A Bike Week Moment

I don't know which was better, the warm sun or the cold beer.

Call it a Bike Week Moment.

As is my habit, I had ridden my bike down to Florida to enjoy the annual Bike Week festivities. The ride was a little nippy, but Florida turned out to be warm and welcoming, as it has for so many years.

So, I'm sitting in this open air bar with two friends. Having a Bud.

One friend is an old sailor, with the tattoos to prove it. He fought a war while stationed on the Mighty Mo, and then went on to raise a nice family and to work steady at a good career. If you wake up in the morning safe and secure under the flag of the United States of America, say thank you.

The other friend is the sailor's son. This guy is truly one of America's Bravest, a member of that union of firefighters who, tragically, only recently started to receive a fraction of the recognition they so justly deserve. This guy is the kind of person in whom you can entrust your life. Many have, many more will. His wife has also chosen the same noble occupation. Good people, great couple. Tell you what, let's say thank you again.

Anyway, the three of us guys were sitting in that open air bar, right there on Main Street, near the Boot Hill Saloon, watching the world go by, havin' a Bud.

The world was going by on motorcycles. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands of them. Most of the bikes were Harleys and most of them were "saving lives" with their loud pipes. Pretty cool.

The bar crowd was its usual eclectic self. Hard core BMW riders; old farts on Gold Wings; kids on Japanese crotch rockets with more balls than brains; tons of doctors, dentists and accountants riding their new Harleys wearing their new leathers; and the early spring breakers with their nubile bodies, hard muscles and eyes as wide as saucers. There was a guy walking towards us with so many tattoos that we didn't know how his skin could breath. Walking the other way was a young lady in chaps and a thong bikini that made us forget to breath. Lordy, all that just by using some guy's rib. Who would have thunk.

All in all a fun bunch of people to watch, if you like watching people.

And I do.

The band was playing good loud music. It's not that the band was good. I'd say that they had better sound equipment than sound, but when you are at Bike Week, having a beer with friends on a warm spring day, even a second rate band sounds better than the Boston Pops. Way better.

The band was belting out George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone", playing it to an appreciative audience. The appreciative audience was comprised of members of the Outlaw motorcycle ... um ... club. According to their motorcycle jackets they came from all over the country, seemingly to meet at this open air bar on a warm spring day, to listen to a band playing their theme song, and have a Bud.

Just like the rest of us, sort of. We all got along. No colors.

So there I was, in this open air bar with a couple of friends, havin' a Bud and a Bike Week Moment.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

The ride back was longer than the ride down.

Only 51 more weeks until the next Bike Week.

God Bless America.