GATHERINGS
When biking first took to the road, the use of public venues by motorcycle enthusiasts often brings objection from non-biking society. So biking en-masse, even just for social purposes, retreated to remote places. Here, you could make all the motorcycle talk and noise you liked without reproach. It was in such places that the concept of a separate culture became consolidated. In open spaces, biking created its own society, whose gatherings represented all social and age spectrums.
Sports events have dotted the calendar since biking began. It was not so much a societal concern, but none-the-less, cultural development was allowed to progress in the relative asylum found there. There are a myriad reasons, mostly factors of excitement or pilgrimage, that draw existing and new riders to places like the Isle of Man and other bike meets across the globe. The mood at such places, depending on the importance of the event, can get more and more hysterical. The crowds have their fanship, or pure appreciation of whichever sport is being contested, and enter a kind of carnival atmosphere.
The contestants have their gatherings behind the scenes, amid mechanics and officials. The pit lane became an inner sanctum, where privilege passes allowed some spectators to drink in the thinner atmosphere. Notable informal celebrations of racing victory are wheelies and burn-outs. In recent 125GP victories, World Champion Valentino Rossi has given rides to someone in a chicken suit and another dressed as God on his victory lap (you’re not allowed to give people a lift, but there’s nothing in the rules about God or chickens). There have been unfortunate incidents caused by racing fans across the years. The latest abuse has occurred largely in Spain. Here, when someone other than a national hero wins, bottles are thrown (not always empty) at the victors. How insignificant the perpetrators are, who base their fanship in nationality rather than talent. Anyone has their favourites and it’s annoying when they are beaten; but the fanship of Noriyuki Haga extends beyond Japan and into the West, just as Joey ‘Yer Maun’ Dunlop (1952 - 2000) was loved across the world.
The spirit of sportsmanship and the joy of being in season brings a buzz of determination (most sports run in summer, though indoor events and some off-road riding are evergreens). The smells of special fuels and oils, and the unbelievable sounds of engines tuned to bursting point, add to the physical sensation of being somewhere special. Being among cognoscenti, with whom you can have specialised conversations, wraps people in a world that can seem insular even to other Bikers. Things like number two are unlucky, and other nuances build on the sport tradition; the circuit at Valencia in Spain has been named after Riccardo Tormo who died practicing there. Sections of circuits honour famous competitors by being named after them.
Competition has been jaded to some degree by commercialism, but the cost of running more than one bike, before paying the crew, meeting legal requirements and race-entry fees, severely drains any income. Some of the better-off World Super Bike and Grand Prix teams with promising riders even go to the expense of having helmets and Tee-shirts with #1 designs on - which are then discarded if their rider fails to grasp the championship.
The finance continues to affect bike design at street-levels, and also finds its way to help charitable concerns. Other developments happen in fields like medicine. Paramedics find techniques for dealing with particular circumstances, and first aid efficiency improves. One example of further medical development is with GP racer Tadyuka Okada, who has had a special glove made for his left hand. He can close but not open it, so sprung material in the glove does this for him, allowing him to continue riding competitively.
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Next to competition, as a public spectacle, stunt riding and the wall of death are a comparable lunge into biking exhilaration. Stunt riders spend as much time on just the rear or front wheel as they do on two. Most of it involves some sliding and tyre burn-outs, on bikes that are strikingly similar to road bikes - because that’s what many of them started life as. Because many stunts only need a limited space, spectators can get close-up to the noise, and even feel the danger, of bikes being tortured for entertainment.
Outside of Evel Knievel and Eddie Kid’s enormous jumping feats, the wall of death is probably the one motorcycling spectacle that most non-Bikers get to witness live. It was among the earliest forms of stunt riding to evolve, and with unsilenced bikes passing within a few feet of the crowd, it makes a startling impression. Being so literally close to its audience, it is one of those things that young riders want to do when they grow up.
