Starting around late June, Hollister becomes a city of the Haves
and Have Nots
– those who have decided to embrace the Independence Day Biker
Rally and those who decidedly have not.
Hollister – Starting around late June, Hollister becomes a city of the Haves and Have Nots – those who have decided to embrace the Independence Day Biker Rally and those who decidedly have not.
The Have Nots may shut themselves up inside their homes, drawing the blinds and screening their calls. They may even draw their children close and skip town for the weekend, praying their front yard will be spared an onslaught of beer bottles and cigarette butts. But who are they running from, really?
Christine Baumgartner, for one, a stay-at-home mom from Paso Robles. Christine has been riding for six years, but this is her first time coming to Hollister.
“I got tired of riding in the back, so my bike was a Christmas present,” she said. Her husband, Burt, a retired record executive and lifelong biker, played the part of Santa that year.
Christine must have managed to stay off – or perhaps on – the naughty list, because this stocking stuffer – a 1998 Harley Heritage Springer – set him back 25 large.
“Sure the cost of being a biker has risen,” Burt said. “And the old-timers see it as kind of a sell-out. But it’s that way with lots of things, like pro sports or rock n’ roll.”
“You see a lot more yuppies now,” Christine added. “And women. Women are a lot more accepted – the girls have cooler bikes than some of the guys.”
Families like the Baumgartners’ are becoming the norm, not just here in Hollister, but in the at-large biker community. With a Harley-Davidson cruiser averaging at about $17,000 on the low end – not to mention the price of protective clothing and accessories, or the rising cost of gas – running with the wild ones is becoming an increasingly expensive hobby, and a steady job is more of a requisite than a tough attitude.
“I started riding dirt bikes when I was 8, and I got my first Harley at 16,” said Bill Puchta, a Castro Valley truck driver. “It cost me $6,000. The one I have now is $27,000. Big difference.”
If it’s so expensive, why not take up something cheaper?
“It’s tradition.” said Linda Washburn, a day-care provider from Bakersfield. “We come here to tear it up, have fun, eat the food. It’s vacation.”
If biker culture has been a bit domesticated, it seems no worse off. Now when you brave the crowd downtown, you’re more likely to run into an old schoolmate or work colleague than a belligerent gang leader.
“Everybody used to be biker trash,” said Shireen Diaz, of Bakersfield. “Now if you have a Harley, you’re pretty cool.”
And that sums it up for many: “biker gang” has given way to “biker cool.” As for the rally itself and its ambiance, certainly the bikes aren’t less cool, the T-shirts aren’t less tacky, and the beer isn’t any less alcoholic.
For some visitors, though, there’s a lot more to it all than that. Trena Tannahill, a biker since the mid-60’s, works with the Christian Motorcyclist’s Association, offering water and other goodies at her booth.
“My husband was one of the real outlaw bikers in the 60’s,” she said. “But it was his brother’s dying wish to get him out of drugs and into God. And here we are today.”
Among the other bikers, Tannahill says the CMA is very well respected, regardless of how they feel about Christianity on the whole.
With all this money and goodwill being thrown about recklessly, is biker culture in danger of extinction?
“Look at this,” said Puchta, gesturing to the thousands of bikes parked along San Benito Street. “How could this stop? As long as people are riding, I don’t care what they do. This is going to last forever and ever.”
Chalk that up, perhaps, to the intangibles of riding. After all, they say you never see a motorcycle parked in front of a psychiatrist’s office.
