Part I, Road Trip
By Lindsay DeChacco

Las Vegas Bikefest, Rally in the Rockies, Motorcycle Mania — high-octane rallies across the nation beckon modern-day cowboys to saddle up their choppers and cruisers, pull on their leather chaps and converge upon the revelries. 

Every August the population of Sturgis, S.D., swells from 6,400 to upwards of 400,000 during a week when cars are expelled in favor of their two-wheel counterparts. Motorcycles dominate in what has become the biggest motorcycle rally in the world.

Since the rally began in 1938 in hopes of attracting a few tourists to the sleepy burg, Sturgis has evolved into the HOG hub of the western hemisphere.  Over seven exhaust-filled days, its economy is infused with a wealth of coveted tourism dollars as the town teems with weather-chiseled, inked-encrypted Harley owners.

These ranks of bikers are often regarded as the underbelly of the road — long-monikered misfits, outlaws and heathens — but they more accurately represent its underdogs. Road conditions are, at best, lamentable and too often deadly for two-wheel drivers. And in the asphalt theater, it’s survival of the fittest as bikers frequently find themselves fodder for larger vehicles, hedged and bullied by juiced-up SUVs and oversized semis.

But every cloud has a chrome-encrusted lining and despite the drawbacks, bikers get to experience up close the vastly varied landscapes, which can change hourly while circling the western United States.

Motorcycle rallies may boast vendors, races, bands and custom bikes galore, but the real allure for these easy riders is the call of the open road; it’s all about getting there, exposed to the elements, one with nature and unconstrained by metal cages. Like the dynamic terrains they cross, the bikers that gather for these rallies are a motley assortment from all walks of life.

Their most infamous elements are represented in the three-patch clubs, motorcycle clubs in the most traditional sense of the designation, that have ridden their way to notoriety since they first distinguished themselves in the 1940s.

These clubs were formed when a group of bikers rebelled from the clean-cut image put forth by the American Motorcycle Association (AMA) in the 1940s and ’50s by cutting their patches into three parts.  Some even went so far as to adopt a “one-percent” patch after the AMA responded to a much-publicized brawl between two motorcycle groups by stating that 99 percent of motorcyclists were law-abiding citizens — thus designating the remaining one-percent as outlaws.

Notable three-patch motorcycle clubs include the Hells Angels, Mongols, Pagans, Bandidos, Outlaws and Wild Pigs. Induction into a club is an extended process, which generally includes pranks and a probationary period as part of the initiation.

For those who aren’t interested in flying the colors of an outlaw, there are countless other motorcycle organizations for riders addicted to the exhilaration of a Harley and back roads America.

You’ll find atypical bikers in typical bikers’ clothing in the members of the Black Sheep. These leather clad, tattoo-baring bikers might present an intimidating countenance but rather than a traditional free-wielding club or organization, they are a motorcycle ministry.

A national organization with chapters across the country, the mission of the Black Sheep Harley Davidsons for Christ is to introduce Jesus Christ to the world of motorcycle riders. And hardcore bikers are surprisingly receptive to their motorcycle compatriots. Perhaps it is the uncertainty of the road or the nefarious behavior that is alleged to exist among some of the clubs, but as former-president of the Black Sheep Arizona Chapter Glen Kowacz attests, no biker yet has ever refused a prayer offered up to the Almighty by a well-intentioned interceptor.

Another organization hearkens back to the military-inspired roots of the motorcycle club whereby such names as Hells Angels were originally adopted. The Patriot Guards, formed on November 9, 2005, proudly demonstrate their nationalism and support for the troops overseas by offering their services at the funerals of fallen soldiers.  Patriot Guard riders from across the nation gather at the funeral services by invitation of a soldier’s family. Their mission is two-fold: To show their sincere respect for our fallen heroes, their families and their communities. To shield the mourning family and friends from interruptions created by any protestors.

The latter is achieved through strictly legal and non-violent means.
Other alliances have evolved from the simple allure of a summer road trip. Fifteen years ago, Doug Myers adopted the Sturgis Rally as the objective behind his road trip adventures criss-crossing the western U.S. and Canada. “Everybody talked for years about this amazing rally in Sturgis,” said Myers, “so that’s what started the idea, [we thought] ‘Hey, why don’t we go to that and then plan a trip up into areas we haven’t seen before and just ride and experience that.’”