These events, and the formation riding that finds itself at fairs and shows, all make incursions into the public domain. When they perform for biking audiences, they appear at all kinds of bike events, and whilst remaining as a spectacle, they also become definitive points in the biking microcosm. More than just something to gawp at, they are celebrations of the motorcycle and affirmations of the biking world.
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Biking events range in size and spectacle. There are more of them going off than any one Biker or group of Bikers can know about at a given time. Among these are some that not every motorcyclist would attend, yet they are central to the essence of culture. You don’t need any special riding skills to join in (beyond avoiding other people’s tents and getting out of mud), nor even social skills; because even before you arrive, the blaze of lights, the waves, the gooning and the density of bike traffic will have drawn you into the maddest party mood since the 1960s. In the UK, they have names like Glowing Lamb (near Sellafield) and Wobbly Wolf. The US uses Americadefor its tourers, while Sturgis, a simple place-name, hides the enormity of probably the largest event of this kind. The bike rally.
The calendar and address-book of seasoned rally-goers are well-thumbed documents. They alone can outline something of biking, with various scrawls from swap-addressees and yet other recommended events. There are those who simply attend to exchange company, only meeting with certain persons annually. It is an experience in itself to see how these relations pick up after a long gap, as though nothing had happened meantime. They are perhaps, the remotest of biking pals who meet in the physical, and demonstrate how far reaching, however tenuous, Biker friendships can be.
There is a downside to some of these events. The portable toilets can be a bio-hazard come Sunday morning, but most organisers endeavour to sort this out. And there are those who often arrive whilst earlier arrivals are off doing things. Regardless of any order - like a passage for bikes and trikes to gain access to tents, they just dump their load where-ever they stop, which is often in the way. Some make adjustments to comply; others wait until they’re virtually run-over before they even become aware.
Back on the up-side, most rallies have a predominantly outdoor feel, necessitated by hundreds if not thousands of people camping and needing somewhere to park bikes. Some arrive in ones and twos, others like caravanserai, that bunch together before the venue is reached. The queues at the gate are scenes of epic madness, a spectator attraction in themselves. The organisers have to be admired for coping with this and other responsibilities involved, yet their confidence and trust are reflected in their guest’s willingness to comply.
Bikes are shown, games like tug-o-war and greasy-pole climbing played, and some bike sport may be indulged. The competition level is vetted by the intention to enjoy, rather than win at any cost. One particular game has become almost a custom at some rallies - that of car-smashing. For a small charity donation, Bikers are given crow-bars, scaffold poles and sledge hammers with which they mildly confer their feelings of affection on some heap dragged in from a breaker’s yard.
Some sites have convenient buildings where perhaps cattle auctions or other large-scale events are held, others are land that merely requires entertainments and drinking licenses, where marquees will satisfy the needs of anyone dodging a spell of wet weather. The atmosphere from the moment the gates open is like Dickensian, even tribal, village life. Greetings involve some hard back-slapping, and a grasping of hands rather than just the simple hand-shake. This kind of physical contact ignores social niceties and reaches into the soul. Smatterings of drunkenness, gaiety, wenching, tarting and private games mingle with mad free-for-all frolics. Outdoor cooking sizzles amid chatter and silliness as people meet and erect tents into micro-communities. When the smoke gets up from camp fires (where these are permitted) it even looks primordial; except that canvas replaces animal skins and bikes replace beasts. With so many various Bikers in one place, to the outsider it can seem intimidating. But to those who have come just to be there, it is a living ideal, a submersion into that world which many of them believe in.
Besides the simple zest and urge among like-minded people to intermingle, rallies often have underlying causes. There are fund-raisers for bike-oriented organisations and local charities. Some of them are just one-day runs, catering to children’s hospitals, old people’s homes and everything between, including animals and natural environment.
The cost of your ticket for rallies is usually good value for money. For the price of one night’s camping anywhere else, over a period of two to three nights, you usually get at least two bands, other entertainers who might disrobe or drive nails up their nostrils and discos that play anything from Tom Jones to industrial.
