Whine and Cheese
Geez, does everyone need to sound off on the choice of articles the editors choose to run? I guess people like to complain more than congratulate, understandable to some degree, with all the stress in this world people must need to vent. I enjoy Baggers magazine for its variety of articles, some serious, some sexy, and some fun. I personally don't mind the overseas travel articles and where American V-twins can roam around the world. I'll put that Italy trip on my bucket list, I might even try for the H-D 110th anniversary ride to Rome for the Pope's Blessing of the Bikes! Keep up the great work and journalistic nature of an otherwise vacuous motorcycle magazine world.
Jack Stowage
Via email
Polite Hog
In response to your story about what happened to Devin, I have had a couple of situations that if handled in a different manner would have had a negative outcome, but this one comes to mind. I was out riding one day and decided I would ride to Lake Lure, North Carolina, and enjoy a solo ride in the mountains. As I arrived at Lake Lure/Chimney Rock, I decided to stop for lunch at Heavenly Hog. Shortly after sitting down, a gentleman approached me, introduced himself as the manager, and asked me how I was doing and where I was from. We chatted for a while, then very politely he explained that they didn't allow "colors" to be worn. I told him that I wasn't aware of that and removed my vest and rolled it up and sat it at the bar next to me. After I had a few beers and some great wings I was about to pay when the bartender told me the manager had taken care of my tab because I was so friendly when he asked me to remove my colors. So, being grateful, I left a sizeable tip for the bartender. I have been back repeatedly and will always stop in at Heavenly Hogs when I pass through. Devin seems like a class act. Keep on riding brothers and I look forward to more from a great mag.
Thanks,
Paul Salos
Via Android
Socializing
Caption Contest Monday
September 17
This one's from 2011 Daytona Beach Bike Week. Make sure you always wear protection! Jordan
Best Response:
Susan Parker Wall: "Excuse me...is that a stalagmite on your shoulder or are just happy too see me?"
Runner-Ups:
Terry Martin: Mrs. Beetle Juice
Mike Motley: Biker's daughter's chastity belt.
Eddie Atkins: "Sticks and stones may break my bones but spikes and chains excite me!"
Sittin' in Your Own Pew
Eric,
I'm a little shocked. Shocked that it hasn't happened to everyone in one degree or another. The first time I was wearing a fringed leather jacket, Harley cap and boots, jeans, and Harley tee walking through the parking lot of the local strip mall when a middle-aged woman hurriedly locked her car doors in a panic as I walked toward the stores. I laughed it off. The second time I was similarly dressed and walked into a national drug store chain. As I went from aisle to aisle, someone on the intercom would ask for security to report to aisle one or two or three. I was looking around to see what was going down, then realized they were tailing me. I laughed it off. The most disappointing time, though, was when I rode to church to attend with my mother. I had on my best jeans and boots and a collared shirt (one of those expensive H-D ones). I sat down at the end of a pew 15 yards long, with a lady at the opposite end. She grabbed her purse and switched it to the opposite side like I was about to mug her. No one shook my hand or made me even remotely welcome. I've never been back to that building. Now my physical appearance is a 39-year-old white guy, 5-foot 10 inches, 200 pounds, no visible tattoos, no piercings, no hair, and groomed beard. I'm the warden of a regional jail. I'm also extremely involved in my church and an active member of Bikers for Christ. Heck, if I don't look like I'm attending a bike rally, my current church friends wouldn't recognize me.
M. Scott Villers
Via email
One Memorable Road Trip
Although the type of incident you talked about in your editorial happened to my husband and I back in the early '80s, it's still fresh in our minds. We were traveling two up on a '77 Sportster with another couple on a '69 or '70 customized Triumph. We left on a hot summer day from northwest Indiana, around the Michigan-Indiana line, heading to Winona, Minnesota.
We got caught in a serious traffic jam somewhere in Chicago's northwest suburbs. The air-cooled bikes were showing signs of over heating so the guys started weaving in and out of the stopped traffic, partly to keep moving and partly to find a way out of the highway standstill. It wasn't long before one of Illinois' finest pulled us over. We calmly explained that the bikes were over heating and we didn't want them to break down and cause a bigger problem. The officer gave a long look at the Ironhead and the Triumph and told us to take the shoulder to the next exit and get off. That delay is what really set us up for the trouble to come later.
We were heading west along the Wisconsin-Illinois border towards the mighty Mississippi River and thinking the trip up to Winona along the river the next day would be a beautiful ride. As we approached the river area it quickly began to get dark - and boy did it get dark! Then it started to rain, at least we thought it was rain, but it wasn't. It was bugs. The air was so thick with insects from the still waters of the river's overflow ponds that it felt like rain. The waves of flying insects reflected no light and we could barely see through the inky blackness. We couldn't even see an intersection until we were almost riding through it. At this point it was suicide to keep riding, so we stopped to get a room for the night. First stop was a mom and pop place. Even though there were no cars parked in front, there was no vacancy. Soon after, we found another place, but there were no rooms available there either. It was really dangerous trying to ride, but no motel managers wanted to rent us a room, even to two couples on motorcycles. Finally we saw an entrance to an open rest park, or maybe it was a recreation area, and pulled in. There were no lights, but we could see a wishing well with large concrete benches around it and a small roof over the well. We parked the bikes close to the well and laid down on the hard benches to sleep. Nobody really got much sleep and I stayed awake all night thinking about that particular scene from the movie Easy Rider-the one where the guys were sleeping outside and some people from town came by to say "hello" with baseball bats.
Today there's the movie Wild Hogs and "Welcome Bikers" signs are everywhere. The Internet makes traveling by bike so much easier and hotels and restaurants aggressively compete for the biker dollar. My old man and I would like to remind newer riders that motorcycling hasn't always been as "biker friendly" as it is now. In fact, it could be down right scary-for the bikers.
Sue Claussen
Trail Creek, Indiana
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