement space. Tables are filled to the brim with steaming bowls of pozole, and a soft murmur of conversations weaves through the room like an invisible thread.
Andrés Morales, the club’s founder and former president, stands with club members during their Thanksgiving party in the South Bronx.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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The Aztec Rebels start their motors before departing on a night ride in the Bronx.
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Sergio Garcia, known as “Toluco,” jokes with his son outside of “Mama Puebla,” a Mexican restaurant in the Bronx owned by one of the Aztec Rebels.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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Mayolo López Gutiérrez
All the leather-vested men look to the staircase. As Andrés removed his beanie, a bald eagle tattoo was revealed, glistening under the dim lights. He walked down the steps like an old Hollywood movie star entering a bar, eyes fixed on the gathering.
The November wind blew in from the East River on to Intervale Avenue. But here, Andrés’ gaze softened as he watched his people together, sharing stories and laughter.
Jossiel Estefes and daughter pose for a portrait during a Thanksgiving party in the Bronx. He had recently became an official in the club.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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The festivities that night were a testament to how far the club had come, and also spoke of how Latino communities tend to integrate into American culture: While they were celebrating Thanksgiving, there was no turkey or gravy, but rather pozole, chicken and black mole, traditional of Puebla, where most of the Mexican population in New York is from. But to truly understand the Aztec Rebels, you have to look back at how Andrés and his brother, Eddie Lucero, started their journey in a very different South Bronx.
Aztec Rebels dance cumbia with their loved ones at the Thanksgiving party.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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Children sleep during the Aztec Rebel’s Thanksgiving dinner in the South Bronx.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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Andrés founded the Aztec Rebels with Eddie after learning the culture and politics in a Bronx motorcycling club called The Roadrunners. They dreamt of creating a space where they could hear their own music, speak their language, and be understood. “I started hanging out with The Roadrunners when I was 19. Eddie was 12, and he would tag along everywhere we went. My brother grew up in that club. He has always lived the life of a biker, so, in a way, we learned what a motorcycle club was. That’s why we were able to start our own club on the basis of what an actual club is.”
After deciding on brown to be the club’s color and designing the Aztec eagle insignia, the Aztec Rebels MC was officially founded in 2016 with five founding members. They’ve since expanded to over 20 full members and five prospects from every borough of NYC. Most of them live in the Bronx and Staten Island — “La Isla,” as they colloquially call it.
Sergio Garcia, known as Toluco, the Aztec Rebels’ Sergeant at Arms, smokes his cigar during a Thanksgiving party.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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Every full member goes through a sometimes years-long process that begins with an invite, becoming a prospect and learning the rules of the club through a current member before gaining their three distinctive vest patches. A flier for the club reads: “We accept every nationality. You don’t need a motorcycle to enter, but we do expect you to get one eventually.” The Aztecs, nonetheless, are primarily Mexican, speckled by a few Ecuadorians and a Honduran member.
Each has a different story and connection to Mexico.
“For me, the journey here was more of a game, an adventure through the desert,” Andrés says when recalling his migratory journey. “I came in ’86 and have always been looking for the opportunity to improve my situation, even when I was a kid. I was 12, and for me, it was just normal. I didn’t see the danger back then, but if I had to do it again, I would be very scared, because I’ve heard a lot of horror stories from recent migrants.”
His parents had arrived five years earlier from Piaxtla, a town of 15,000 in the mountains of Puebla. They started a fabric factory in uptown Manhattan and rented an apartment on Southern Boulevard in the Bronx. “I come from a pueblo — I was never from the city — so it was a really drastic change to arrive here and see all the people. Especially in that time — the Bronx was in the middle of the drug pandemic. Crack.”
Children crack open a piñata during a birthday party in Staten Island on May 24, 2024.
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The Aztec Rebels’ children jump to gather candies dropped after breaking open a piñata.
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Alfredo Ramirez, known as “Mad Max,” receives a birthday cake during a party in Staten Island.
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In the ’80s, the South Bronx still bore the scars of fires that burned entire neighborhoods to the ground the prior decade. “There were a lot of burnt buildings. It looked like a war zone. A lot of people are using drugs in the streets. I adapt quickly, nonetheless. In the end, it didn’t scare me; I just had to get used to everything. After a couple of years, it was just normal to see what was going on,” Andrés recalls from his youth.