What began as a buddy trip with a few of his best pals from high school has morphed into a finely tuned road trip juggernaut that includes dozens of riders representing nine states across the nation, from Massachusetts to Arizona.

This group of upper middle-class businessmen mirthfully call themselves the BUDs, an acronym for “boys until death,” and they jokingly refer to a new member as a “BUD light.” Maxed out at more than 30 members, the BUDs have pared the logistics involved in planning a trip of this magnitude into a science.

Taking the rough out of rough riding, the BUDs have negotiated everything from shipping their bikes to an agreed upon start-off point to co-opting a U-Haul to follow them along the way with their belongings. Their ranks include a scout, nicknamed Snoop Dog, who rides 60 minutes ahead of the group to sniff out the nearest mom and pop and preorder their scrambled eggs and biscuits; a treasurer to circumvent the need to split a check 30 ways; and a newly-elected leader every morning to determine their stops for the day.

For ten days every summer they take the back roads through small-town America, riding their Harleys through painted deserts, salt flats, majestic mountain ranges and national parks, passing dozens of pristine lakes, national monuments and enjoying countless wonders of nature and man.  Every night they descend upon a small town whose bemused citizens quickly become enamored with the charm of these suburban cowboys and the romance of the adventure that they bring with them.

In 2006, for the first time, the BUDs began their pilgrimage backwards, starting their journey from Rapid City, S.D., just a few miles from the motorcycle Mecca of Sturgis. From there, they set off through the black hills of South Dakota passing by the oft-viewed stony countenances of America’s famous presidents carved into Mt. Rushmore and the lesser known Crazy Horse Monument, a work depicting the hero of the Lakota Sioux Indians, in progress since 1948.

After crossing the state border, they traveled through miles of monotonous eastern Wyoming flat lands before the striking Grand Teton mountain range sprang into view. A layover in the town of Jackson Hole, Wyo., at the base of the Grand Teton Mountains is the one staple stop in a journey that otherwise fluctuates yearly.
 
From Jackson Hole they traveled through a tourist-swamped Yellowstone Park and into picturesque barley fields of southern Montana. They rode through mile after mile of barley bales stacked almost as tall as houses before the scenery drastically diverged once again in a fantastic stretch of the Rockies.

Continuing north, the lakes and trees multiply drastically through Glacier National Park and into the breathtaking Canadian Rockies. “The Canadian Rockies are to behold,” says Myers, “Weather permitting, it is one of the most beautiful, beautiful rides you’ll ever do in your life.”

Their journey climaxed at the storybook setting of Banff, Alberta and the vast Lake Louise whose spectacular blue-green color rivals the clearest Caribbean waters. Fitting perfectly into the charming setting, their chateau-like lodging, the Banff Springs Hotel, resembled a fairytale castle and was an extravagant departure from the Best Westerns where they had lodged thus far.

Their trip wound down in Spokane, Wash., where the group painstakingly loaded their prized steeds into the bellies of awaiting trucks. They each boarded a plane back to their corner of the nation. They return with only the memory of their journey, shrunken and digitized into a few humble slides, and the unplanned promise of next year’s trip.

And the humble town of Sturgis lies in wait until next year, when 500,000 Harley-mounted princes will descend upon her borders and awaken her once again from her chrome and alloy-laden slumber.

Sidebar
This garage is for ladies.
I couldn’t help but feel as I was researching this article that I was peeking into in a club strictly for boys. Though they stopped short of the pre-pubescent clubhouse sign declaring “no girls allowed,” my interview subjects, kind as they were, made it clear that ladies, though welcome to hop aboard for a jaunt, shouldn’t start packing their duffels for the long haul.

Many women are now taking matters into their hands. No longer waiting for an invitation to grace the back seat of someone else’s bike, they’re gearing up and taking the controls. As one rider put it “I rode on the back of my husband’s bike for a while, but I got tired of the view.” 

Today, the Motorcycle Industry Council estimates that one in 10 U.S. motorcyclists is a woman. And their numbers appear to be growing. Harley Davidson staffers in Scottsdale report a higher percentage regarding their female clientele. Taking advantage of this growing demographic, Harley Davidson is offering “ladies only” garage parties across the Phoenix area.

