Jacksonville

Last year I was happy to have nothing but a rental car to drive during Daytona’s Bike Week, simply because it was so frickin’ cold all week. This year was much warmer however, and I was dying to beg, borrow or steal a motorcycle so I could enjoy a little time with the wind in my hair. Alas, it was not to happen.

The week started south of Daytona again, in the little city of Mt. Dora, which is about twenty miles north of Orlando. This might seem an odd spot to start Bike Week, but it just happens to be home to a couple of British bike collectors, and close proximity to Deland, home to the annual antique bike auction on the grounds of Stetson College.

Luckily the cops didn’t drive by while we photographed this Blackbird perched on the fountain in the middle of Mt. Dora, Florida.

The cops in Mt. Dora must be bikers at heart, because whenever I asked if we could shoot bikes at the downtown pavilion, or the little park that juts out into the lake, they said yes. Or at least they never said no. We got so accustomed to this hospitality that when it came time to shoot the ’53 Blackbird, we just hoisted it up onto the fountain and started shooting.

Eventually we moved from Mt. Dora to a spot about twenty miles east, where we photographed a very special Norton Manx. Shooting the bike with a long lens meant climbing the fence into the neighbor’s yard – which in turn meant taming the ferocious guard dog. Luckily Reggie turned out to be more pussycat than guard dog.

Most race bikes are black and silver, with lots of scars. This special Bernie Allen Manx Norton is the exception to the rule that competition bikes are all about function with no thought to form.

Mid-day Wednesday found me at the auction in Deland, photographing a modern classic - A 1995 Daytona - for the 2012 calendar. As for the auction itself, once it really got started, I was out the door. Because as far as I’m concerned, watching an auction, whether it’s old bikes in Deland or classic cars on TV, is like watching paint dry. Thus, Wednesday afternoon found me doing what I do best, having a beer in a big outdoor roadhouse. The roadhouse in this case was the Broken Spoke Saloon and for company I had none other than the Saloon’s owner, Jay Allen. Between entertaining friends, Jay works hard to entertain the folks in the bar. And if keeping everyone smiling requires doing a burn out on his FXR, so be it, let the party begin.

The party is always rockin’ at the ‘Spoke. If it’s not a rock ‘n roll band, it’s a tattoo contest – or a hellacious burnout performed by the master of ceremonies, Jay Allen.

Though the week seemed to start out a little slow, it was hard to tell by looking at the traffic on Main Street on Thursday afternoon. My perusal of Main Street included a stop at 2 Wheelers, where Arlin Fatland holds court and sells everything from T-shirts to skull-encrusted derby covers. Out in front sat a collection of Arlin’s unique creations, including Slutster, his two-wheeled expression of bad taste.

As I fly in and out of Jacksonville, I always spend my last night of non-freezing weather in St. Augustine. Though it looks like tourist central during the day, when the sun goes down St. Aug turns into a neat little city of small restaurants and bars filled with an interesting mix of locals - from college kids to sailors, and bikers who’ve spilled over from Daytona. Despite the allure of the climate, the bars, and the bright sun, I started Saturday morning behind the wheel of the rental Malibu, headed for an appointment with a certain north bound Delta flight. As I drove along the highway with pine trees on one side and a Pecan and fruit stand on the other, one thought kept running through my mind – seven days are just not enough.

If you’re going to build it in bad taste, you might as well go all the way. Those truck drivers with the “naked chicks” on their mud flaps have nothing on Arlin Fatland from 2 Wheelers.