Mexican immigration to the United States dates back to the beginning of the 20th century, with undocumented agricultural laborers traveling to work in the Californian fields. In the 1940’s, the Bracero program formalized the employment of many of these workers, who were needed to fill the gap created by the demand for men during World War II. Throughout the century, the practice of young men migrating to work in the United States grew more and more common.
In 1980, there were 39,000 people of Mexican origin in New York state, while 10 years later, the census registered an yearly increase of 8.8%. It is in this landscape that so many Mexicans have built a home in the United States, finding themselves and creating communities that make them feel safe and with a sense of identity.
Andrés Lucero poses for a portrait beside his Volkswagen Beetle on Aug. 21, 2024.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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In 2020, Andrés handed the president’s badge to his brother and now spends most of his time running a deli on Third Avenue. The back of the store, adorned with a Virgen de Guadalupe sprayed in gritty black graffiti, doubles as his tattoo parlor. His home is still the apartment building where his parents settled in the ’80s. One of the doors belongs to Eddie.
Stern and serious, Eddie carries an almost military posture in his shoulders — gained by private security training and a lifetime living among the club — along with five commanding officers, they keep the Aztecs riding. Eddie is not only the club president and a commanding presence amongst the Aztecs; he is also father to twin teenagers that often spend time with the club, when they are not playing soccer with the FC Harlem. Eddie, as part of a sort of training, tells his kids of the tough decisions he sometimes has to make as president, and asks them what they would do. Explaining and passing on the most important value of the club: the value of family. He is also the friendliest of the group when playing with the other members’ kids. He is loved and respected by everyone.
Christian Pérez, the club’s treasurer, is reflected in a motorcycle mirror before a ride to Long Island on Feb. 25, 2024.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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Some of the Aztec Rebels look out toward a lake in Long Island during a ride.
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Riders hold a lot of stigma and stereotypes of machismo and misogyny, sometimes supported by long-held traditions and questionable practices. To illustrate, in most motorcycle clubs, wives and girlfriends of the group wear vests that read “Property of X M.C.” As president, Eddie broke that tradition by writing “Protected by Aztec Rebels M.C.” on the women’s vests.
When looking at one of the Aztecs’ gatherings, one must see beyond the vests and the stereotypes surrounding motorcycle culture. Although they might look tough on the outside, the men that form this community are responsible family men. The club also provides a family to those who, in some cases, left their families behind and started a life completely on their own in the United States.
“People are always looking for a family, and that’s why sometimes they get into gangs. We want to be that place where Mexicans can come and be in a safe environment, without violence, but with a family,” Eddie says.
“Diablo” poses for a portrait during a ride to Long Island.
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At 19, ‘Diablo,’ is the youngest full member in the Aztecs. He asked us not to use his full name because of his immigration status. Most, or rather none, of the members know his actual name; they refer to him by the nickname he earned from his love of speed on his motorbike.
“I went straight into middle school and had a lot of fights. People tried to bully me because I didn’t speak English, so I just defended myself, and only then did they respect me and start hanging out with me,” Diablo recalls.
He sticks out from the other Aztecs only for his skinny build and the noticeable age difference. But he is just one of them when it comes to the brotherly rowdiness and banter.
“My mother told me that the fights in high school were not irrelevant, but they meant knives and weapons. All my friends went to the same high school, but I didn’t tell them and went to a different one. Most of them are now in gangs and some of them are no longer around,” he says, while hanging out next to a food truck selling birria and tacos on a highway in Connecticut.
Andrés Lucero, the club’s founder and former president, draws the outline of the club’s logo on the wall of their first clubhouse in Hunts Point on May 26, 2024.
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Members of the Aztec Rebels play pool in their newly opened clubhouse.
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Christian Perez holds his newborn at the Aztec Rebels recently opened clubhouse in Hunts Point, in the Bronx.
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Since 2016, the Rebels have been gathering in their personal apartments, garages and basements, from Yonkers to Staten Island, or “La Isla,” as they call it. But they’ve always wanted to have a permanent home.
As their numbers increased, the commanding officers started looking for potential places to rent, primarily in the South Bronx. They visited more than 20 lots that they could use, but were always turned down.
Eddie Lucero, the club’s president, poses for a portrait with his twins, Eddie and Ethan, during an Easter egg hunt on Randall’s Island for the Aztec Rebels and their families.
