This is difficult. I tried to write a bit every day, or at least every couple of days, so everything would be fresh and I wouldn't forget details. Ah, the World is full of intentions. Alas, there's no way to find rest in Daytona, much less a few moments of quietness. If it's not the Jap bike fuckers revving the damn motors till they float the valves and whatever else floats on those god forsaken motors, it's the newbies, playing throttle twist and freshly installed drag pipes. I guess they're trying to impress semi dressed babes or even fellow pompous new riders. I can't blame the residents who bitch and moan about their beach side town becoming a whole fucking freak carnival. Some people ruin it for the others.
The new wave of bikers have hit the streets in way more force than ever before. People who don't have the slightest clue of what this lifestyle is about, who think that wearing a certain “biker shirt” chaps, white tennis shoes or shitkickers, bandannas and all the other gizmos, seen at every trinket shop down Main street, is the “bomb”. Those who must stand in line to get their shirts autographed by the OCC guys, after forking money for the shirt and autograph, is the hippest thing in motorcycling. It's people who play dress up as if it's a Barbie doll house convention and they get to choose the proper costume for the occasion. Let's not even talk about the slow impregnation of kids on Spring Break, those who slowly seep through the Daytona cracks and start screaming like lunatics at the weirdest hours of the night, while puking the contents of their booze-filled stomachs and brains on the nearest floor, rug or whatever is closer.
This year, although it seemed less crowded than before (at the beginning), gave us a slap-in-the-face surprise by the end of the week. Taking an hour to get anyplace became the norm, be it by bike, car or even walking. Insanity was rampant, as well as the TV freaks flowing down the street to catch a glimpse of the newest Chopper TV stars. Nothing bad with that, I should add, but it has changed, from people who were in this “lifestyle” to mere mortals, who don't even know what a fucking bike is. If it wasn't for those Cake decorators (quoting Bill) that do “theme” bikes, I mean, tube fans just trying to get a glimpse of TV personalities augmented the overflowing crowds.
Let's talk about those new riders, the new sparkling, gleaming, big ass tired chops, the ones that show up on a matching Hummer and trailer, that stay at the most expensive hotels and wear those stupid shirts, with the sleeves cut off and all the fuzzy threads sticking out, (you know what I'm talking about poser). The same guys that wear the stupidest helmets, the ugliest boots and just whack the fucking throttle to get attention. The ones who talk the loudest.
With this introduction I might discourage some people from attending Bike Week. If you're one of the characters mentioned above, yes, stay the fuck away, but not all is gloom on the sunny (sometimes) streets of Daytona. There's friends, there's good times, and there's memories to cherish. That, my friends, is what it's all about, and that's what this story is about.
As always we arrived early. The booth was set up and all the other crap handled by early Friday. We paid a visit to our friends across the street, West Coast Choppers (which became a trend), said, “Hi,” to Indian Larry, Hank Young, Billy and their respective crews and friends. Like always, it was good to see our friends and usual suspects. This day was a copy of every other single day. See, our friends hang by the booth, eat dinner and hit Lollipops. If a bomb was dropped at Lollipops, 90% of the industry would be wiped out, including yours truly.
Saturday and Sunday went by in a blur. The list of friends, coming by to visit, kept growing by the hour. Every chance I had I escaped to the WCC booth area and hit their couch. They were more than kind and patient, after all they had the most fucking comfy space in the whole town. Bill Dodge, Rockabilly, Jay and my good friend, the foam sucking shaper from Hawaii, Jay Hodge were there. Needless to say the hordes of people asking for Jesse, time after time, again and again, never ended. I guess we became immune to that and kept on with the mischief. The speakers blasting away, the chicks to check out and the more than efficient waitress from the Wreck bringing cold stuff and even food right into the booth. I shit you not, I spent more time there that in my own booth.
One of the highlights of the trip happened when Bling Bling rode his cool, Count Chocula, WCC chop, and he over abused it (wheelies and burnouts are not proper break in procedures) and busted something. Everyone was helping out inside the trailer. I mean Indian Larry was there, Jack Rudy, all the WCC guys (but Jay who stood guard outside) and many of the guys. It's was plain and simple, a small example of what brotherhood is about. A few friends helping each other out and having a good time. What I did find amazing was the crowd gathering outside. I guess people assumed that there was a big pow wow with big chief Jesse James going on. After all many well respected builders walked in and out of that trailer, the lines of onlookers were a solid ten deep.
As the week rolled on we managed to see more and more of our friends. That's what I really like about Daytona. It's a place (since there's nothing else to do) to find industry friends from all over the country. Also, it's the meeting point of all our friends from foreign lands, France, Japan, Finland, etc. All the magazines are there, looking for new and cool bikes. Even though I had no new stuff, they still took the time to talk a bit about what's going on and what's being built at our shop. I should not forget about editors of US magazines as well, they came by said hello, that was super cool.
There's another thing about Daytona, while there's almost no riding during the day, it turns into a “what the fuck should I do?” during the night. There's industry parties, dinner invitations, more parties, unveilings, press releases and a million other industry related things. I'm saying this not because I feel I'm important, but just because it's a side of the whole event that people, who are not on the industry, never see or know of. As the week passes it all becomes complicated. More and more stuff to do and by then everyone, and I mean fucking everyone, is in town, so traffic is a total and utmost nightmare. There's not enough time to do it all. Even trying to get to sleep is a whole odyssey in itself.
Let's sum it up in a whole section devoted to events, or what the fuck went on: I'm not going into details like who had a BBQ at their house or shit like that, just general stuff. S&S and Hot Bike party at the Broken Spoke, we had a good time meeting with the WCC crew, Jesse Rooke, Chris Maida, Roland Sands and many other friends. It was located in the police warning zone, which is that stretch of US 1 in Ormond. More tickets there than any other place in Daytona for sure.