Featuring free food and drinks, a fun environment, and four stations designed to give women the 411 on gear, types of Harleys, customizing a bike’s ergonomics, and handling a motorcycle, the events are designed to be an intimidation-free, one-stop-shop to investigating and becoming informed about the sport.

I spent an evening at Hacienda Harley Davidson in Scottsdale and was educated by a team of friendly Harley gurus.  After filling up on a spread of salad, sandwiches, teriyaki chicken, sliced roast beef and cookies, I was rounded up along with a group of my co-novices to start hitting the stations.

After getting lessons in leather at the “Gearing up for the Ride” stop, the station system began to quickly devolve as staffers and participants alike became distracted by the shiny 800-pound toys surrounding them.

Somehow missing out on the “Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Families 101” station, I still fail to comprehend all the species of this genus Harley Davidson. I did manage to glean that finding the appropriate bike size is less a matter of girth than guts and confidence gained through experience. I even got to try a few on for size.

And what to do when one of these mammoths topples, well that’s covered too. There’s no hauling these massive beauties up by the handlebars Schwinn-style. But even the diminutive can right these monsters with the proper technique, as I was almost able to demonstrate. A tip for the hardy party participant ready to test every technique: flip-flops do not constitute appropriate motorcycle footwear, even for those still in the garage.

To find out about upcoming “garage parties” call or check the event calendars of your local Harley Davidson Dealerships.

Motorcycle Diary
Part II: Learning to Ride
By Adam Kleiner

Mike didn’t have to say it yesterday, when we first saddled up on the bikes. But he’s an ex cop, so I know he was thinking it: better to learn how to stop here in an open lot than when you’re out in traffic.

Stopping a car is easy. You move your foot a few inches to the left and push.
Okay, maybe you work the clutch, too. But let’s just say that stopping a motorcycle is a bit more involved, and I haven’t been a quick study — not a good combination when testing for a motorcycle license.

It’s a warm, blue-sky morning in an industrial section of Gilbert. I’m saddled last in a line of 12 wanna-be bikers in T.E.A.M. Arizona’s basic rider course.
Mike Preville, one of our instructors, stands beside two small orange cones and a row of yellow stripes on the blacktop roughly 60 yards ahead of us. One at a time, we are to accelerate to 12 miles per hour, and after passing the cones, brake as quickly as possible.

 This is the third of four skills we are testing on, today. If we hit the brakes too early, or finish braking too late, we will have a second try.
Last time I did the drill, I kind of did both.

I had grabbed the clutch with my left hand. I had pressed the brake pedal with my right foot. I had downshifted with my left foot and squeezed the right hand brake — all by the book. But my right hand also accidentally “vrooommed” the throttle. The sound caused me to ease off the hand brake. The bike jerked forward. Mike gave me the mirthless cop look — not exactly a boon for one’s confidence.

The acrid smell of exhaust fills the air as I wait my turn for the brake test. My butt and thighs buzz with the bike’s motor. By the time I reach the front of the line, only two classmates have needed a second try.

Mike pulls his hand through the air, signaling me to start my approach.
I ease my grip off the clutch and roll on the throttle. The bike steadies in motion. I rest my feet on the foot pegs and shift into second gear. My eyes are fixed on the cones. I continue accelerating to 12 miles per hour.
“Way too soon,” Mike says, as I roll to a beautiful, smooth stop beside him.
It’s a do-over.

Mike sends me back to the starting line. I’m telling you, this would be much easier in a car.

T.E.A.M. Arizona
T.E.A.M. Arizona has been training people to ride motorcycles since 1989. The company offers courses for all levels of riders, but the basic rider course I’m enrolled in is by far the most popular.

For $265, you get 10 hours of riding lessons — on a bike provided by T.E.A.M. Arizona — and five hours of classroom instruction. Those who pass the skills tests and written exam at the end of the course earn an exemption from testing at the Motor Vehicle Department. The curriculum is developed by the Irvine, Calif.-based Motorcycle Safety Foundation, and messages about safety abound.

One of the first things Mike told us yesterday was 97 percent of the people who crash on motorcycles had no training. It’s an alarming statistic when you consider the surging popularity of motorcycling.

