Rick Long's Stories
It's All Happening: Las Vegas BikeFestâ„¢ 2002
By Rick Long
One of my favorite movies is "Almost Famous," which is based on a article assignment given to an aspiring
writer named Cameron Crowe when he was only 15-years-old. Rolling Stone magazine hired Crowe to cover
the Almond Brother's Band during a two-week stay on their tour bus. The "band-aide" girls who are also
following the group in this movie often turn to one another and cheerfully say, "It's all happening!"
I like that line. Too often in life we get bogged down by various responsibilities, bills, obligations, and what
not, and forget to notice that, "it's all happening." Case in point is the motorcycle run my "family gang" made
last weekend to Las Vegas for BikeFestâ„¢ 2002. I had spent several weeks planning for, anticipating, and
generally looking forward to this ride. During the 72hrs of this trip, so many things happened that I just had to
keep that line going in my head; "It's all happening!"
The run starts for our gang mid-day on Thursday with a trip to Chaparral Motorsports, the well-known
motorcycle supply mail-order house that has a retail superstore in San Bernardino, California. The store is
about 25 miles from my mountain home in the San Bernardino National Forest. I'm there with my brother-in-
law, Robert, to purchase a couple of items for my wife's '83 Honda NightHawk 650. Theresa, my wife of nine
years, put me on notice a few days before that she is not about to go across the desert without a windshield
and a cruise control device. Last minute installs before a long ride are not the thing to do but in this case, it has
to be done this way because of work schedules.
Robert is in town, along with his wife Ruth, just for the purpose of attending this ride. They are long-haul
truckers and I keep their 17yr old son, Joshua, so they can work at their chosen profession. Robert rented a
2003 100th Anniversary Edition Harley-Davidson Electro-Glide Classic for the weekend so we also pick up
the Harley while down the hill.
Once back at home, Robert helps get the installation of the windshield and cruise device started. Theresa
finishes the job when she arrives home from work. Though she is a computer network administrator by day
and college student by night, she loves to do her own mechanic work. If there is vehicle maintenance going on
at our house, you can be assured that Theresa will want to get her hands on the project at some point. Since I
enjoy riding more than wrenching, I appreciate this help immensely.
Joshua recruited his friend Fred to go along on the trip. Joshua's SUV will be our support vehicle. Fred is
picked up after school on Thursday with both boys glad to miss a day on Friday. By the time we get them
packed, my wife's bike upgrade finished, my bike packed, etc., the time is 8 P.M.
We pull out with the first stop planned for just fifteen miles away at the first gas station we will pass. At the fuel
stop, Robert pulls past my 1985 BMW K100 with the rented Harley. He forgets that the trunk lid is open and
hits my right hand mirror. I have always thought that the BMW engineers are the best. The mirror is designed
so that it will snap off without breaking the mount and that's just what it did. Pick it up, brush it off, and snap it
back on. That's all it takes.
That same mirror was off a couple of weeks ago when my nephew was arranging our bikes in the driveway
and dropped the BMW. The glass cracked that time but good engineering being what it is at BMW, the mirror
has a snap-on insert easily replaced for about $25.00.
We pull out of the gas station, by now almost 9 P.M., and my wife asks over the bike-to-bike helmet
communicator, "When are we going to eat?" A nearby fast food joint gets an hour of our time and some of our
money. We pull out for Vegas at 10 P.M.
I'm thinking to myself that all my planning has gone totally out the window. I intended for us to leave at 5 P.M.
but that was just not to be. Now it's 10 P.M., five hours off schedule, and I haven't even mentioned that the
NightHawk only has a 2.5-gallon tank. This is going to
be a long night.
11:30 P.M. finds us fueling the bikes at a truck stop near Barstow, California. Theresa's right-hand mirror is
loose at the connection between the support rod and the mirror itself. No method for tightening it is evident so
electrical tape is pressed into service. Her windshield is a bit loose as well. I have several Allen head wrenches
in my BMW tool pack but not the one she needs. Robert makes a trip to another truck stop across the street
and returns with an Allen head version of a Swiss Army Knife. Her bike is using oil, too. Lots of it; about a
half-quart so far. Robert leads us back to the freeway on the Harley and we are off into the night once again.
Half an hour later, Theresa signals for a stop in the middle of nowhere for a rest. We end up on a short dead-
end frontage road and spend the next 30 minutes watching the stars. In the desert, the "seeing" is so clear that
the night sky comes alive with stars. The Milky Way is prominent and constellations are easily identifiable even
for this novice veteran of Astronomy 101. Now it's starting to occur to me that we left at just the right time for
a memorable nighttime ride.
