Ridin' with the Chico (CA) Harley Owners Group

I wrote this in '97 or '98. I was new to Chico and to the company of Harley riders. I must have had a preconception or two about those folks. It was good to see what is really going on.

If you're a bicyclist, please don't feel this piece is not for you. Thanks!

Way Rowdy

Twice I've shown up at 10AM at Hall's H-D here in Chico for the Sunday ride. Twice I've had a super day on the motorcycle.

They weren't just great rides. Not to gloat, but great rides are easy in northern California; terrific roads abound. The Hall's rides were great social experiences with people whose paths I seldom cross off the bike.

Great social experiences -- even though both times, I've been on the one non-Hog in the bunch. A (British) Triumph's not a Harley but it's not Japanese; maybe that matters. I don't think so. No one appears to care much.

Certainly, they notice what you're riding. If it's a Harley, they notice if it has changed since they saw it last. If it's not a Harley, some just ignore it, some ask you how you like whatever it is you ride.

A few may truly be interested in your non-Harley; More simply want to make some conversational contact, to get to know you or put you at ease in their company. They accept you even if you're ridin' a silent green Brit-bike without a square inch of chrome. What the hell.

Someone who knows you introduces you to the others. If you're a first-timer, if no one knows you, someone will shake hands and introduce him- or herself. That person will introduce you to the rest of the group.

You're not going to be allowed to remain anonymous. You're going to be introduced into the company of riders, one by one. You notice the near-formality of it and you are surprised.

Soon the uneasiness you feel from seeing all those chaps, headbands and H-D logos, so unlike your jeans and gray, white 'n blue Vanson jacket, disappears. You stop noticing sameness and start noticing differences.

You do notice that nearly everyone rides an 80-incher, a Big Twin. Nary a Sportster. The one Buell is ridden by a guy who went from a rigid Panhead he'd ridden for 17 years directly to the Buell. Is he the typical Buell buyer? Who IS the typical Buell buyer...?

You get the feeling that many of the riders have known each other for years. Some of them were buddies before motorcycles, or they work together. They use nicknames, tease each other, they're a COMMUNITY.

As you watch, you think: This is part of the Harley package, this togetherness. It really is. Guy buys a FZR or CBR, he's just bought a motorcycle, not a clan. If he finds out about the sportbike hangout and shows up there Sunday mornings, someone may speak to him, may not.

Buy a Harley from Hall's; Someone will tell you about these Sunday rides. Show up, be nice, and it's like you're invited to dinner. You'll have friends you can count on, unless I totally misjudge this group. It's family, or as close to it as many of us are likely to get.

Also, unless I miss my guess, you don't have to qualify to belong. You have to have a motorcycle, but as I said, I don't think it has to be a Harley. Maybe, about the 15th time you appear, someone will ask you if there's one in your future.

You don't have to have scrubbed your tires to the tread edges cornering fast. You don't have to have one-piece leathers with knee pucks. You don't have to have an old, flat-black Norton or a new carbon-fiberized Ducati. You don't have to have any particular motorcycle or any particular attitude.

You just have to be nice, meaning not immediately discernible as an asshole.

When I rolled up for the first ride, there was only one motorcycle there, an immaculate 35,000-mile Dyna Wide-Glide just back from its third trip to Sturgis, ridden by Larry and Kathy.

At a time when I had scarcely been invited into anyone's home in Chico, they insisted we stop at their place BEFORE we started our ride. They wanted me to see their Sturgis photos, fresh from the processors.

We looked at pictures and then took a great ride on nearby back roads, narrow bumpy twisty perfect roads. I followed Larry and Kathy on that 80-incher for miles and miles, three lengths back. We rode a sporting pace, quick enough to be fun, not fast enough to scare ourselves or the few motorists we encountered. It was perfect.

We'd stop in roadside country bars for a couple of Buds for them and a coke for me. We'd play darts, then climb back on the bikes and ride some more. I never ride like that on my own. I’m too anxious to get from A to B, I guess, but it was fun. A change of rhythm.

Larry's a workin' guy. So are most of the others I met on the second Hall's ride I did, Chico-Downieville-Chico with about a dozen Harleys. The Hall's Sunday ride guys aren't rich, urban or professional. I didn't meet anyone anxious to impress me with what he did, didn't see a pager or cell phone.

Those guys make good wages in blue collars, I think, and choose to spend a sizable chunk of that money on Harley-Davidson motorcycles. They don't just buy those Harleys. They RIDE them.

Some of them rode two-up with wives or girlfriends; the couples do nearly all their riding together, I believe. A few women rode their own bikes, Big Twins, like the men did. They rode 'em well, like the men did.

At the restaurant in Downieville, we (well, THEY, really) got a little raucous: loud laughter, jokes, guys ragging guys, gals ragging guys.

An old couple sat across the aisle, hardly spoke to each other over their lunch. I fretted that we'd ruined their meal, their quiet-time together.

When the two got up to leave, one of the black-leather badguys in our group touched the old man's arm, told him he hoped we hadn't spoiled their lunch with all the commotion.

"Hell no," said the old guy. "We're in an RV club. We're way rowdier than you guys..."

END