-FROM AN ARTICLE I WROTE FOR A LOCAL BIKER RAG: OKC is what, 750 miles from Sturgis? Yet even all the way down here, Im sharing the highway with these goofy lords of the road. I witnessed four of them today doing 60 in the fast lane on the interstate... As I blew past them, I saw the strange accoutrements of their tribe: Chinese chrome baubles covering their bikes, beanie helmets and do-rags, brand spanking new REI camping gear, full on SOA soft colors... I felt so plain and ordinary in their presence. I wanted to follow them, maybe sit down for lunch with them at a Fuddruckers or Cracker Barrel and ask them to teach me their ways. We could split the check five ways, diligently tip precisely 15% on a credit card (black), and rebelliously roar away on our freedom machines- American flags waving in the patriotic breeze, the scent of Axe body spray and expensive cigarettes clinging to us like last months Visa bill. Yes, the Sturgis Nation is on the move this summer, wandering nomadically from one VIP tent to the next. But whats happened to the old-school bike rally? Where are the mud and the beer and the bug-splattered, road-weary motorcycles? The answer is that these old fashioned runs are still in existence. They arent some secret handshake protected cloak-and-dagger deals, either- they dont have to be, because the folks who wouldnt be welcome wouldnt really want to come anyway. You wanna come? Just ask around! Theres always a group of bikes heading to a nearby campground or national forest. You can find flyers for these events festooned like propaganda at your local bike shop or watering hole. Its not a mystery. The old-school bike rally is not a place for the RUB tribe. No one would turn them away, but the dirt and grime and utter reality of the experience would not sit well with them. Thats why they have their own thing: the huge, glamorous, corporate-endorsed rallies complete with $15 beers and photo ops with your favorite cast member of Orange County Choppers. Theyre happy, were happy, everybodys happy. My earliest experiences in the biker world came from rallies my father took me to. He was a tattooist, and while he was putting Harley shields and eagles and dragons on the arms of riders from all over the country, I was free to wander the grounds, ogling the girls in that innocent way only a 12 year old boy can, participating in Jap smashes and tug-of-wars, and trying my damnedest to sneak in a beer or two if someone turned their back. Those rallies were how I fell in love with the biker lifestyle as we understood it at that time. Bike events at that time had very little in the way of vendors beyond food and beer. Somehow, we managed to get by without a thousand booths selling every imaginable trinket and gadget to enhance the riding experience. The focus was on the lifestyle, the motorcycles, the chance to escape town, the bonding. In my own experience, it just isnt a bike rally without a weenie bite, a hill climb, a couple bands onstage who may or may not be even drunker than the crowd, naked girls, security guys valiantly (although perhaps fruitlessly) attempting to defuse a few fistfights at any given time, broken glass, handshakes, backslaps and all the other fun stuff thats missing from day-to-day life. Throw in a turkey leg and a cooler full of drinks and you have the makings for something really special.
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 19:48:33 +0000