Friday, September 24, 2021

Heavy Duty People by Iain Parke - Book Tour + Giveaway

Heavy Duty People

“…a fantastic anti-hero…positively Shakespearian in his moral complexity...If I could only recommend one book this year, it would be Heavy Duty People” – Vulpes Libris

Damage’s club has had an offer it can’t refuse, to patch over to join The Brethren MC.

But as the bikes rumble and roar across the wild Northern fells, what does this mean for Damage and his brothers? What choices will they have to make as they ride through the wind? What bloody oil stained history might it reawaken? And why are The Brethren making this offer?

Loyalty to his club and his brothers has been Damage’s life and route to wealth, but what happens when business becomes serious and brother starts killing brother?

From being in a gang to becoming a gangster, Heavy Duty People is the book that invented Biker Noir.

Get Carter meets Sons of Anarchy in this gritty British crime thriller, now in development for TV.

Purchase Links

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Etsy – signed trilogy =


As a kid Damage has fallen in with the local bike gang and turned up for a ride out…

And then at a gap in the traffic we were off, pulling out onto the road, a cacophony of exhaust blast echoing between the shop fronts as we headed up the main drag through town and the Saturday shopping crowds on either pavement.

As we rode slowly along the road behind the traffic it was my first experience of riding with a group this big.

There was a sense of the power waiting to be unleashed, the over-revving of the engines just to get just a bit more noise bouncing between the walls on either side, the ratcheting up of our own adrenaline. I could feel a wild exuberant excitement welling up within me, a feeling of invincibility.

When you see a group of bikes, you know they are together. You know they are a pack of guys who know each other. You know that they are heading somewhere together deliberately, as a group. You wonder where, you wonder why, you wonder who they are and what will happen on the way. And now I was part of that.

Heads turned to see us go past. You didn’t look, just like you didn’t look at your reflections in the plate glass windows of the shops. But out of the corner of your eye you could see the heads turn. The small children point.

We crested the top of the rise and headed towards the crossroads and the drag up the hill out of town that allowed us to pull past the cars in front.

If you’ve ridden bikes then I don’t have to tell you what it’s like.

If you haven’t then it’s difficult to describe.

You drive a car. You turn a wheel, you press a pedal and it goes. A car is an object that you control.

You ride a bike. You dance with it, it goes where your body tells it. Your bike is your partner, it sways and shimmies with you as you move your hips and twist your body to shift your weight.

In a car you are inside, insulated from the world, surrounded by a cocooning wall of steel.

On a bike you are outside, exposed to the world, feeling the wind, the rain, the warmth, the cold, and with only your skill, your luck, and a leather jacket between you and the ripping tarmac tearing past you below.

As we headed into the open countryside, the line of bikes began to string out. The gang were all on bigger bikes. Seven-fifties and upwards, mostly a mix of UJMs  and some older Brit twins; back in the car park there had been the usual good-natured joshing about Brit shit and Jap crap.

On the more open roads we came swarming up from nowhere in seconds behind cars that we caught, and barrelling past them, rocketing by in a wail of powerful noise without even slowing down.

But then in more twisty bits we might get caught up without the clear overtake, bunching up behind a car, all bright lights, chrome, noise and thunder just behind the driver’s back bumper, feeling the tension, the eyes in the rear view mirror, the kids in the back seat turning round to look open-mouthed, before the road straightened out again as we crunched down a gear and with a bawling scream of pure exhaust noise we launched ourselves past the outside of the car, tearing up the road again to the next bend.

Riding in a pack was completely different from riding on your own. As a rider on your own machine, you are still singularly alone, testing yourself, totally responsible for your own actions and how far you are able to push yourself. You against the road.

Yet at the same time there was both that feeling of invulnerability, of being part of something bigger, us against them, and that feeling of competitiveness with the other guys. As a pack you are always egging each other on.

At the back on my two-fifty with Gyppo on my tail, I was having to scratch hard to keep up with the charging pack. And failing. So the times when we got caught behind something, bunching up into a jostling knot of bikes and power and noise, just waiting to be fired past the car’s windows at the first hint of a gap were great for me as they gave me a chance to catch up before the more powerful machines howled away again into the distance, stringing out into a line of glinting swerving disappearing spots as the road opened out. Finally on the last stretch, Gyppo pulled out and twisting the throttle, zoomed past me at probably ninety or so into the final bends leading up to the summit.

As I pulled into the Edgeside car park I must have had a grin a mile wide.

Most of the gang had dismounted and were already filing into the café. Gyppo and Tiny were standing by the row of bikes as I kicked down my side stand at the end of the line.

‘Not bad considering it’s a two-fifty.’

‘You’re going to need to get yourself a bigger bike, kid.’

I got the feeling that I had just passed another test.


And then we were off again, down the falling hairpin curves of the Edgeside pass and out towards the flat valley below.

Riding at the tail of the pack, for the first time in my life, I truly felt accepted in the company of men. I belonged.

I had become a tagalong.

Author Bio –

Iain Parke imports industrial quantities of Class A drugs, kills people and lies (a lot) for a living, being a British based crime fiction writer.

Iain became obsessed with motorcycles at an early age, taking a six hundred mile cross-country tour to Cornwall as soon as he bought a moped at the tender age of sixteen. After working at a London dispatch job delivering parcels on a motorcycle, he built his first chopper in his bedroom at university, undeterred by the fact that the workshop was upstairs.

Iain worked in insolvency and business restructuring in the UK and Africa, where he wrote his first thriller The Liquidator. The success of that propelled him to write a ‘biker lit’ trilogy about the Brethren Motorcycle Club, a ‘cult’ hit which has recently been optioned for television. Today Iain lives off the grid, high up on the North Pennines in Northumberland with his wife, dogs, and a garage full of motorcycle restoration projects.

Social Media Links –


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Giveaway to Win Signed Heavy Duty trilogy bundle + sweatshirt (Open INT)

1st Prize

1 x signed copy of the Heavy Duty Trilogy

1 x Heavy Duty bookmark

1 x DILLIGAF hoodie


9 x Runners up prize.

Heavy Duty bookmark


*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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