The latest figures from the Irvine-based Motorcycle Industry Council show that ridership has increased by 23 percent since 1998. Harley-Davidson stockholders sure are pleased. No doubt you’ve also seen leather-clad packs of riders in your neighborhood.

Class introductions
The leather was strangely absent when my class convened yesterday morning, but there was no shortage of machismo. My classmates include a trucker, a fireman, an Iraq war veteran and a denim-clad guy from Romania. Three classmates are women, including one whose black t-shirt said, “I’m the bitch who fell off.”

As we introduced ourselves, our reasons for enrolling ranged from wanting to pay less for gas to wanting to tour with friends. I explained that my wife was tired of my yammering about learning to ride, so she gifted me the course for my birthday.

The first-day classroom work covered everything from choosing proper riding gear to an overview of a motorcycle’s controls. Mike did most of the talking, and he showed us a series of videos. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one feeling giddy when we finally saddled up to ride.

Endorphin rush
Now, I assume that at one time or another, you’ve gone for a stretch of time in the Arizona sun without a drink. If so, you know the body-quenching feeling you can get from a gulp of ice water. Well, I was surprised to find a similar endorphin rush from starting a motorcycle — and I don’t think I was the only one.

After we got in the saddles and familiarized ourselves with the various keys, buttons and switches, Mike had us start the engines to feel the live motors rumbling beneath our seats. We revved those things like motocross riders at the fair.

It was loud. The air filled with exhaust. My wrists vibrated as I rolled on the throttle. Then Mike drew his hand across his neck, signaling us to shut down. The first lesson was more about man power than horsepower.

First lessons
We began by shifting our weight from leg to leg, feeling the bikes lean with us. This gave us an appreciation for the weight we would be balancing. Perched in the seats, we then practiced walking the bikes along the blacktop. We reached with the heels of our boots and pulled the bikes through abbreviated strides. We also learned how to turn around the bikes in limited space.

Soon the bikes were rumbling again, and we began easing off the clutch to the point where power transferred to the rear wheel. Short rides grew to laps around the blacktop. We weaved through cones. We learned how to shift gears. I was excited to be riding, but also humbled.

See, the basic rider course not only introduces you to the skills you need for safe riding, but also the inherent risks. With every missed cone and every awkward stop, the voice in my head grew louder. Do I have what it will take to survive in traffic? Wouldn’t I prefer a bucket seat?

By the end of Day 1, my left wrist burned from hours of squeezing and releasing the clutch. My shoulders were rail tight, and my head swirled with all the new information.

Day 2 began with roughly four hours of riding instruction, so by the time I reached the starting line for my second pass at the brake test, I was feeling similarly beat.

Second pass
Mike pulls his hand through air, and I start rolling.
First gear becomes second gear as I begin to approach the cones. Clutch, footbrake, handbrake, downshift, I remind myself.

I pass the cones. I release the throttle and begin braking. There are no extraneous “vrooomms,” but Mike barely looks up from his notepad. He directs me to the end of the line for the next exercise. I start thinking about when I’ll have time to schedule a re-test.

The last skill we are tested on is accelerating through a curve. The drill involves one short turn, a straightaway and then a long curve through which we will be timed. This one’s significantly more fun in my opinion, and it forces us to keep our eyes focused on where we want to be going. Mike already has told us, “Where your nose goes, the bike goes.” It’s a fundamental lesson in motorcycling, not to mention a handy life metaphor.
The last test goes without incident. My classmates and I park our bikes and gather in the shade around a water cooler.

Good news, bad news
Roughly 5,000 people enroll in T.E.A.M. Arizona’s courses each year at locations in Ft. Huachuca, Glendale, Prescott and Tucson, as well as the main facility in Gilbert. Among those who take the basic rider course, more than 90 percent pass.

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” Mike says, when he joins us at the water cooler. “The bad news is you’re all going to owe $7 to the state.”
After an hour-long break, we reassemble in the classroom for the 50-question written exam. It takes less than 10 minutes to complete. Sure enough, the trucker, the fireman, the war veteran, the Romanian, the “bitch who fell off,” and I become part of the 90 percent statistic — as do the others in the class.

As Mike hands me my Motor Vehicle Department exemption, I feel a sense of satisfaction for graduating. I’m also relieved to get in my car for the drive home.

Photos Courtesy of City of Sturgis and Harley Davidson.

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