We went to one of the big Bike Week hangouts today, the one at Bruce Rossmeyer’s Harley near Daytona Beach.  We came down for the big event, but it mostly was just an excuse to come to Florida for a few days.  Crowds like that generally wear me out.  I have a limit of a couple of hours and I’m ready to go.  You see the most interesting people at a Biker gathering.  Last year we met a woman who sewed some patches on my jacket.  She was sitting in front of one of the big places that sell leather and patches, dressed like a ballerina with a garish bustier sewing patches on items of clothing for tips.  She was very busy and was fussing about the people in front of us that stiffed her on a tip.  She reminded me of the stories I have heard from my daughter and other acquaintances about how people walk out without leaving a gratuity.  I am also thankful for spell checker.  I have used too many words in this post that I didn’t know how to spell.

But, I digress.  Most of the men are either like me, oldish fat guys with their wives or single “biker” wannabes who are trying to look like those guys on that TV show about a biker gang.  I even saw a man with a T-shirt that read “Sons of Arthritis”.  And what is is with Harley riders and their obsession with loud pipes?  My ears were ringing by the time we left.  My bike isn’t quiet, but I think I would be hearing impaired after riding on some of those bikes for a few miles.

I have found that most bikers are really nice people though.  They wave at you if they pass you when you are both on motorcycles.  They ask about your bike or where I got my cool skeleton helmet (not a scary one, it’s cream colored with sparkly gold accents) or how long have we been riding.  We mostly just looked, I bought a patch for my jacket and a coozy for my refreshing beverages.  We laughed at the people who ran to jump on the trolley, 25 feet from the end of the line.  We saw young and old and skinny and skinny impaired and every color of skin you can imagine, a lot of it lobster red.  Contrary to stereotype, most people were modestly dressed, except for a few men showing way too much beer belly.

On the way back we drove up US1 and over to A1A to go to get some seafood at a place in Palm Coast under some big old live oak trees.  The place we were gonna stop at in Flagler Beach had wall to wall people and nearly every little bar and restaurant along the beach was similarly crowded.  There were a few bikes parked out front of the place where we wtopped but mostly it was folks there for the early bird or happy hour.  I think most people who come for Bike Week come to show off their bikes, go for a ride where it’s warm and to drink beer, not necessarily in that order.

The whole day was really soothing though.  Riding with the windows down and the sun roof open along US1 on a nearly perfect day.  It was sunny and about 70ish, not too many people.  US1 between Daytona Beach and where it crosses I95 near St. Augustine is just like “old” Florida, if you know what I’m talking about.  Miles of nothing but cabbage palms and scrub palmetto and live oaks hung with Spanish Moss.  Driving with no destination in mind, in no hurry, with the woman I love, that’s priceless.  I don’t know if “heaven on earth” exists or not, but this is pretty damn close.