Willies Tropical tattoo first Chopper Show. We tried to head over but the booth and traffic made it impossible. We spent some time there earlier in the week (as always) and I promised to show up. I'm sorry I could not, since everyone told me it was kick ass.
The Chop Shop took place on Main Street featuring bikes from Jesse Rooke, Billy Lane and others (which escape my mind). Another joint that I mustered the valor to walk over, yet never made it. Still some of my crew went over and brought the photos back. I had seen Billy's bike, but Jesse Rooke's was very cool.
The Horse had a Chopper Show at the Last Resort, one place I had to be and managed to miss 'till too late. Again trying to escape the booth and traffic made it impossible to get there early. I should have ridden with Bill and Chopper Dave when they took off, after all Chopper Dave was judging. I heard from Geno (besides bitchin' at me for being late) that it was all very good with over 100 chops to judge.
At the same time the Rats Hole Show was taking place at the Peabody. Some smart advertising seeped into the news that Discovery cameras would be there, so just imagine the mayhem. Another event that I managed to miss.
The Hot Bike bowling party took place once more. Again I showed up late, but still managed to find a few diehard friends and had a good time.
The one I really hated to miss was the impromptu party at the Chart House with WCC and the Indian Larry crew. I heard someone played a joke on Larry and said it was his birthday. I guess the joke was on them when even the menu congratulated Larry on his birthday. I really, really hated to miss that one.
Even more, the VQ awards and Lynyrd Skynyrd concert took place at the same time at the same place. Zoo is not even close to the proper word, and to top it off it was in our hotel, so we had to hide in Lollipops (once more) till the chaos subsided, or maybe that was the night that we all went to Chica's motor home for another party and ended up at Lollipops once more.
Personalities:
I guess I have already talked about everyone asking where Jesse was. I guess no one will know, after sightings at a breakfast joint, some said he was still in Long Beach and some saw him taking off back to California. Was he there? Who know's, what's important is that Jesse is still the favorite, still the man, and I fucking respect that.
Billy Lane's new rig was packed, bikes, chicks, cars, even a stripper pole. When the very busy dreadlocked Billy showed up the lines for autographs and photos were endless, and you know what, even though some people were disappointed that he was not there longer. Billy wasn't fucking around, he was going back to his shop (every day) to finish some of the work, that was admirable.
To me Indian Larry was the champ par none. He was on hand the longest, every day, signing, taking photos, etc. etc. The man could not even get a break to eat or take a piss, without some fan calling him out (rude very rude). He still managed to keep his sanity (or lack of) during the whole week. I tell you he worked his ass off trying to please everyone, and he still had time to go across the street and check some old knuckles out or say hi to old friends. That was his time off from the lunacy. He was running out of place to hide and take a breather.
Hank Young and Chica had their Discovery bikes on the spot. We joked on how people were walking by and crowds were ultra thin. Let's see what happens when their Build Off airs, I'm sure we'll see a 180 degree turn. And all this involves our little space in the Daytona microcosm, our little chopper block.
But be ready for this, at a spot near us, the infamous OCC guys had their corral (which is the proper word), people standing in line in fenced walkways to see their favorite TV dysfunctional family and their theme bikes. I better leave it at that, since I really don't like the circus, nor monkeys, much less clowns. “Please hurry up, they won't talk into cell phones,” the announce proclaims. “Buy the merchandise…” Nothing like people telling you what to do.
We joined forces with Fabricator Kevin and Biker Spot magazine. Kevin managed to talk to 20% of the Daytona population and meet so many people his rolodex is probably twice its size. I have to thank them, Kevin and Carla, for holding the fort while I was fucking around. BikerSpot gave away tons of magazines and did tons of shootings. Good material for upcoming issues.
Sometimes the stuff you gain must not be measured in monetary value. There's no way some dollars can replace nor stand in the way of having a good time amongst friends. There's no price to the stuff that you do and see, of being able to share time, space and ideas with the top names in the industry, or just planning the next trip to Puerto Rico or any other place. Fun can be as simple as figuring out when to meet to go surfing.
Daytona is a place for me to meet friends and spend the time with pals I can't see in Puerto Rico. As annoying as it's getting, there's always a good side. There's always a good (or many) stories to tell. Daytona is a place to check out the very good-looking chicks and make fun at the clueless new “bikers”. It's a goddamn circus on the outside but a close knit family gathering on the inside. Yeah it's been twelve years now, and I hate it with all my guts, but I would not miss it for the world.
(I'm not mentioning names to protect the guilty)
COOL
Drive down the road on a big ass truck with the nastiest air horn at 8:30 am, see some guys on theme bikes waving at the non existent crowd, honk the fucking horn as long as the compressor will last and remind them there's no one in the streets !
Not Cool
Take pictures of certain builder and his dick while taking a piss
Cool!
Get a blow job in one of the trailers by groupies
Not cool
Get a ticket for wearing a helmet, but the helmet is not approved and you have no proof of insurance on a helmet free state (Go figure that one out !!!)
Cool
Getting to hang at Lollipops every night, (thanks guys).
Not coolTaking an hour to drive a fucking mile at 10:00 am so you can get to the booth
CoolGetting lap dances while getting tattooed
Not cool
Having to listen to all the newbies whacking their throttle at the hotel lobby
Cool
Seeing a cop giving them a ” souvenir” and or watching a motor blow or plugs fowl.
Not cool
Having to move all around town to visit places since it's all spread out as fuck (go back to traffic)
Cool
Getting lots of hot chicks to sit on your bike for photos and getting their numbers !
Not cool
Getting their boyfriends pissed at you.
Cool
Getting the fuck out of Daytona, blasting, riding on sidewalks or whatever the fuck it takes to escape.
