Mt. Dora

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.

Yes, Daytona Bike Week is alive and well. Despite the economy, the really big Harley Store north of Daytona that threatened to kill Daytona Bike Week, and some of the worst Bike Week weather in 20 years, a whole lot of people showed up with their long johns and chaps to ride and party.

At the Broken Spoke there’s always something going on and plenty to see.

The first part of my week wasn’t even in Daytona, but farther south. In Mt. Dora I managed to shoot five old trumpets amid the even older buildings that adorn the small city. The bikes included a nice original TR6, as well as a 1953 Blackbird – which is a T-bird painted black instead of blue by the factory. At any rate, by Friday I’d had enough of the staid Triumphs, I wanted bikes that make too much noise ridden by fools who have too much fun.

The TR6 dates from 1957, the Lakeside Inn from 1883 – a very nice piece of Old Florida.

And if there’s one place where you’re guaranteed to have too much fun it’s the Broken Spoke Saloon out on Highway 1. Unlike the real bikers, I was riding in the rental Chevy. And unlike the bikers, and even the posers on motorcycles, I was warm on the way back to the motel each night. I gotta give it to those folks, they stayed late, drank to excess and then rode home in 40 degree temperatures.

A perpetual motion machine, Jay Allen is the man who keeps the party rockin’ at the Spoke.

The weather did improve slightly through the week, but the wind blew from the north all day and all week. Every day, as the sun went down the temperature followed. Mornings seemed quiet, perhaps because riders waited patiently for the temperatures to warm up a bit before leaving the comfort of the motel room.

The afternoon sun, filtered by the trees, made for some really nice picture taking.

How busy was Daytona? By late in the week when I finally arrived at the nirvana of motorcycle parties, the VACANCY signs on Atlantic Boulevard were few and far between. I ended up in what can only be called a very expensive shit-hole - the result of my own poor planning. Eventually I did get over my bad attitude and enjoyed the weekend wishing for only for one thing – my motorcycle.

When it’s hot in Daytona, you have to drink beer to cool off. When it’s cold in Daytona, you gotta drink beer to ward off the chill.

This year I flew in and out of Jacksonville, which makes for a long drive to Daytona, but affords me the luxury of decompressing for one day in St. Augustine, a very fun, funky and laidback city. Next year maybe I’ll drive down from Minnesota. That way I can drag the motorcycle with me. And if the weather is really warm on the day I’m scheduled to leave Florida, I can just say “to hell with it” and stay in St. Aug one more day.

Redheads, blonds and brunettes, they all work at the Spoke.

Hats and heavy jackets were the order of the day.