I had the privilege of attending the inaugural Texas National Bike Show this past weekend sponsored by Bikernet.com. The show was held in The Convention center of the San Luis Resort in Galveston, Texas. I interviewed The Devil, Kent Weeks, several months ago for a feature here on Bikernet.com, when he invited me to the show. Being an aspiring young writer looking to get my fingers working on any new story, I was elated to be included.
My only experience with bike shows was limited to one Easyriders bike show I attended last year. Besides that one show, I didn’t know dick about what goes on to put on a show. Let me say, if a promoter charges 25 bucks a head to enter the show, you’re getting off cheap. It cost so much in time and energy to put any show together that it’s worth every dime. For many promoters breaking even isn’t a remote possibility after all their time and effort. Oh well, sucks to be them, back to the report.
My wife and I had made it to the Lone Star rally Friday afternoon and were starting to look for a nice place to get a cold beer and rest our feet, (my leg was throbbing constantly, but I didn’t say anything ‘cuz I’m not a bitch). We were just about to hit a little bar off The Strand when my phone began vibrating like crazy. (I always let it vibrate a few times so I may derive a small amount of guilty pleasure from the movement next to my crotchital region.) Thanks to Caller ID, I saw it was Bandit.
“Hey ya Old Bastard, what’s up?”
“What’s up? Well, first I’m going to plant my foot up ‘yer ass for calling me ‘old’ again. Second, where the fuck are you?”
“I’m on The Strand with Salena. We’re heading that way in a few minutes.”
“Get your ass here. I want to start judging these bikes and Nyla refuses to help me. She says I’m too picky and I frustrate her.”
“Ok, Boss. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry up, Goddamnit! I’m not waiting all day.” With that last heartfelt sentiment, the phone went silent. He probably started the timer on his watch to see how long it would take me before I finally showed up. Luckily I wasn’t far from where we had parked my Softail springer, so we were on our way in less than 10 minutes. The Rally is located around blocks 19 to 29 while the Bike show was around block 53. We didn’t have but 20 straight, flat, wide, city blocks to ride.
As we headed to the show, we enjoyed the scenic coastal view to our left while the city was jumping on our right. Everything seemed peaceful and exciting all at once. Then again, it could have been the handful of Seconal and Vicodin I mixed up half hour before we left the rally.
When we arrived at the resort and parked downstairs, I was surprised to see very few bikes in the lot. I’m not kidding; there were less than 30 bikes there. Huh, I guess everyone probably parked by the beach and walked in. WRONG!
We walked upstairs and were met by The Devil himself. He was pacing the balcony overlooking the beach. He strode back and forth like a caged lion waiting to be unleashed on a feeble Christian sacrifice during the reign of the Roman Empire.
I approached him with a smile and my head bowed, never looking him in the eye. My hand outstretched as if I was trying to pet and aggressive dog that could bite at any minute. Never daring to look up, I could tell he was close to me by the persistent halitosis that emanates from his mouth. He only gets this way when he’s pissed, and I could feel the hair on the back of my neck beginning to shrink from the heat.
“H…h…h…Hello….Kent. How’s it going?”
“The amount of feeble piss ants running these streets makes it almost impossible for me to slaughter someone without the chance of a few witnesses.”
“Bad day, huh?” I was really trying to act cool, but I would have run like a bitch if my wife wasn’t standing there. Truth be known, I ended up sharting (pushing out a fart and actually shitting in your pants) and was in need of finding the head.
“No, not necessarily a bad day. I am just irritated being out in the public eye for this amount of time. I don’t like to leave the lair; I’m too exposed right now. What was that?” He looked over my shoulder as if he had heard a noise he perceived as a threat.
“Hear what, dude? All I hear are the bikes, man.”
“I swear I heard a trumpet. You didn’t hear a trumpet?”
“No man, no trumpet here. Maybe it’s the Rapture.” With that he was gone as quickly as a cool breeze in July. Before I knew it, I saw him holding a pedestrian 6 inches off the floor while cussing like a rabid dog. The guy’s intense.
