The Bikers Lounge

Bike Week is coming!

admin — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I love Bike Week in Laconia, NH. It happens right around Father’s Day. I’m a New Hampshire resident, so it sort of sneaks up on me.

First, I begin noticing “Welcome, Bikers” signs. The Seventh-Day Adventist church puts, “God loves to listen to a biker’s prayers” on its message board. The beer banners appear on the convenience stores.

Then, motorcycles start appearing on the highways. Their license plates and bedrolls suggest miles traveled. Often, bareheaded riders carry helmets attached to the side of the seat, because their journey took them through states with helmet laws. Rainy days mean clusters of bikes under overpasses waiting out the worst of it, their riders standing and talking. The fine polished bikes that come in on trailers show up later.

The actual week arrives. Warm days bring convoys of attendees exploring our winding rural roads. The bikers ride with hands high on long handlebars, feet kicked forward, engines growling and sputtering, thinning hair blowing. Their girlfriends ride behind. Rarely, a mixed group goes by with women and men riding their own machines. I never see a boyfriend riding on the back of a woman’s bike.

Those who travel in groups of European and Japanese bikes, helmeted and clad in leather or cordura, would probably prefer to be called “riders.” Their bikes purr. The young men on road rockets with high whining engines, showing off with wheelies and bursts of speed, often dress in branded outfits that match their machines. I usually feel a combination of concern / annoyance because of the risks they take and amusement at their self-importance. Honestly, dressing like your bike is silly… \

Motorcycle Art at Laconia’s Bike Week

admin — Sat, 17 May 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Gathering at a Bike Week event in Sturgis, Daytona Beach or Laconia is about meeting up with friends, riding together, being with like-minded people, partying, and enjoying the sound and the fury of thousands of bikes. Let’s face it, it’s also about showing off.

I cannot adequately describe the level of art some people put on their bikes and their bodies. Of course, I’ll try anyway. I’m not counting the beautifully restored and flawlessly polished motorcycles that show off the designer’s art to the fullest. I mean the paint, accessories and details that make a bike unique, and the tattoos displayed by men and women in the Weirs Beach sun.

That’s a nicely modified machine. This “USO bike” paint job looks like photography.

Wow! How long did THAT take?? This one’s another “Wow.”

Tattoo art is evident everywhere, with artists on site and plenty of skin bared in the heat.

Laconia’s Bike Week is a feast for the eyes! I wonder if these riders ever thought they were really doing a moving art exhibit…

Riding the hidden skid pads.

admin — Thu, 15 May 2008 00:00:00 +0000

This post is inspired by a friend’s amazing stunt-riding out of a New York City area tollbooth. His acceleration as he left the basket caused first his back and then both tires to lose traction; he sailed out sideways, caught a little pavement between the lanes, fishtailed three times and then steadied, all without falling or getting hit. After thanking the several dozen guardian angels that must have been involved, I began thinking about the hazards that can surprise even experienced riders.

Tollbooths make for cars sitting and idling a moment, depositing extra exhaust and dripped oils on the pavement. Usually we can ride off that layer without noticing. On a rainy day, countless vehicles cover that layer with a wet film that makes it slicker than a used-car salesman in New Jersey. Beware!

Most cold-weather riders know about the places on our regular route that ice early or stay iced late; the overpasses, the shadowed spots. We’ve learned where the spring melt crosses the road, and where the sand builds up. On a new route, we sometimes forget that those hazards can be hidden around the next curve.

All riders need to stay aware of two serious traction hazards: leaves and paint. Wet autumn leaves slide against each other like well-oiled machine parts, and on suburban roads they tend to heap up in shallow drifts against curbs and lawn edges. Stop lines and turn arrows, wide areas of painted road, get incredibly slippery when wet. Both can dump you without warning.

I took a bath in a dirt parking lot one fine spring day. I’ll admit to taking a certain pleasure in riding through puddles. This one was deeper than it looked. We’d had a warm night and a really warm day, but the ice hadn’t completely melted off the bottom of this puddle and it was covered in muddy, cold water. Luckily neither I nor the bike were hurt, but my dignity was fatally injured by the convenience store guy’s laughter…

I like to have my feet under me…

admin — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 00:00:00 +0000

My first bike was a Honda Hobbit. Anyone remember those? Probably not. The Hobbit, called in all other years the PA-50, was a 50 cc moped. I named mine Frodo (original, huh?), and rode it a thousand miles down the west coast of the U.S. I learned in the first 50 miles that one really wants to lift one’s butt a bit off the seat when bouncing across Seattle potholes.

Then I rode CB models, from 100 to 400 cc’s. Nice, unexciting, solid motorcycles, they did a very good job of getting me from here to there. Swaying in soft serpentines within my lane, rising gently to take rough surfaces with the shock absorption of my knees, riding became as natural as thought. The bike became an extension of my body. I rode year-round in New England for several years.

I dreamed of a BMW RS. Sweet, low rumble of the Boxer Twin, low center of gravity and torque point for confidence in tight turns and slow traffic, a comfortable upright riding position; all I could want different would be a cushier seat and a lot lower price tag…

Parenthood got me out of the life for a long time. Now I have returned, and to my horror, there is nothing new out there I want to ride! I’ve never wanted a huge road tourer that I’d need a tow truck to pick up, and if it gets worse gas mileage than my car, it should at least have a roof. The smaller Beemers all look like crotch rockets now. The Japanese and American bikes have either cruiser or racer designs, meaning my feet are either forward or back of my hips. I don’t have the sense of oneness with the machine.

Designers, give me back a bike that puts my feet under me!

Bike Week in Laconia, New Hampshire

admin — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I’ll put lots of pictures in this post to give you an idea of the sights. Just the sheer number of motorcycles is staggering. The Weirs Beach area, which is where most of the action is, closes its main drag to all but motorcycles. Over 10,000 bikers / riders converge on this little resort town, and with them come vendors and voyeurs, bike industry representatives, beer and cigarette company tents, tattoo artists, bike painters, and thousands of sightseers and police. (Most trouble incidents, by the way, are not related to bikers or bike gangs. They tend to be well-behaved outside their camps because they like having this gathering and don’t want to make problems for the organizers. The trouble comes from rowdy young locals, usually drunk, who see this as an opportunity to act out.)

Although I can give you pictures of the crowds, I can’t communicate the feeling and sound. The smell is hot pavement, barbeque and fried dough, exhaust, dust, and a whiff of cool fresh air off Lake Winnepesaukee. The crowds are happy, wandering, looking at everything; the bikers are joyful in their overpowering majority; the vendors are excited by the money flowing; even the cops seem relaxed and pleased most of the day. The sound is incredible. Pounding through your feet and vibrating your chest, a few thousand throaty idling Harleys fill the air with a deep bass pulsing rumble. The scream of a cafe-cut Japanese road racer on the power test machine hardly disturbs it.

Scantily clad women are featured all over Bike Week. Some amazing motorcycles can be seen. Sometimes you’ll see both together…