Join my journey to the corners of this world
I hear a loud “Bang” and “screeeech״ as my Arai helmet and the left side bag butt against the red-plastered wall. The motorcycle jolts violently to the right, and me with it. I’m thrown, shoulder first, against the stone pebbles, my right hand still gripping the throttle. Big mistake. The back wheel, now free of ground friction, spins fast against my left foot.
I hear my friend yelling over the Packtalk Mesh intercom, “Oh, S***!”
There’s a comically oversized guy on a small, beat-up old Lambretta. He says he’s in for the ride. He has a complete set of floodlights attached to the old Italian scooter that would scare Bambie a mile away. It’s not even noon. I can only wonder how he made it so far up the pier. Another one shows up on a Bonneville. He’s dressed up in a full three-piece vintage suit, complete with a matching pocket handkerchief and a well-groomed dandy mustache. It’s Santa Monica, and the Southern California sun is beating down our heads. Nobody seems to mind the inadequacy. A third shows up in a side-cart Bimmer. He, his wife, and the little kid are all in Tigger suits. Somehow, that passes almost as normal. Welcome to the Distinguished Gentlemen Ride, a magnet for the Hipsters, the nostalgics, and the downright eccentric.
With over 500 motorcycles, it’s a weird spectacle of American proportions.
Harry is the world’s biggest dick. No, not figuratively as in “ass hole,” but literally as in “two-meter-high standing Pekker”. Cocks aside, Harry is really a nice dude with a friendly disposition to all who pass by. He’s just another massive guy that happens to clad himself in an inflatable penis outfit, complete with a set of two giant balls to keep him company. Not anything out of the ordinary in this crazy, unreal place. Standing on a busy street corner, he hands out small purple penis necklaces to whoever cares to drop by. I stop by for a quick chat with Harry, take a lovely photo of him and his wife, get the odd-looking freebee, and move on. In this shrine to in-your-face individuality, and like-or-not freedom of expression, Harry’s unorthodox costume hardly makes a ripple.
Muslims go to Mecca. Hindus have the Ganges River. Hasidic Jews pilgrim to Mt. Meron for a nightly feast. The Vatican is where Catholic Christians look for inspiration. And bikers? Harley worshipers? V-Twin aficionados? Where do they go to pray?
