Of the nearly 24 million people in Shanghai, just 250 of them have motorcycle sidecars. The government won't license any more, a decision that has created an unusually small niche of avid riders. French photographer Aurélien Chauvaud documents these quirky aficionados and their eclectic rides in his meticulously composed series Shanghai Sidecar Riders.

Chauvaud took his first ride in a sidecar through a friend of a friend. It was August, and the city was enveloped in triple-digit heat and humidity so thick it was like walking through a wet paper towel. Taking a spin in a vintage Chang Jiang motorcycle offered a much cooler way of getting around. Chauvaud was captivated.

“I was amazed by the machine,” he said. “There was this feeling of open-air interaction with the city and the people, completely 360 degrees, and you get to go through all these little roads where nobody goes.” Chauvaud felt this unique slice of Chinese life was worth investigating.

The community of sidecar riders is small and tight. Many use the same mechanics, and one rider led Chauvaud to another. He would ride around with them for hours until they happened upon a location he felt resonated with the rider's style. A cement factory became a backdrop for the rider who wears a full Nazi SS uniform, down the the jackboots and cigarette holder. A gated compound surrounding a golden Mao statue was the location for a guy in camo pants and dark shades. Chauvaud would subject the riders to the exacting adjustments familiar to a fashion model but utterly foreign to a biker.

He photographed 80 riders, and discovered they all bear little resemblance to any popular notion of biker culture. “This American myth of the biker, that imagery and idea of life is very much in conflict with what China is today,” he said. “I don’t think you’re gonna find something like the Hells Angels in China.”

Far from it, in fact. Most of the riders are in their 30s and live with their parents—the bedroom of one rider still contained collections of action figures. One rider—heavily muscled and dressed in ripped jeans, high top sneakers, and a t-shirt that reads in English “Stone Cold”—had equipped his lovingly restored fire engine red rig with a booming stereo. When Chauvaud asked to hear it, the man cranked up Celine Dion.

Chauvaud's sidecar exploration was not entirely welcome in Shanghai. While shooting one day on a bridge reserved for pedestrians and scooters, Chauvaud had to deal with a lurking photographer interfering with his shoot. The next day he spotted a photo of himself in the newspaper. The story told of a pesky foreigner who had snarled traffic by failing to follow the rules. “In Chinese culture, if you make waves, it can be problematic,” he said.