Holly, the devil’s evil temptress, saw us milling about outside and immediately invited us into the show. She quickly gave us the lay of the land as she explained where the refreshments were. I needed a cold beer badly. She led us towards the Devil’s cave-like display to let us grab a cool one, when I was distracted by the sight of something spiraling towards my head. It was only due to my great Ninja reflexes and fighting skills (Yeah, ok!), that I was able to dodge the projectile and knock it out of the air before it took my wife’s pretty head off. Ok, it was actually a plastic Gatorade bottle, but I still dodged it. Bandit launched it from the Bikernet booth with the lovely Nyla, and thought it was a good idea to chunk his junk my way.
“Hey Old Man, what’re you doing?”
“What did I tell you, kid? Stop with the Old Man shit! You ready to go look at some bikes?”
Well hell, yeah I was. I didn’t come down here to talk to your gigantic noggin!
“Yeah, sure thing, boss.” We left the girls running the booth as we began to look for the bikes listed on Bandit’s judging sheet. The place had somewhere just over 50 bikes displayed, and many more not in the competition. Being Friday afternoon, I guessed people were at work, so the crowd was minimal. Things would definitely pick up the next day.
Bandit started schooling me on the art of “judging” a bike show.
“First thing to remember is a brand new stock bike is a 5. We are judging on a 10 point scale. If the bike is worse than stock in an area, then that area gets less than 5 points and vice versa. The first thing we do is make sure it’s in the right class.”
We began circling a few bikes and I watched as he diligently wrote numbers for each bike. He was meticulous in his critiques, but he knew when to say enough is enough! After half the bikes, we called it quits to watch the burlesque show. Let me tell you, this was definitely an adult affair. No little kids circling the stage on this one. It all started with The Sultry Suzanna and her “Balls of Death”. She danced and hopped around stage swinging these little glass balls on what looked like small chains. I could feel the sexiness in the air, but unlike the few knuckleheads screaming in the front row, I reserved my cheering. The girls who followed ranged from the 6’3” Bohemian named Estella Roman to the pert and petite headliner Bee Bonnie, “the housewife”. I enjoyed Bee Bonnie’s dance the most, as she came out with an ironing board and was wearing an apron. That sight alone gave me wood. She finished her tease by taking the frying pans she had been hiding her half naked body with, only to reveal two large egg yolk style pasties covering her nipples. I don’t know why, but I suddenly had the urge for eggs….mmmmm!
We finished the day with a few more bikes to judge. Bandit’s expertise showed as compared to my glitter stricken eye. I was ready to award 9s and 10s on a few bikes while Bandit stayed with 6s and 7s. It was an honor to be a part of the judging with the old crack head, but I just don’t have enough experience to judge a bike show just yet. Still, it was cool as hell and I had a blast.
We ended up checking out a few of the booths there and Bandit ended up paying several hundred dollars for some old, rusty, antique toys and a few trinkets. Personally, I think the guy must be running a whore smuggling ring in Southern California, but who am I to judge?
That night at dinner, my wife and I had the pleasure to join, Bandit, Nyla, Kent, Holly, Eric, a few girls from Eric’s harem, and Rick Fairless’s partner JT. Everyone was a real blast to hang out with and we enjoyed a wonderful meal at Landry’s. I particularly enjoyed talking with everyone, and enjoying the meal and drinks while hearing the bikes roar by on The Seawall. It was surreal.
The next morning, my wife and I attended the Easyriders bike show in Houston. Due to the hurricanes in September, both these great shows were scheduled for the same weekend. Although the show was cool, the crowd was small and the bikes at The Devil’s show were more competitive. I think Kent and Holly had more bikes in their show, but I didn’t confirm that with anyone.
