Yes. That's what it is. We're one county north of the madness in Daytona. (For further explanation, click here.) See?
We're up in Palm Coast, at the top. Daytona is down in the lower left. Not really too far, as the bird flies, or the chopper rides. Every RV campground, beach camp site, hotel, rental condo, and front lawn is full of people with motorcycles, and everywhere you go, there they are.
(That's a buncha bikers at an intersection. We were on our way to Target to buy tooth brushes.)
Now. For those just tuning in, you may think this is going to turn into some anti-biker rant about the counterculture and black leather and things that go vroom in the night. But it's not.
It's a whining post about times gone by.
I make occasional (perhaps regular) references to my hand problems around here, but I don't think I mention the source too often. The source was what I call an auto accident, because by the gods, the accident was caused by an asshole in a car (that fucking bitch... don't get me started). But I wasn't in a car. I was, in fact, riding a motorcycle. Someone pulled out in front of me and I hit the side of their car at about 15 mph. (Uh... 24 kph.) That doesn't sound like much, but when your protection is denim, leather gloves, a helmet, and a pair of boots, well, I'm lucky to be walking around. (Seriously. I have doctors even now read my medical records and say "Are you SURE your back doesn't hurt??")
So, you see, I am a biker. Or used to be one. I may never ride regularly again, but I take the occasional spins on my nephew's dirt bikes, and may some day ride dirt again. But never again will I hit the streets; not with the hand problems and a three year old I'm responsible for. That really bugs me. I've given up a lot due to the hand problems - clothes with buttons, shoes that lace, contact lenses, movies in theaters, drinking - but giving up the motorcycles is the biggie that really bothers me.
For me, Bike Week is like waving an open tequila bottle under the nose of a recovering alcoholic. Or offering a big slice of Linzertorte to a diabetic. If I'd realized it was Bike Week right now (I thought it was later in March), I'd have re-arranged the visit here.
I think I'm gonna hole up in the apartment and knit. Yeah. That sounds good.
Tonight we're going down into Daytona to eat at a favorite restaurant that is favored by bikers (or at least bikers with good taste in food). We have reservations. It will be chaos. Wah.
I want another tattoo. Of Tank Girl. Wah.