This year the club got off of its ass and we went down as a group. Crisco’s Honda VTX took a big shit as we were just about to leave. The starter engaged without the key in the switch and kept running ‘til the battery was toast. Young James stepped up and offered the use of his FXR. Nice.
So we hit the road about an hour late with about 14 bikes. I had worked all week with Chet getting the shovelhead roadworthy. The Shark did not like the 80mph pace. This bike has a sweet spot between 65-70 where the vibration isn’t too harsh and you can enjoy the ride. 80 made the mirrors and exhaust fall off.
First stop was a service plaza on the Wilbur Cross Parkway, a good place to fix my mirror. We ran into a bunch of Roller Derby girls heading to a bout. Fun photos in the parking lot, just like the old days.
Big Tree on the Hutchinson River Parkway was next. You need to fuel up here for the next leg on the Whitestone Bridge, Van Wyck, L.I.E and Brooklyn-Queens Expressways.
Toll booth hold up was the only delay and we made it to Brooklyn around 1pm. For the guys that have never been, the Indian Larry Grease Monkey party was a big deal. I ran into Butch on the street and we checked out an underground bike shop run by a guy named Scott. Cool little workshop where a bunch of guys all kick in to pay the rent and share tools. It reminded me of when we had our first clubhouse in Mudville.
Crisco and I shared a victory beer and shot of rotgut whiskey at the corner bar. Victory for he was able to ride and victory for an untested shovelhead rebuild not exploding along the parkway.
We went inside the IL garage. The highlight was meeting those dudes from Norway. I had met them a couple years ago. They build bikes in Viking Land in the style of Larry. Tony had just got a box full of bodywork painted up by Robert Pradke. I asked a couple times, but he wouldn’t show it to us.
We hung out until three, brown bagging our beers and watching the neighborhood action. At 3 pm it was time to bomb over to the big show, the Brooklyn Invitational. A mile away in an industrial area on N14th Street is Indian Larry’s actual shop location, now the Root Gallery. A bunch of guys called White Knights in the House of Kolor put on a great event. They get builders from all over the nation, maybe the world, to put their builds in the art gallery. The street is lined up, handlebar to handlebar with fresh, interesting builds. The late 60’s style is heavy here, but café racers and vintage bobbers are also numerous. Beer inside and hipster chicks everywhere makes for a good party.
We walked the street and found an Octoberfest lunch special at Berry Farm bar. This was the best part of the day. Sitting around an old barrel, laughing and bullshitting. After lunch everyone but Phil headed back home for family obligations.
Phil’s girlfriend’s cousin met up and invited us to a party. A party? In New York City? I was in.
I gave her my helmet and headed “Just around the corner” to her apartment. I was stressed seeing there is a helmet law in NYC and “Just around the corner” was 7 blocks away. We made it and parked up along the curb. Cuzzin had a nice place, not a small closet you would expect. She said rent was $1800 a month! Holy shit. We had a beer and then walked down the street to the party.
The party was in a nice grassy back yard behind a three family house. Pretty girls, table of snacks and some music. Such a chill scene in a place I didn’t even expect to be in. I hung out until 8:40. I had to be on Delancy Street by 9pm.
1800 Steve was playing a gig with Magnesium Jake at some dive bar on Delancey. I told him I would go so over the Williamsburg Bridge I went.
Seeing the skyline of Manhattan never fails to take my breath away. As I crested the bridge, I could help but yell out, “New York fuckin’ City!”
The bar was in the shadow of the bridge and I parked right in front. Why would anyone have a car in this place?
The band was just going on stage, perfect timing. Listened to the set, got a CD and had a beer with Steve and his girl. It was about 11, time to head for home.
Surprise! The rain was hard and heavy. No front fender, no windshield and open helmet made for shitty traveling. I wobbled my blind, cold, dirty ass as far as I could, cashing out in Greenwich.
I finally found a Marriott in Stamford. As I dripped at the counter, helmet still on, I got to interact with a snide, bitchy clerk.
“Can I help you?”
“I need a room.”
“We are selling at 119.”
“What?”
“We are selling at 119 this evening.”
“So the room is available for $119?”
“Yes.”
“OK, I will take it.”
“Do you want a single or double queen?”
“I am alone.”
“Do you need parking?”
“I am standing here in a soaking wet leather jacket and wearing a helmet. Yes, I need parking.”
I got the room, parked in the garage and hit the lobby bar. The wedding party was well past sloppy when I got my drink. Fat broads in ugly dresses and douche bags with unbuttoned shirts. I tried to get home for a wedding party in Mudville, but this will have to suffice.
Ten dollar drinks and bad music made me head up to the 12th floor and cash out.
Morning came and I had to leave my big, fluffy bed and put on cold, wet clothing. It was a chilly ride, but the Merritt Parkway on a sunny Sunday morning is a nice place to be on a motorcycle.
I made it home sore and broke, a sure sign of a good time in the city.
Great times in the dirty city. Posted a few photos here on the blog and lots more on fazebook---->190 pictures
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