Biketoberfest is an attempt by the city government of Daytona Beach, Florida to double the amount of income they make off of bikers each year. For over fifty years, Bike Week has been one of the two national events that all self respecting bikers must attend. The other big run each year is to Sturgis, South Dakota. So the city fathers of Daytona picked a time of year that tourism was slow and started promoting Biketoberfest.
It was sort of slow taking off, but given enough booze, broads, and bikes a party is bound to get started. Where bike week will attract around 500,000 people, Biketoberfest might draw in 100,000 to 150,000. For those that make both trips, you end up getting to know some of the local bartenders, vendors, and campground owners. You end up meeting some of the same people that travel all the events, in more than one location, and you begin to grow old together.
Rodger, who for the most part, was only known by the nickname “Spider” had been traveling all the biker events for forty years now. He started when he was eighteen, and now at fifty-eight he still liked riding as much as he did when he was eighteen. Maybe more. When he was young, it was movies like The Wild One with Marlon Brando, which was a bit before his time, and Easy Rider that really drew him into being a biker as a life style. Also in the early years he had a few run-ins with the law.
It wasn’t the serious stuff. A few drunk and disorderly charges, a possession charge for two joints, and a bunch of speeding tickets. That isn’t to say he didn’t do anything worse when he was young, but if he did, he didn’t get caught at it. So at age twenty-four, when he decided to become a lawyer, his criminal record didn’t keep him from following that career choice. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to fight the system, or right all the wrongs done to bikers, he just saw it as a damn good way to make money. He knew that if he could hang in there long enough to get his degree, that other bikers would be much more likely to trust him, than most of the suits that handled their problems with the law currently.
Rodger could have finished in less time if he had wanted to work at it harder, but by the time he was thirty-four he had passed the bar. Ten years instead of seven, wasn’t too bad. He started out working with some already established “suits”, to get a handle on having a small practice that specialized in motorcycle law. By the end of two years there, he had broken free and established his own practice.
As he grew older, there started to be a rash of the “suits” headed towards becoming “wannabe” bikers. They had all the money for the bikes and the leathers, but knew nothing of the lifestyle. The doctors were the next group of professionals to jump on that bandwagon. Most of them had wives and children, but on these bike events, you’d see them with sleazy biker chicks that seem to get younger and younger each year. In their own home towns, they wouldn’t be caught dead in public with these women, but the bike adventures were different. They brought their Nikons and Canons to take pictures of the girls flashing their tits, and getting drunk enough to sleep with older men they normally wouldn’t give a second glance if it wasn’t for the leathers and bikes. Then they hid the pictures from their families, as well as their wild streak. It’s just a few of us guys from the office riding our bikes down to Daytona or up to Sturgis for a few beers.
Rodger thought of himself as being more “authentic”. He had the lifestyle first, and then became a professional. But on the back of his bike was a very, very young girl, who was more than a little bit tipsy, and wearing nothing but a night gown top and silk pink panties. His bike was customized with the spider web paint job on the gas tank, and the wheel covers had engraved spider webs on them. But it was really called a “trike” because it had three wheels. The design was much safer and more stable The widely place rear tires would make it really hard to flip this sucker, and you couldn’t drop it, like a real chopper. In fact it didn’t even have a motorcycle engine. It had the rear end of an old Volkswagen Beetle under the customized metal.
He began to think it might be him, who was the “wannabe”. He had given up smoking while in college, and since he turned forty and was diagnosed with diabetes he had to give up drinking alcohol too. He thought about the pretty young thing sitting on the back of his trike and felt his pocket to make sure he had some condoms. The he decided he better get some identification to prove that she was over eighteen. Just to be on the safe side.