A rare look inside the Rebels' closed event, as police sit camped outside

Except for the gang patches, the tattoos, the hundreds of dusty Harleys, and the dozens of armed police waiting on the roadway outside, photographing and documenting everyone that entered.

More than 450 members of the Rebels outlaw motorcycle gang chose a closed venue in Symonston, in Canberra's inner south, for their national meeting this weekend.

This was strictly a members- and guests-only event, selected largely as a result of Canberra's legislative capability to stage such an gathering.

Rebels from chapters all over the country answered the summons to Canberra where they intended to celebrate 10-, 20- and 50-year members.

Many rode thousands of kilometres - from Darwin, Perth, Adelaide and Far North Queensland - to the national capital, their bug-spattered, road-worn Harleys lined in rows up inside the venue. As anyone who has taken a very long motorcycle road trip knows, you need to love bikes and riding to undertake such journeys.

All had been warned they would be harassed along the way, and pre-event advice was given on the size of the groups riding together so as to avoid police attention and potential breaches of consorting laws.

But they copped that attention anyway. The "brotherhood" was getting to Canberra, come hell or high water. And in number.

READ MORE: 'How does being a Rebel make you a criminal?'

Months of preparation and meetings had led up to the event and there was give and take on both sides to make it happen.

The biggest concern police had was the potential for a mass ride and the very public statement that would make. Bikie gangs, in general, are well-versed in managing massed runs, with outriders to move ahead of the pack, ignore traffic lights and block traffic at intersections - much like police motorcyclists are taught - so the bulk of riders can continue on uninterrupted.

So the demand was made by police that this wouldn't happen; those Rebels that rode in had to park up their bikes and leave them there until it was time to go home.

Reluctantly, the organisers agreed. But while the club hierarchy's rules were clearly respected, what may transpire after the event wound up was always an open question.

The bikies also knew focused police attention was a given. Under light towers on the roadway outside the venue, 26 officers, six motorcycles and 11 police cars were gathered where traffic cones funnelled all attendees into a stop point. A telescopic high-definition camera rig, the feed connected back to the Police Operations Centre in Belconnen in real time, had a bird's-eye view of everything.

Every Rebels member was asked to produce their colours, their details such as licences and vehicle registration were carefully recorded, and GoPro photos front and back were taken of everyone.

"Am I under arrest or something?" one Rebel asked as police photographs were taken of the back of his tattooed skull.

The road-weary visitors had been well-warned of what to expect and accepted the attention with mixed feelings. Some were annoyed while others cracked jokes with police.

Most had clearly been through this rigmarole before.

The overwhelming impression was this was a national intelligence-gathering operation by police on a significant scale and there were officers from the Northern Territory, NSW and Queensland there as part of it.

Many Rebels members arrived by car. Some flew in, their colours stashed in their luggage. Aside from the big interstate chapters, there were visiting members from Thailand and Cambodia.

The fact that just over the border, members of the NSW Police Strike Force Raptor, formed specifically to disassemble organised crime groups and bikie gangs across their jurisdiction, would be sitting and waiting in Queanbeyan for a possible call - most are designated "special constables" so can operate into the ACT when requested to do so - was part of the cross-border operational planning.

The Rebels are the oldest and possibly the largest OMCG (outlaw motor cycle gang) in the country, formed back in 1969.

For decades, it was the only OMCG in Canberra. Now it shares the national capital with the Finks, Hells Angels and Comancheros. It's estimated only around 30 "patched" bikies reside in the ACT, with around the same number of non-patched or half-patched "associates". A chapter of the Satudarah was attempted, but failed when its few members committed offences which landed them in the Alexander Maconochie Centre.

Inside the venue, old-school rock and roll music was thumping as beer flowed freely while, to one side, caterers had steaks, sausages and onions sizzling. Jimmy Barnes' brother, John Swan OAM, was booked to play. Women in bikinis and heels were serving drinks. On Friday night, the event had a first-night edgy bonhomie, a bit like a fully gender-skewed old-school reunion.

Ages of those attending was varied, from those in their 20s to silver-haired blokes well into their 60s and beyond.

"We wanted it to be a party; there are two blokes here who have been members of the club for 50 years," a key organiser of the event, Sydney chapter boss David Lowe, said.

"That's a bloody long time and they deserve to be celebrated."

To be an interloper to such events is a slightly unsettling feeling.

A cordial and open chat was held with two senior members - one of whom, 'Little Mick' ran as an independent in Queensland's state election and gathered 6.5 per cent of the local vote - but about 30 metres away, where the patched cohort were downing their beers, the glances from some intimidatory, well-muscled members became increasingly irritated and suspicious as time wore on. Tolerance of outsiders at such events clearly had its limits, and the clock was ticking fast.

The Rebels leaders didn't shirk any questions. They accepted some of their members broke the law, "but have a look at the number of cops that do the same", and that their "associates" were an ongoing issue.

As for more bikie clubs in the ACT generating the friction point for violence, Lowe said he had been in phone contact with Sydney bosses of the "HAs" (Hells Angels) and "Commies" (Comancheros) both in the past month.

"We talk about common problems: the law and the cops, mostly," he said.