The ride over was nice, even if I had to take the wrong bike (I’ll spare the reader the story of the missing spacer after installing a new tire). I took a straight shot across the southern end of the valley, traversing fields more often seen as emergency landing spots for simulated engine failure practice.
Crossing the San Andreas Fault was uneventful, as usual, and the descent through the mountains was beautiful. The last 30 miles descending into Santa Maria was accompanied by non-stop Beatles on the radio. The day was off to a good start.
As I rode in on my GoldWing I could tell I was seriously out of place. Every bike in front of me and behind me was a Harley—not another Honda in sight. In the parking lot were hundreds and hundreds of bikes, about 99% Harleys at around $20,000 a copy.
Motorcycle Madness
As I walked around the fairgrounds I saw several faces (and choppers) that I’ve seen on TV. First was Chica, an apparently famous Japanese chopper designer. Mitch Bergeron was building a chopper on the grounds to give away at the end of the show. It had over $35,000 in parts, not counting the free labor and the $3500 paint job yet to come. I ran into the OTHER Michele Smith, the hostess of American Thunder on the Speed Channel, and got her autograph. Jesse James, of West Coast Choppers and Monster Garage was also there, but I didn’t bother him for an autograph.
The OTHER Michele Smith
Everything there was either about choppers or Harleys, so it wasn’t terribly interesting. I liked the paint jobs on several of the bikes, including this $36,000 Titan with flag paint. One of the few touring bikes on the grounds other than mine was a big prize-winner in several categories. I have no idea what it might be worth.
A Favorite
Winning Touring Bike
I hung around until 4 to see if I won any of the prizes (I didn’t), then fired up the old Wing and headed home. The Beatles station was playing Rolling Stones and CCR as I headed back up the mountains—more great accompaniment.
This was my first bike show, and quite probably my last. I now have less desire to go to “cultural events” like Sturgis or even the Honda Hoot. But I feel a long ride into the gold country on Highway 49 coming on.