The quality of some artistes might leave something to be desired, but there’s still the socialising that is lubricated by a seemingly bottomless supply of alcohol. One worthwhile occupation is to go noseying at other people’s bikes. Among the fluttering tents, there are bikes, trikes and quikes of every kind known to feast your eyes on. Forests of chrome and carbon fibre intertwine, with a myriad suns in their mirrors. You encounter all kinds of people, and will be made welcome with libations and other social graces or insults. The little scenes as you pass by will amuse, if they don’t suck you in. You are free to exchange banter with anyone - but be prepared to take as much as you give.
Some bikes will remain untouched until Sunday morning (most rallies are over weekends), others will join in communal rides or venture out to take in local places of beauty or interest. Local hostelries get taken over, and the majority of these revel in the extra income. It seems, for a few weekends out of the year at least, that there is no animosity between Bikers and anyone. Should a bike or rider tumble, they are surrounded by eager hands. If you need a light, a tea-bag, a lift to fetch spares, a hang-over cure, a tampon or a sympathetic ear, the Bikers are your shepherds, and you shall not want. It is at rallies where the spirit of those long forgotten roadside encounters of over a hundred years ago shines. All the positive, and non of the negative aspects of Bikerdom are foremost in every mind. A young woman with children said she wouldn’t let the kids walk from school alone, and wouldn’t walk out at night alone where she lived. Yet at a rally, the kids roam freely, and she knows she can wander alone through the tent-village at any time without fear of being accosted.
With the night, jungle fever is beaten up into a frenzy. The coolest dudes will dance at least a few steps and smile. The more gregarious end up in scrummages, and the pooped sleep in puppy-like heaps. Reports from site owners are 99% glowing. They have more trouble with sports people and the like. They even remark on the lack of litter to clean up afterwards. Even the scouts and guides can’t better that (and they don’t get pissed or stoned).
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Attending your first rally will cause some apprehension. This is purely a wonderment, but there are some who are rightly concerned. The rally virgin is likely to experience anything from a de-bagging (trouser removal) to a coating of black treacle and feathers. Some have even been tied to the support poles of marquees, but it only usually happens to willing individuals - who cannot conceal the fact from the company they keep that they are first-timers. Strangers will not be harangued to excess, but if the occasion arises, it is better not to fight it. If you get daubed, stay daubed for the remainder of the event, unless you want a re-daubing and possibly something worse.
There is a difference between bike rallies and rock festivals across the late 20th - early 21st centuries. The original Woodstock had been (more or less) by the people for the people. When a second Woodstock was organised in 1999, it was aimed at the youth of that time, not its Hippy forebears. From over-priced food outlets to the bands inciting riot and violence, it showed that contemporary youth culture was seemingly more susceptible to rip-off and malevolence. Whatever the ‘99 festival was, it wasn’t Woodstock - anyone knows that spells P-E-A-C-E. Although bike rallies have evolved, and have had their problems, none have ever descended into a maelstrom off dissent and destruction. Yes there is litter, but many party-goers try to avoid it, whilst event organisers see that every scrap is cleared. When youths at Woodstock ‘99 were asked to help clear up, they said they’d paid their money and shouldn’t be expected too. Right enough, but hardly the spirit of humanitarianism. And wrecking the property of capitalists (as in the trashing of vendor’s stalls) won’t make anything right either.
At Biker gatherings, some majesty, some idyll of which perhaps only fervent religious types ache for, descends upon metal and canvas villages. It is easy to imagine the excitement of primitive peoples at festivals of the Earth Spirits, in these worlds away from the world, which are more of it than on it, as other societies seem to be. From the grey and balding Teds to the techno freaks, from the oldest chugging belt driven antique to the sleekest race replica, the gamut of Bikerdom is assembled in celebration. If you ever needed to belong, if you ever questioned what life was about, all the ifs evaporate here. This is what it’s all about. Bike gatherings are about getting on with life. And life is for enjoying.