At this point we have also reached the Witching Hour for our teenaged support vehicle driver. Teenage drivers
in California under the age of eighteen cannot drive after Midnight, even with an adult in the car. Ruth will have
to take over the SUV for the remainder of the night. Joshua is getting tired anyway so there is not much
resistance to this new arrangement.
Gas again in Baker, California, and then on to the exit near the Silverton Hotel just outside of Las Vegas for
the last fuel stop of the evening. 4:00 A.M. finds us checking into a "trucker" hotel for a well-deserved rest.
We were going "on the cheap" for the first night so it didn't matter than we only got about five hours sleep.
Who would want to stay in that worn out bed a minute longer? Not me and certainly not my wife!
Changing hotels to Harrah's happened not long after breakfast and an hour of shoe shopping. I spent the early
afternoon with relatives who live in Summerland and the rest of the gang hung out at the hotel casino or caught
a nap. Early evening put us at the BikeFest show, cruising the vendor area and catching a few songs by Joan
Jett.
Saturday morning was the $10,000 poker run. Joshua and Fred sailed airplanes off the 15th floor balcony into
the pool while the adults rode from downtown Las Vegas to Lake Mead and back to Staz's American
Motorcycles in Henderson, Nevada. What a beautiful run. We didn't win the $10,000 but that's all right
because I never expected to. I went for the ride and I got a great one.
We did make some pictures at Lake Mead and visit some cool bike shops that were part of the poker run.
On the way back to town, a large group of bikes came up behind us on the freeway and slowly passed by.
For a few moments, as their group made its way past our three bikes, we were riding with the Hell's Angels.
Back at the hotel, naptime came and went. Returning to the BikeFest by late afternoon, we bought leather
vests and chaps, biker patches, and fresh lemonade. A Springsteen sound-alike band opened the show for
Bachman-Turner Overdrive but we went back to the hotel for dinner rather than fight the crowds again tonight
for "standing room only" in front of the outdoor stage.
Theresa wanted to go back home during the nighttime to avoid the desert heat. Sleep sounded better so we
left early Sunday morning. Not far out of Vegas, another group of bikes is visible just ahead of us. This time
we are riding, if only for a few moments as we pass, with the Diablos. I don't think they like Honda's or
BMWs very much since the rider we were passing on the right edge of the pack motioned for us to blow on
by. We did. They didn't wave or anything. We didn't either.
At the lunch stop in Baker, I did the one thing that no biker ever wants to let anyone else see him or her do: I
dropped my bike. I was parking between my wife and Robert and got off to put the Beemer on the center
stand. The parking lot was just uneven enough that the bike went high side over while I was trying to get the
stand level on the pavement. With the high center of gravity that this bike has, there was no stopping it.
Embarrassing? Yes. Tragic? No. It happens and if it hasn't happened to you yet, I hope it never does. It
probably will though.
Back on the freeway toward home, we came up behind an RV proudly flying a large U.S. flag on one of those
pointed wooden poles. All of a sudden, the pole came loose and flew off the RV, flag and all, heading in a
spear-like manner for Theresa. Luckily, the projectile fell to her right and didn't lead to serious injury. This
would have disappointed some of the American V-twin riders who might have thought being speared by Old
Glory a fitting end for a rider on a Japanese in-line four.
Here's another thing motorcycle riders don't like to have happen. Ruth is riding in the passenger's seat as
Robert is driving the Harley through the Cajon Pass. A gust of wind and just the right head move and her
eyeglasses, which she needs to legally drive the big rig, go flying off her face. They land on the pavement in the
fast lane where they quickly become road kill.
As we are approaching San Bernardino, Theresa pulls off the freeway and heads for the Chaparral store. She
wants new mirrors now and gets them. We install them in the parking lot and head for the local Harley rental
outlet to turn in the ElectraGlide. We fuel the remaining two bikes for the ride up the hill to home. A quick stop
by the grocery store for enough supplies to prepare an impromptu family barbeque and the weekend is done.
Theresa returned to work early Monday morning with computer crashes to fix. Joshua is a senior in high
school and returned to class as scheduled. I work as a registered nurse and freelance writer. Nursing work is
plentiful and I was back to it bright and early that day as well. Thanks to a local Lens Crafters outlet, Ruth was
driving the big rig by late Monday night along with Robert. Those are our "real" lives.
But for a moment, for a weekend away, we were leather-clad bikers, riding like a silver streak through the
night or blowing down the highway in the blazing sun. We were Hell's Angels and Diablos, we were seasoned
mechanics making Midnight repairs, and we were humble humans picking up a fallen bike. And we were
having the time of our lives. It's was all happening.