We rode back to Galveston on a beautiful Texas morning of clear skies and high 70 degree temperatures. We were joined riding by my wife’s friend Amanda and her cool as hell Houston firefighter boyfriend, David. David was riding a kick ass ’05 Softail Springer, and I was aboard the ’05 Springer Classic. We roared down I-45 hauling ass when we noticed the sky turning black ahead. Shit!!!! It looked like rain ahead. Like many places in America, Texas is famous for weather that can change in a minute.
The weather wasn’t bad, but I was relieved to get to The San Luis Resort. Being that the bike show was indoors, we’d remain dry. We were immediately drawn to the crowd inside. There must have been 4 to 5 times the amount of people in the convention center on Saturday as compared to Friday. I would venture to say as many as 200 people were at the bike show at any one time, so it was definitely more successful the second day. The atmosphere was much lighter, the music kicked ass, and I even think I saw The Devil smile once. We were having the time of our lives. After two days, the time had come to name the winners of the show.
The lovely ladies who finished 1-3 in the bikini contest were trophy presenters along with some old hack, Bandit. The winners were announced and the crowd went out to enjoy the bikes that won by looking at their kick ass Lucky Devil Metalworks designed trophies. They looked like the state of Texas was on fire; just radical! My favorite bike in the show, listed as a ’02 Pan, also won The Judges Choice Award. Check the winners list below.
All the winners were very gracious, although Billy Akron wasn’t present. He was at the Easyriders show. All in all. it was a great show that will definitely keep growing every year. The bikes were first rate, the music was awesome, and the people running the damn thing were just cool as hell! I will make this an every year show for myself and I hope you do the same.
That night I got to watch Bandit get liquored up on Mai Tai’s at The Safari café. He kept shivering like a little bitch when the mechanical monkeys would come out of the walls and start singing. I think he was just trying to get a feel on Nyla, but that’s just me.We ate dinner and said our goodbyes. My wife and I headed out to check the end of The Rally.
I wanted to thank Kent and Holly weeks for putting on a great show. You guys rock and I hope this work out for ya’ll. You guys letting me hang around you for a few days made my wife think I am less of a stalker, so I may actually get a little action now and again. I also wanted to thank the many builders who took the time to talk to me at the show. Everyone was great, and we will never forget it! Till next time, Ride Safe!
Antique Class
First Brad Johnson. 49 FL
Second Keith “ Crash “ Giles. 54 Triumph
Third Bill Taber 63 Duo Glide
Street custom Class
First Karlton Styron 01 Dyna
Second Myles Anthony 01 H-D fxst
Third Leroy Potts 03 Fat Boy
Specialty Class
First Billy and Beth 02 Pan
Second Jim Best 53 chopper
Third Disqualified
Production Custom Class
First Jeff Stepp. Redneck Hardtail
Second Scooter Big Dog Pitbull
Third Phillip Harmon Mcc Street chop
Radical Custom Class
First Synister Cycle Designs
Second Wilson. Kingpin cycles
Third Snakes Texas heat
Best of show
Synister Cycle Designs
Best Paint
Hemi Head Texas Chop
Judges choice
Billy and Beth 02 pan
Due to the twin bitches, hurricanes Rita and Katrina, this bike event was moved from the sweltering heat in September to the more “tropical” climate of November. I am thankful now that it was. This was the 3rd year of this rally, and it was set up perfectly, again. Very classy and well organized from start to finish. The local hotels and restaurants must made a killing throughout the weekend.
If you have never been to Galveston, Texas, the layout is very simple. Basically, once you get to the seawall, everything is on one side, so it’s virtually impossible to get lost. That doesn’t mean I didn’t manage to do so, but I would never admit to it. Once you arrive in the old downtown Galveston, just look for The Strand. That’s where the party was.
For a minimal fee of 5 bucks per bike, you bought a pass to ride down the strand. Everyone needs to ride the strand at least once. I would recommend it Thursday or Friday, because Saturday is just insane. The line to get on The Strand can last more than an hour. Once you get to enter The Strand, the pace is a minimal idle down the strip with erratic burnouts occasionally. It’s amusing to see the women flashing as you ride by and people pawing you. You have to be careful not to run anyone over, cuz people are freaking retarded. The atmosphere is upbeat, and much like a shark feeding frenzy for bikes, food, and beer! What a show!
