My feet hurt, my throat is dry and my ears are still ringing. My
face is as burnt as a 99-cent Las Vegas breakfast.
My feet hurt, my throat is dry and my ears are still ringing. My face is as burnt as a 99-cent Las Vegas breakfast.
What is my initial reaction after hoofing it around the Hollister Independence Rally for three days?
We are old.
You call this a motorcycle rally? It was more like a ZZ Top convention.
Talk about a gathering of gearhead graybeards.
Now the leather tucks in the beer bellies and tummies. The do-rags and helmets cover more skin than hair. The knives are for spreading mayo on the sandwiches.
OK, cool your tailpipes. Don’t blow a head gasket.
I thought the sun-baked rally was a blast, a great show, a lot of fun.
The thousands of bikes were absolutely awesome, the beer was cold, the food was delicious, the music was good, the competitions colorful and the T-shirts clever.
The atmosphere was friendly, hardly your motorcycle gathering stereotype.
Incredibly, there wasn’t much trouble, at least before 10 p.m., which is about my bedtime after several beers and a shooter of tequila.
In fact, the worst behavior that I witnessed was by an Alcoholic Beverage Control officer. The same ABC guy and his odd squad first targeted a 30ish-looking Hispanic guy in the Rotary beer garden on Friday, hauling him away from his friends and finally letting him go after he produced a passport and answered several rapid-fire questions inches from his face.
Then on Saturday afternoon, Officer Unfriendly arrested a middle-aged professional on The Vault viewing deck for reportedly having a concealed pocketknife.
Huh? Good thing he wasn’t busting bar patrons for having a can in their hands or a shoelace untied.
But the rest of the law enforcement officers put on a clinic of crowd control, courtesy and professionalism. The cops from the various agencies on the street – and those in the background – deserve huge credit for keeping a safe lid on such a big and loud get-together.
Even the gang-bangers, and their wannabe pals, seemed to be fairly well-behaved, which must have been painful.
It was amusing to see a small group of Hell’s Angels, sporting some shiny new cleaned and pressed colors, roar within a few yards of a group of Hollister cops, who just smiled and, of course, didn’t even flinch.
The Miss Hollister Rally bikini contest was even thankfully tame – Girls Gone Mild? – compared to the steamy scenes we glimpse of the modern-day Spring Breaks.
There were still plenty of knuckleheads per capita, a few booze-fueled fistfights and domestic squabbles. But good planning and solid policework defused any major blow-up.
All kidding aside, it was nice to be surrounded by so many fellow members of the 1970s generation. I told a story to some newfound friends about having a drink glass bounced off my head after a dispute over a pool game, and I responded by crashing the guy with a beer mug.
But that was in 1974, almost 30 long years ago. And, yes, my adversary gets bigger every year. Ten years from now, the story I tell will probably be of me clearing out the whole joint to rescue a group of starving women and children.
Yes, even my Chicago street stories are starting to grow a beard.
The ’70s, for those too old or too young to remember, were pretty tough times. The big cities were filled with race wars, violent protest and riots. And dangerous dope was spreading to small towns and even rural areas.
One of the most touching scenes during this weekend was when a group of Vietnam vets hugged each other in reunion. Will they ever get the amount of respect that they so much deserve?
We of the 1970s are a transient generation, so maybe the good feeling that I had was from seeing so many of us under one azure sky. No, we’re not indestructible anymore, but neither are the older and younger folks who also filled out the Hollister Rally lineup.
At least for one long weekend we didn’t have to be so darn serious. That will return this week as the bikes get parked in the garage and the alarm clock for work sounds a call back to reality.
Yes, we are getting old. But don’t remind us too often without being ready to duck.
Cheers to the many organizers and volunteers who made this another terrific Hollister Independence Rally. And, more important, thanks from the many charitable organizations that get the crucial dollars they need from the event.
Now, let me get some rest. Next year’s rally will be here before you know it.
Mike Fitzgerald is Associate Publisher/Executive Editor of the Hollister Free Lance. You can reach him at 637-5566, ext. 337 or [email protected]
