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Bike Week Diary

Posted by abohan Selasa, 19 Juni 2012 0 komentar

If you stand at the foot of Tower Hill and look down Lakeside Avenue on a warm summer day, the reflections from metals and mirrors on the rows of motorcycles emits a wavy aura.

It’s the kind of thing you’d see over street pavement on a hot day. The epicenter of Bike Week looks hotter from a distance than it is.

Working at restaurant just yards from Weirs Beach, the crowds, the activities, the people all look different than they do when you’re standing back. As a journalist, I’ve been in the area during the day for years.

But never at night.

It’s not to say that it’s not somewhat weird. The percentage of tattoos per person in the crowd is uncommonly high. My first full night, two young women dressed in too-tight jeans and t-shirts danced seductively closed together to the hot boogie-woogie music; but it was apparently more for the amusement of the drinking folks at the tables then themselves. On another night, a fellow strolled through the crowd with a pink rat on a leash sitting on his shoulder. A day later, some fireworks were set off right outside the patio area.

But most of the people were pleasant. Even the most tattooed displayed uncommon patience when asked to wait for a table. And while some freely admitted they’d come just to “get drunk,” most seemed to hold their liquor pretty well.

On the first Sunday of Bike Week, the ATM machine nearby ran out of cash.

“Good sign,” said someone on the staff, indicating the problem pointed to a financially profitable week.

By Monday, it was apparent things were going to come together: the best weather for the nine-day event in years was forecast.

Harley-Davidson t-shirts from around the country abounded: New Orleans, Corpus Christi, Tucson, Lake George (N.Y.), and Caba San Luca, Mexico.

“If loud pipes save lives,” commented one shirt, “imagine what learning to drive that thing could do.”

The oldest Laconia t-shirts were from 1997 – 15 years old; there were two. That was the 74^th Lakes Region event; this year was the 89^th. Next year will be the 90^th for the oldest biker rally in America. That should be something.

(More To Come.)

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Lakes Region News

Posted by abohan Minggu, 17 Juni 2012 0 komentar

Two interesting Lakes Region stories in today's New Hampshire Sunday News.
Check out the concerns of the owner of the Lake Opechee Inn & Spa, and the suit filed by Ossipee Lake lakefront property owners. (Careful, the site only gives a few 'free' looks!)
And have a great Sunday... "Just another day in (our weather) paradise."
But forecast is for temps to hit 90s later this week - the first time since April(?!).

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"We Ride!"

Posted by abohan Jumat, 15 Juni 2012 0 komentar

What an amazing Bike Week!
In almost 20 years, cannot recall more perfect weather. Except for a morning mid-week, it's been fabulous. Warm, sunny, a bit of clouds... Ride, enjoy - and be safe!

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The Heart of Motorcycle Week

Posted by abohan Selasa, 12 Juni 2012 0 komentar

Daryl Carlson of Meredith perfectly

captures the spirit of Motorcycle Week

in this image from our photography book.

(See below for purchasing details.)

They’re like the Greek gods.

Every culture has them. Characters, symbols really, who somehow stand head-and-shoulders above the other “ordinary” people.

But who, at the same time, are recognizable to all of us. They’re one of us – heroic, but with what the Greek dramatists called their “fatal flaw.” Something in their character seems to doom them, even as they speed past us.

America has its cowboys. That’s the archetype, but there are numerous models. The hardboiled detective. The rock’n’roller. The poetry-reading beatnik. The solitary war hero. The quiet but accomplished athlete. The superhero/avenger.

They always follow the Cowboy Code: Look truth strait in the eye. Don’t be phased by critics. Don’t be afraid of being wrong when you’re standing up for what’s right – especially when it comes to defending the weak and the vulnerable.

Don’t expect much from others.

That’s the world of the motorcycle rider, be it real or imagined, when he’s zooming by on his “potato”-chugging Harley.

It’s part myth, part reality. Part hero, part anti-hero. Part the most trustworthy friend you’ll ever find. And part the renegade outsider you don’t turn your back on.