Mayolo López Gutiérrez
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This year, their efforts finally came to fruition. A remote street next to the Hunts Point “marketa,” as the Latino community calls it, finally accepted the Aztec Rebels as tenants. Eddie called an emergency meeting at the new location without giving away the surprise. All the men answered the call. They came thinking that their president was in danger. They climbed up the stairs without removing their helmets, ready for anything. And there stood Eddie: he said. “Welcome to your new house.”
In the next couple weeks, they remodeled the space with their bare hands. Most have worked in construction, so it wasn’t hard for them. They added a classic pool and foosball table, and a TV, where they watched the Mexican soccer league’s final between Club América and Cruz Azul.
“There’s a different way to do things. You don’t have to follow a straight path. We broke the mold by being Mexican bikers in New York. You can be wholesome and be a family man. And you can be more than just a biker. You can be a leader in your community and help everybody out by being part of something big,” Eddie concluded.
Sergio Garcia and Carlos Villatoro look at the skyline from the rooftop of the Aztec Rebels recently opened clubhouse in Hunts Point, in the Bronx.
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The Aztec Rebels stand outside their newly opened clubhouse in the Hunts Point neighborhood of the Bronx on May 26, 2024.
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Skid marks left behind in a parking lot during a ride to Long Island.
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Mayolo López Gutiérrez is a photojournalist based in Mexico City. You can see more of Mayolo’s work on his website, mayolopezgutierrez.com, or on Instagram at @fotomayo.
Photo edited by Virginia Lozano. Copy edited by Zach Thompson.
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The OG Scream Queen Neve Campbell returns. Scream 7 re-centers the franchise back on Sidney Prescott. She has a new life, a family, and lots of baggage. You know the drill: Someone dressing up as the masked slasher Ghostface comes for her, her family and friends. There’s lots of stabbing and murder and so many red herrings it’s practically a smorgasbord.
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Abriana Vicioso is the host of the Flower Hour, which takes place monthly.
(Jennifer McCord / For The Times)
Each flower carries a personal history. For Abriana Vicioso, the calla lily was her parents’ wedding flower — a symbol of her mother’s beauty. “She had this big, beautiful white calla lily in her hair,” Vicioso says. “I love my parents. They’re the reason I’m here. I’ll never forget where I came from.”
The Flower Hour begins with Vicioso announcing, with a warm smile: “Today is about touching grass.” The florist-by-trade gestures behind her to hundreds of flowers contained in buckets — blue thistles, ivory anemones and calla lilies painted silver — all twisted and unfurling into the air. “Tonight is going to be so sweet and intimate,” Vicioso says, eyeing the beautiful chaos at her feet. A grin buds across her face.
Moments before the workshop, participants sit at candlelit tables exchanging horoscopes and comparing their favorite flowers. A mention of the illustrious bird-of-paradise flower elicits coos and awe from the women. Izamar Vazquez, who is from Jalisco, Mexico, reveals her fondness for roses, which make her feel connected to her Mexican roots.
Vicioso hosts her flower-themed wellness workshop near the iconic Original Los Angeles Flower Market in downtown L.A. In January, the first Flower Hour event sold out, prompting her to make it a monthly series. Vicioso describes the event as a “three-part journey” where participants are invited to drink herbal tea, smoke rose-petal-rolled cannabis joints and create a floral arrangement. “The guide is to connect with the medicine of flowers,” Vicioso says.
Rose petal joints, tea and flower arranging are all part of The Flower Hour event’s offerings.
The event is hosted at the Art Club, a membership-based co-working space. “The Flower Hour is really beautiful. Everyone gets to explore their creativity while meeting new people,” says Lindsay Williams, the co-owner of the Art Club.
The idea for Flower Hour came to Vicioso during a conversation with her mother. “We joke all the time that flowers were destined to make their way into my life,” she says. She works as a florist and models on the side, even appearing in the pages of Vogue. Vicioso grew up in a Caribbean household, where flowers and offerings were part of daily life. “In my culture and religion, a lot of my family practices — an Afro-Caribbean religion — we build altars.”
Like many cultures, flowers carry sentimental value in her religion. “I’m Caribbean, so a lot of my family practices a Yoruba religion, which comes from Africa. In the Caribbean, it’s well known as Santería.”
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After a difficult year and a breakup, Vicioso wanted to marry her love of flowers with community building. Because Vicioso uses cannabis medicinally, the workshop naturally includes a smoking component. “My family has smoked cannabis for a lot of reasons for a long time. It’s a really healing plant,” she explains.
