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We thought something was up the next morning, when we finally woke up with a distinct lack of sun slithering through the cracks in the window blinds. All was confirmed with a step out onto our ocean front balcony, cold wet feet snapped us right to attention, damn. Thankfully, the TV remote still worked and we sailed towards the weather channel, only to discover upon landing, that it was going to be wet and dismal for the rest of the day and the next. Ok, so it’s going to rain, at least it isn’t snowing.
With one eye directed at the sky and the other watching out for traffic, we headed for the Beach St. vendor area. We discovered soon enough, one of the hidden benefits of the vendor area, along with the friends and acquaintances; there were also tarps and awnings to duck under when the clouds cracked. Of course, all the new parts are on display as well; since this is the first time shops get to show off their winter’s work to the riders on the street.
An impressive assemblage of hardware not found anywhere else in the free world was available daily. During one particular drenching downpour, Hachet Head and I were separated, so I ducked into Jose’s “Chopper Freak” booth to keep the camera dry. I think HH sneaked into one of the ladies portables, but I’m not sure. He showed up later with a grin that a quarter mile of rough asphalt wouldn’t budge.
The sun came out for one and a half days, give or take a minute or two. We did get some riding time in, but not nearly what we expected. As we soon discovered there were other sources of amusement. One that comes hit us after lunch at Ponce Inlet. The wind and rain came like a wall of water across the narrow channel toward the restaurant pier where we were seated comfortably, followed by a display of lightening bordering on biblical proportions, even sending a bolt of high-voltage to the end of our pier purely for entertainment value.
Toward the end of the week, we rolled over to Deland, Florida, to Stetson University, the sight of the Woods motorcycle auction. A very nice crop of bikes was waiting the sound of the auctioneer’s satatco enticement and the word “sold”. The parking area surrounding the university gym was a show of motorcycles of all descriptions. Even the bikes loaded in the back of pick-up trucks and lashed down on trailers looked awesome. Some were going to new homes, some just heading home.
Home was where we headed, after witnessing the rapid advancement of a boiling thunderhead, which postponed the weekending Daytona 200 race till the next day. We casually observed firey laps from the dry comfort of a couch.
Did it rain most of the time? Yes. Did it suck? Not at all. We came to have fun and fun being the final frontier, we ventured forth. How can you not have fun in a city stuffed with motorcycles and packed with their riders?