Read about the early motorcyclists who started coming to Laconia in the 1920s. In those days riding was considered as “foolhardy” – as dangerous – as skydiving. Riders had to be as much mechanics as drivers. The machinery was wildly unpredictable. Breakdowns – even minor explosions – were an expected part of the routine. Everyone knew how to fix their own bikes. The people who rode those bikes were daredevils, like aviators or people who tried to get to the North Pole.

They were heroic but considered a little loony by most people.

It was the World Wars in Europe and Africa that changed all that. The U.S. military found uses for motorcycles no one could have imagined. Bikes could do things and get places better than any other means of transportation in a war-torn terrain.

The select few who got to ride those early Harleys and other brands fell in love with the adventure.

After World War II, when most soldiers returned to “normal” life here in America, there were a band of brothers, mostly on the west coast, who kept the tradition alive.

They collected parts and put motorcycles together. Then they raced them wherever they could find a place. They rode on mountain paths and in the desert. They shared their parts and their knowledge with one another.

They somehow kept the biker’s dream world alive.

A few of them – like the occasional cowboy, even today – took the code past its natural limits. Hurting others became a way of expressing “independence.” Thrills went past just breaking speeding or riding rules. Men who were meant to be heroes became losers. And as a result, all riders lost a bit of their luster.

But over the years, it’s come back. Bikers ride in huge POW-MIA parades, including one in Meredith. They stand with military veterans in all kinds of difficulties. They raise money for charitable causes. They fly American flags and are patriots.

Every year thousands of them come here, from across the country and the world. The Laconia Motorcycle Rally is the oldest one in the country. For one week at the end of the spring, on the cusp of summer, they roam the streets, fill the restaurants and roar down the roads.

On Lakeside Avenue in Weirs Beach they show themselves in an incongruous parade of loners gathered together. Their tattoos, decals and clothing declare what they cannot say. Their motors rumble as their lives streak by.

Enjoy them, these cowboys on their “iron horses.” There will be a day when they will ride off into the sunset. When someone else – some other, newer breed of cowboy – takes their place.

They will be missed.

And their like will never be seen around these parts again.

This story first appeared in “The Lakes Region of New Hampshire: Four Seasons, Countless Memories,” the first full-color book of photographs and essays about the area published by Carbone Productions. The book is available at local bookstores or ordering information is available at LakesRegionNHBook.com

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Before the Bikes Arrive...

Posted by abohan Minggu, 10 Juni 2012 0 komentar

On a cool June night just days before Motorcycle Week, Weirs Beach is quiet. You can hear the water lap gently at the sandy beach.

But there are spurts of noise and activity in the area.

On both sides of Lakeside Avenue, where motorcycles will soon fill the slanted parking places, tractor trailer trucks fill up almost 15 spaces a piece. Workers, with cigarettes dangling from the lips, unload their wares: T-shirts, souvenirs, leather goods... One truck, owned by Tents & Events, is from an obscure Florida town. (Osolo? Orolo? Can't even pronounce it.)

The arcades where hundreds of people will enjoy themselves in less than 36 hours are peculiarly empty. [NOTE: Learned after this story published that arcades are closed during Bike Week; space used by vendors.] All the games are piled up at the far end as workers ready the floor space. Some "naked" female mannequins stand piled in a corner - some with only half their bodies attached - waiting for the store next door to call them into service.

Some signs reveal the peculiar nature of Bike Week.

A small tent announces "free medical care and legal advice." A small food truck promotes its "gourmet pizza". (Can you really get gourmet pizza from a food truck?) Another tent advertises a "holistic herbal elixir" called "Drink No Evil."

And the distinctive red, white and blue sign is already lit up, pointing people onto Lakeside Avenue and "Weirs Beach."

On a cool Spring night hours before Bike Week.

In the nearby Lobster Pond parking lot, vendors are already securing their tents, their work done for the night. And you notice, perhaps for the first time, that many signs simply announce that "rally" goods are for sale - not "Laconia Rally". And you remember, from past conversations, that these folks live the "carny" life. They move from one motorcycle rally to another - Daytona to Sturgis to the Laconia to the next smaller one - with little opportunity to visit, to take in the views, to get the know the charms of the Lakes Region.

And you're reminded of a sign you saw in a restaurant this week. It goes something like this: "If you're really good and say your prayers every night and are nice to people, when you die you'll wake up in - NEW HAMPSHIRE!"

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