By Rick Long
One of my favorite movies is "Almost Famous," which is based on a article assignment given to an aspiring
writer named Cameron Crowe when he was only 15-years-old. Rolling Stone magazine hired Crowe to cover
the Almond Brother's Band during a two-week stay on their tour bus. The "band-aide" girls who are also
following the group in this movie often turn to one another and cheerfully say, "It's all happening!"
I like that line. Too often in life we get bogged down by various responsibilities, bills, obligations, and what
not, and forget to notice that, "it's all happening." Case in point is the motorcycle run my "family gang" made
last weekend to Las Vegas for BikeFestâ„¢ 2002. I had spent several weeks planning for, anticipating, and
generally looking forward to this ride. During the 72hrs of this trip, so many things happened that I just had to
keep that line going in my head; "It's all happening!"
The run starts for our gang mid-day on Thursday with a trip to Chaparral Motorsports, the well-known
motorcycle supply mail-order house that has a retail superstore in San Bernardino, California. The store is
about 25 miles from my mountain home in the San Bernardino National Forest. I'm there with my brother-in-
law, Robert, to purchase a couple of items for my wife's '83 Honda NightHawk 650. Theresa, my wife of nine
years, put me on notice a few days before that she is not about to go across the desert without a windshield
and a cruise control device. Last minute installs before a long ride are not the thing to do but in this case, it has
to be done this way because of work schedules.
Robert is in town, along with his wife Ruth, just for the purpose of attending this ride. They are long-haul
truckers and I keep their 17yr old son, Joshua, so they can work at their chosen profession. Robert rented a
2003 100th Anniversary Edition Harley-Davidson Electro-Glide Classic for the weekend so we also pick up
the Harley while down the hill.
Once back at home, Robert helps get the installation of the windshield and cruise device started. Theresa
finishes the job when she arrives home from work. Though she is a computer network administrator by day
and college student by night, she loves to do her own mechanic work. If there is vehicle maintenance going on
at our house, you can be assured that Theresa will want to get her hands on the project at some point. Since I
enjoy riding more than wrenching, I appreciate this help immensely.
Joshua recruited his friend Fred to go along on the trip. Joshua's SUV will be our support vehicle. Fred is
picked up after school on Thursday with both boys glad to miss a day on Friday. By the time we get them
packed, my wife's bike upgrade finished, my bike packed, etc., the time is 8 P.M.
We pull out with the first stop planned for just fifteen miles away at the first gas station we will pass. At the fuel
stop, Robert pulls past my 1985 BMW K100 with the rented Harley. He forgets that the trunk lid is open and
hits my right hand mirror. I have always thought that the BMW engineers are the best. The mirror is designed
so that it will snap off without breaking the mount and that's just what it did. Pick it up, brush it off, and snap it
back on. That's all it takes.
That same mirror was off a couple of weeks ago when my nephew was arranging our bikes in the driveway
and dropped the BMW. The glass cracked that time but good engineering being what it is at BMW, the mirror
has a snap-on insert easily replaced for about $25.00.
We pull out of the gas station, by now almost 9 P.M., and my wife asks over the bike-to-bike helmet
communicator, "When are we going to eat?" A nearby fast food joint gets an hour of our time and some of our
money. We pull out for Vegas at 10 P.M.
I'm thinking to myself that all my planning has gone totally out the window. I intended for us to leave at 5 P.M.
but that was just not to be. Now it's 10 P.M., five hours off schedule, and I haven't even mentioned that the
NightHawk only has a 2.5-gallon tank. This is going to
be a long night.
11:30 P.M. finds us fueling the bikes at a truck stop near Barstow, California. Theresa's right-hand mirror is
loose at the connection between the support rod and the mirror itself. No method for tightening it is evident so
electrical tape is pressed into service. Her windshield is a bit loose as well. I have several Allen head wrenches
in my BMW tool pack but not the one she needs. Robert makes a trip to another truck stop across the street
and returns with an Allen head version of a Swiss Army Knife. Her bike is using oil, too. Lots of it; about a
half-quart so far. Robert leads us back to the freeway on the Harley and we are off into the night once again.
Half an hour later, Theresa signals for a stop in the middle of nowhere for a rest. We end up on a short dead-
end frontage road and spend the next 30 minutes watching the stars. In the desert, the "seeing" is so clear that
the night sky comes alive with stars. The Milky Way is prominent and constellations are easily identifiable even
for this novice veteran of Astronomy 101. Now it's starting to occur to me that we left at just the right time for
a memorable nighttime ride.