So, like Sturgis and Daytona, you have a main strip decorated on each parallel street with vendors. Lots and lots of vendors. The great thing about Galveston’s rally is the bikes constantly rumbling by while you check out parts, leathers, and of course eye candy. Although I wasn’t at the rally till the end every night, I did stay till well after midnight. Let me say this, things get crazy after the sun goes down. I saw a wild mix of people, from whole families with little children walking the streets, to girl on girl full lesbianism running rampant down the street, not bad. It was great. My wife attended the rally for the first time with me, and she had a blast. We were there Friday and Saturday evenings, driving the 65 miles home every night. If I would do anything different, I probably would get a hotel room next year. (Maybe we could have more fun like we did Saturday morning, right baby?)
This year’s rally started on a scary note for me. I traded in my 2003 Fatboy on August 18 for a Softail Springer Classic. August 28th, the day after I dropped the bike off at the dealer to check a fuel injection hesitation, the bike had over 7500 dollars worth of damage. Unfortunately, the mechanic test riding the bike was hit and laid the bike over on its side. The dealer handed me the keys to a 2005 Road King to ride during the wait, but I am a very impatient.
Well, I finally received the call Thursday afternoon that my bike is ready. Ecstatic, I trudged through the, ever-slowing work day and prayed for it to end. At 5:01 pm, I headed to the dealer on the 2005 Road King. Now, even though Houston is the 4th largest metropolitan city in the U.S., traffic is really minimal. We have traffic jams occasionally, but for the most part, it’s the ducking and diving nimrods talking on cell phones while they act like they are driving in NASCAR and jabbering on a cell phone. Well, literally less than 2 miles from the dealership, I have an accident on the King.
While driving on loop 610 heading west towards the Main street exit, I get sideswiped by some asshole on the left. He just drove right into my lane smacking my left side at 70mph! I don’t know how I did it, but I kept the bike up. Unfortunately, this cocksmoker didn’t stop, and I wobbled off the freeway by myself. I heard people honking and screaming at him, but I was a distracted with the pain in my left leg and the emergency attempt to keep it upright.
My leg was momentarily pinned between the car and the bike. Throbbing like a sonuvabitch, I barely pulled into the dealer parking lot when the bike stalled out due to the broken clutch housing, which was the only damage on the bike. Thankfully, the dealership was really cool, and they replied with a half-hearted, “Well, I guess we’re even.” I only half laughed. They were really cool about the whole incident, and I wanted to thank Mancuso Harley-Davidson for helping me out with the rental. They were very helpful during this whole ordeal.
By the time I got home, my left leg had swelled to three times its normal size. My wife took one look and made me change into shorts so we could blast across town to the ER. What a disaster that was. After 6 hours, I ended up with x-rays of a badly bruised leg, a lecture on the dangers of motorcycling, and a shiny set of crutches. Miraculously, I awoke the next morning with little more than a bruise and a limp. My body reminded me all weekend to keep my head on a swivel while riding.
The rally was filled with plenty of action between the bands, all local, and the vendors kept my eyes busy. The beer flowed and the fun lasted through the weekend. Sometimes a great party will re-energize you for the rest of the year. Forget the bills, the mortgage, and the kids’ college fund. Forget work, gossip, and neighborhood association letters. Let your hair down and have a great time. Like my Grandpa used to say, “Sometimes a man (or woman) just has to let their hair down and have some fun.”
Very true Grandpa, very true.
Overall, the rally was first rate. The attendance seemed a little more manageable this year, but it was still packed. I haven’t been given an official number yet, but I heard the estimate was around 200,000 folks rumbled to the island this year. I could believe that. While the celebrities weren’t here like the big rallies, the fans were. But who cares, the rallies aren’t for the builders and celebrities anyways. This rally is for us, the bikers. They didn’t let us down.