In the workshop, even the cannabis gets the floral treatment. Vicioso presents her rose-petal-wrapped joints on a silver platter at each table. She rolled each by hand. “If you’ve never smoked a rose-petal-rolled joint, the difference with this is it’s going to have roses that have a slight tobacco effect,” she announces.
During the workshop, Vicioso stresses the importance of buying cannabis from local vendors. The cannabis provided was purchased from a Northern Californian vendor. The wellness workshop aims to reclaim the healing ritual of smoking cannabis. “This is a plant that has been commercialized,” Vicioso says. “There’s a lot of Black and Brown people who are in jail for this plant.”
The resulting workshop is what Vicioso describes as “an immersive wellness experience that is the intersection of wellness, creativity, community and an appreciation of flowers.” The workshop serves as a reminder to enjoy Earth’s innate beauty in the form of flowers — including cannabis. “It’s this gift that the universe gave us for free and that I have this deep connection with,” Vicioso says.
Conversation cards to generate discussion among participants (top, letf). The workshop serves as a “third space” for Angelenos to engage in tactile creativity and community building outside of traditional nightlife settings.
After enjoying lavender chamomile tea and smoking a joint, Vicioso introduces the flowers to the group before inviting them to pick their own. She emphasizes each flower’s personality traits, describing green dianthus as a “Dr. Seuss” plant. Then, there are calla lilies with their “main character moment.” It gets personal. “Start thinking of a flower in your life that you can discover,” she says. “If you’re feeling like you need inspiration, you can always remember that these flowers have stories.”
Vicioso infuses wisdom into her instruction on floral arrangements: There are no mistakes. Let the flowers tell you where they want to go, she urges. Intuition will be your guide — the wilder, the better.
“Hecho in Mexico” reads a sticker on a bunch of green stems. “Like me,” says Vazquez with a laugh. “They’re all doing their own thing. Like a family,” she says later, arranging stems.
The Flower Hour participants and Vicioso, center, chat as they build their own floral arrangements at the sold-out event.
Two participants — Vazquez and Rebeca Alvarado — are friends who run a floral design company together called Izza Rose. Like Vicioso, the friends have a connection to flowers through their Latin American culture. They met Vicioso in the floral industry and were overjoyed to discover her workshop.
“This is a great way to connect with other people,” says Vazquez.
Alvarado agrees, adding: “You’re getting to know people outside of going to bars. You can connect in different ways when there’s an activity.”
Vazquez uses flowers to stay connected to her Mexican heritage, adding that she prefers to support Mexican vendors. In recent months, the downtown L.A. flower market has struggled to recover from ongoing ICE raids. “Some are scared to come back,” says Vazquez.
Hand-rolled cannabis joints wrapped in rose petals are presented on a silver platter at The ArtClub (top, right). The Flower Hour aims to reclaim the healing rituals of cannabis and flowers.
Another participant, Barbara Rios, was attracted to the workshop for stress relief. “You can hang out with your friends, but it’s nice to do things with your hands,” she says. “I work a stressful job, and it’s nice to have that third space that we’re all craving.”
On this February night, the participants were predominantly women, save for one man. In the future, Vicioso hopes that more men learn to engage with flowers. “There’s a statistic about men receiving flowers for the first time at their funerals, and I think we have changed that,” she says.
To conclude the workshop, Vicioso encourages participants to build lasting friendships and incorporate flower arranging into their daily practice — even if it’s just with a small, inexpensive bouquet.
“Get some flowers together, go to the park, hang out with each other and hang out with me,” she says. Participants leave with flower arrangements in hand. In the darkness of the night air, it briefly looks as though the women carry silver calla lilies that are blooming from their palms.
An underwater view shows US’ Lilly King competing in a heat of the women’s 200m breaststroke swimming event during the Paris 2024 Olympic Games at the Paris La Defense Arena in Nanterre, west of Paris, on July 31, 2024. (Photo by François-Xavier MARIT / AFP) (Photo by FRANCOIS-XAVIER MARIT/AFP via Getty Images)
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This week’s show was recorded in Bloomington, Indiana with host Peter Sagal, judge and scorekeeper Bill Kurtis, Not My Job guest Lilly King and panelists Alonzo Bodden, Josh Gondelman, and Faith Salie. Click the audio link above to hear the whole show.
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