At this point we have also reached the Witching Hour for our teenaged support vehicle driver. Teenage drivers
in California under the age of eighteen cannot drive after Midnight, even with an adult in the car. Ruth will have
to take over the SUV for the remainder of the night. Joshua is getting tired anyway so there is not much
resistance to this new arrangement.
Gas again in Baker, California, and then on to the exit near the Silverton Hotel just outside of Las Vegas for
the last fuel stop of the evening. 4:00 A.M. finds us checking into a "trucker" hotel for a well-deserved rest.
We were going "on the cheap" for the first night so it didn't matter than we only got about five hours sleep.
Who would want to stay in that worn out bed a minute longer? Not me and certainly not my wife!
Changing hotels to Harrah's happened not long after breakfast and an hour of shoe shopping. I spent the early
afternoon with relatives who live in Summerland and the rest of the gang hung out at the hotel casino or caught
a nap. Early evening put us at the BikeFest show, cruising the vendor area and catching a few songs by Joan
Jett.
Saturday morning was the $10,000 poker run. Joshua and Fred sailed airplanes off the 15th floor balcony into
the pool while the adults rode from downtown Las Vegas to Lake Mead and back to Staz's American
Motorcycles in Henderson, Nevada. What a beautiful run. We didn't win the $10,000 but that's all right
because I never expected to. I went for the ride and I got a great one.
We did make some pictures at Lake Mead and visit some cool bike shops that were part of the poker run.
On the way back to town, a large group of bikes came up behind us on the freeway and slowly passed by.
For a few moments, as their group made its way past our three bikes, we were riding with the Hell's Angels.
Back at the hotel, naptime came and went. Returning to the BikeFest by late afternoon, we bought leather
vests and chaps, biker patches, and fresh lemonade. A Springsteen sound-alike band opened the show for
Bachman-Turner Overdrive but we went back to the hotel for dinner rather than fight the crowds again tonight
for "standing room only" in front of the outdoor stage.
Theresa wanted to go back home during the nighttime to avoid the desert heat. Sleep sounded better so we
left early Sunday morning. Not far out of Vegas, another group of bikes is visible just ahead of us. This time
we are riding, if only for a few moments as we pass, with the Diablos. I don't think they like Honda's or
BMWs very much since the rider we were passing on the right edge of the pack motioned for us to blow on
by. We did. They didn't wave or anything. We didn't either.
At the lunch stop in Baker, I did the one thing that no biker ever wants to let anyone else see him or her do: I
dropped my bike. I was parking between my wife and Robert and got off to put the Beemer on the center
stand. The parking lot was just uneven enough that the bike went high side over while I was trying to get the
stand level on the pavement. With the high center of gravity that this bike has, there was no stopping it.
Embarrassing? Yes. Tragic? No. It happens and if it hasn't happened to you yet, I hope it never does. It
probably will though.
Back on the freeway toward home, we came up behind an RV proudly flying a large U.S. flag on one of those
pointed wooden poles. All of a sudden, the pole came loose and flew off the RV, flag and all, heading in a
spear-like manner for Theresa. Luckily, the projectile fell to her right and didn't lead to serious injury. This
would have disappointed some of the American V-twin riders who might have thought being speared by Old
Glory a fitting end for a rider on a Japanese in-line four.
Here's another thing motorcycle riders don't like to have happen. Ruth is riding in the passenger's seat as
Robert is driving the Harley through the Cajon Pass. A gust of wind and just the right head move and her
eyeglasses, which she needs to legally drive the big rig, go flying off her face. They land on the pavement in the
fast lane where they quickly become road kill.
As we are approaching San Bernardino, Theresa pulls off the freeway and heads for the Chaparral store. She
wants new mirrors now and gets them. We install them in the parking lot and head for the local Harley rental
outlet to turn in the ElectraGlide. We fuel the remaining two bikes for the ride up the hill to home. A quick stop
by the grocery store for enough supplies to prepare an impromptu family barbeque and the weekend is done.
Theresa returned to work early Monday morning with computer crashes to fix. Joshua is a senior in high
school and returned to class as scheduled. I work as a registered nurse and freelance writer. Nursing work is
plentiful and I was back to it bright and early that day as well. Thanks to a local Lens Crafters outlet, Ruth was
driving the big rig by late Monday night along with Robert. Those are our "real" lives.
But for a moment, for a weekend away, we were leather-clad bikers, riding like a silver streak through the
night or blowing down the highway in the blazing sun. We were Hell's Angels and Diablos, we were seasoned
mechanics making Midnight repairs, and we were humble humans picking up a fallen bike. And we were
having the time of our lives. It's was all happening.
June
25,2004
25,2004
It's All Happening 6/25/2004
