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by Michael Psycle
So, you want to know about the 5th Annual Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley. As this is being written two months after the event, it will be a shorter and less detailed story than in previous years. Laziness has prevented me from putting my thoughts into words before this. And as time passes, this year's ride folds into the memories of other year's ride, leaving it more difficult to be specific. But, from reading the following, you might get a sense of this year's ride.
At one point on this year's Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley, one of the riders turned to me and said, "I just had to come on the ride this year. It's become such a cult like event"! I was taken aback. Cult event? I didn't know if some people were relating to the Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley as a cult event. That has never been what it was or is about for me. For myself, one word sums up the experience of this ride. Joy. It was about the joy of riding, the joy of meeting and being with other riders, the joy of moving through an ever changing landscape, the joy of being alive. Riding 1000 miles in three days is a grueling experience for many, including those on the ride, but it was a joyful grueling experience.
Every year for five years now, the ride has taken place. And every year, it is different. The route remains the same. The weather changes. The people change. And with those changes in weather and people, comes a change in the experience.
Nature was good to us this year. Perfect riding weather on the entire weekend. That makes it three years of good weather, and two years of miserable weather. Not a great average, but one that can be lived with.
What were the differences this year? For one thing, this year, the riders were on newer and, for the most part, more expensive, machinery. Gone this year was the Rat Patrol, the group of riders who for the past few years, showed up on classic Japanese machinery from the 70's and 80's. And gone with that was their "riding for hell" attitude. This year, for reasons unknown to this writer, the group was much less rambunctious, and more orderly. No one, to the knowledge of this writer, got a speeding ticket this year. Neither a good nor bad development, just a different group of people.
The ride started as it usually did, with an assemblage on Castro Street. About twenty five riders began in San Francisco, with more joining us along the way, until about fifty riders took part at one point or another. But it was clear to the disorganizer of the ride from the beginning that this year's group was different.
In past few years, the group stayed together while negotiating the streets of San Francisco, but as soon as the pack got on the freeway, those who wanted to ride fast took off on their own. The main body of riders would catch up with the faster riders at the first rest stop in Manteca. This year, the all the riders stayed behind the disorganizer of the ride, as he led them over the coastal hills, into the Livermore Valley, and then across the Altamont Pass, into the Central Valley. This same attitude proved true for the most part the entire weekend. The disorganizer would lead, and the other would follow.
Another difference this year. In the past, when the riders got to the Hot Creek, virtually everyone got naked in the creek. This year, about half of the people wore bathing suits or underwear. So, it appeared that it was a more conservative group.
Some particularly disconnected events from this year's ride stands out in my memory. One rider, who is a relatively new rider, showed up on BMW's brand new entry into the super bike class. It seems this rider is also a writer for a major urban newspaper. He managed to get BMW to lend him the bike in order that he might be able to write about it. But first, he had to learn how to ride it. He knew how to ride his personal 550 cc Kawasaki, but an uber BMW was another story. As the weekend progressed, he became more and more proficient in high speed riding, and became a happier and happier rider.
One dilemma remained, he said. If he put in the story of the bike that he rode it on the Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley, he was sure his conservative editor would take that out of the story, and perhaps kill the story all together. So, when he parted company with the rest of the grout at the end of the weekend, he was still contemplating how write the story so that queer people would know this was a queer the ride, but non queer people would miss the point.
Another aspect of the ride that stands out. Weekend romances. The disparate riders wrongly assumed that the disorganizer of the ride knew who the different riders were. Many were strangers to the disorganizer. But repeatedly, the disorganizer was asked if so and so was single, or available.
Bonding. As the weekend progressed, people bonded with each other, and the group as a whole. What starts off as separate individuals winds up taking a group identity. New friends became old friends quickly. And old friends, from previous rides, became closer and closer.
Exhaustion. This is a tough ride. It is not only 1,000 miles in three days, but many of those miles are over twisty mountain roads. In talking with other riders after the event, it appears that most were physically wiped out for the rest of the week. But with a smile on their face.
I would strongly encourage all of you who have contemplated making this ride come along. It is a great experience. One has to be a little crazy to do it, but that is part of the fun.
Hope to see you all next year.
E mail: mcpsycle@well.com