My First HOG Rally

Couldn't sleep the other night so I decide to do some writing to pass the time. Nothing of real importance, but if you have some time to kill - here's something to read. (maybe you're up late now too).

Here is another one from the past. The first HOG Rally that I attended certainly turned out to be a bigger adventure than I would have imagined it to be. It was in July of 1989 and it was a NorthEast Rally that was held in Worchester. Mass. Being a member with HOG for three years at that time, I thought it would be something to check out. So I talked my brother-in-law, John, into doing the trip with me. We registered for the event, found a site close by to camp at and were ready.

On Thursday, the start of the rally, we opted to take back roads through northern Connecticut to head to the rally. The ride took us through rolling hills and small towns. It was a fairly hot summer day but things were going good until about 1 ½ away from our destination the front end of my Sportster started to wobble on a turn. Able to pull over safely, I found out I had a flat. Ok so it’s not the best way to start a journey, but the tire said tubeless on it so my partner headed to the closest auto shop for some fix-a-flat. His trip took only about 40 minutes, we install the repair in a can; the tire looked good so we headed to a service station to top of the air and continued on our way.

We arrived at the campsite and upon checking in, the person at the desk stated that they did not know that we were with the rally and did not permit motorcycles on the campsite because of noise. Granted our bikes were loud back then, we were both running drags but I thing the bigger fact was we both very much looked like long haired dirtbags – very much the stereo type biker for the average non rider. He did give us the name and phone number of another site. We called; they had room and said that bikes were welcomed.

We got to the new site, found our location in the campgounds, took down the rope surrounding our site and set up our tents. While we were doing all that, we were deciding how to approach the rest of the afternoon/evening when this guy came over to us and started conversation. He told that his name was Bob and started talking about all the things going on besides the HOG Rally. He mentioned a biker rodeo in the next town that he seemed eager to check out, a couple of bike shops, and bars in town. He mentioned that he meet some cool bikers in one of the bars the night before. Now this guy was a little hyper to say the least, babbling at 100mph and talking like he rehearsed all the phrases they use to quote in Easyriders magazine back then. Well, we told him we were heading to the rally to register and check things out the grap a bite. He decided to tag along (little did we know about his shadow type tendencies).

The rally was basically a large tent with a couple of vendors and some food for the members. They had a bike show and rides scheduled, maybe a couple of other things but not much more (at least what I can remember). So we looked at some bikes, walk around (with Bob following us everywhere yakking away about more “scooter trash” stuff) then decided to get something to eat, Guess who decide to tag along? After dinner, now around 9pm, Bob stated he’ll take us too the bar where he met the group of people he spoke about before.

As we walked in we came upon a couple that Bob ran into. We introduce each other and started to talk. The guy was Dario and he was with his girlfriend Roseann, both from Long Island. Bob headed to the bar and Dario asked if Bob was a friend of ours. I said no and that we were trying to figure out how to loose him politely, and if that didn’t work try another approach. Dario said they we so happy to see us walk in with him because they were trying to dump as well, seems Bob’s leaching was trying to many that came in contact with him. So Dario, his girl, my brother-in-law and I decided that there was no reason to be polite and left on our rides while good ol’ Bob was getting a drink. We headed to a few other joints that night and finally rumbled into the camp grounds about 2am (amazing how loud those drags are in the dead of the night).

7am, after an night of maybe one too many and 5 hours sleep, Bob sticks his head into our tent and starts yakking and asking all kinds of questions – where did this guy come from and why is he speaking to me at this hour in my tent? I told him (can’t remember in what tone or exact words) we’ll see him later; I need sleep. Rolling out of tent at a sensible 11am, I found Bob sitting by our campfire (which he must have started). I wasn’t two steps out of the tent when his verbal assault started again. This time it was about the bike rodeo he wanted to check out and if we wanted to go with him. Yikes how is this happening to us. After meeting up with Dario & his girlfriend (they were also staying at the same camp site), we decided to head over to the HOG tent to see what was going on for the day, and once again guess who tagged alone? So the five of us on four bikes headed out and once we headed onto the interstate Dario and I took off at a very quick pace, not realizing that we lost John in the traffic, along with Bob. It wasn’t until we got to the HOG tent that we noticed there were no more John and Bob. Figuring they knew there way, we went about checking things out. Now this was way before everybody had cell phones so we had no checking on John. While we were at the HOG site a sudden storm developed out of nowhere. The skies blackened like it was midnight and the winds started to pick up. Everyone, including ourselves, head for the big tent for cover; the winds got so strong that the tent started to lift off the ground and debris was flying everywhere. Then the rain came and came hard and fast, followed by hail. Very intense situation to be in. No one wanted to step from under the tent, but all were thinking it was going to collapse. The wind even knocked over a few bikes, it was wild. After about 40 minutes the storm passed and skies cleared up like nothing happened. Someone for the hotel where the rally HQ based itself told a group that a report of a small twister touched down not far from us. With all the excitement going on we forgot about John, then out of the steam mist from the hot blacktop and cool rain came John, like the scene from Days of Thunder where Tom Cruise first shows up on the racetrack riding a Harley. Immediately we went over to him and ask where the hell he went.

After a few “you F ing guys” for loosing him, he said since he wasn’t to sure where to go he followed Bob. Bad choice; Bob lead him straight to the biker rodeo he wanted to go to all weekend. Once they got there, they became part of the storm. Problem was they had no place to run for cover. So being pissed about being lost in traffic, dealing with Bob for the past 24 or so hours and winding up somewhere he didn’t want to be in a near tornado - WITH BOB, John told Bob if he comes near him again he’ll have to hurt him. That took care of Bob for the rest of the weekend. After a few war stories of the past event the four of us headed out and spent the rest of the weekend hanging out, riding, playing pool (where we were accused of hustling people and almost got into a bar fight – hey what can I say, I use to play the game well) and keeping good company. When we left on Sunday, we exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch. As John and I were packing up, a camp ground employee stopped by our site and asked what we were doing camping there. Not sure what he was talking about, we said this was where the office told us to go. He noticed that the folks all down the row where set up one space over from where they should be, probably because of the way the lots were marked. He then asked if the site was roped off. We said yes and we thought it was what they did for empty lots. The man then told us that the site was roped off because the ground was contaminated and they were waiting for the DEP to check the soil. GREAT. Nothing like finding that out as we were heading out.

After all that, and the experiences from the long weekend (not to mention that we may have indulged a bit too much in during that time), all I wanted to do was go home and sleep. That was slightly altered though. Remember that tubeless tire? Well it finally let loose an hour into the ride home. Little did I know that there was a tube inside those spoked rims. How the tire lasted for 4 days I don’t know, plus some high speed were involved as well. At this point 50 cans of fix-a-flat wouldn’t help me. With it being Sunday and both of us having no idea where we were, things looked grim. So John called a friend of ours and asked if he could pick up John’s truck and come get us. We gave him the pay phone number we were at (that damn no cell phone thing again) and after a few calls and few wrong roads, our buddy showed up 5 hours later. We load the wounded Sporty and John’s bike into the back of the truck and made our long trek home and I got to bed about 11pm. The next day at work was pretty rough to get through, that’s for sure. I got home Monday after work and hit the sack at 5pm and slept for 13 hours.

Looking back the rally has a special place in my memories. Granted the event itself was a little lack luster, but everything else that occurred was certainly something to smile about. Dario and I became lifelong friends. We have spent time with each others families and Tina, the kids and I attended his wedding on a tourboat in Long Island. Since then Dario had a messy divorce and moved to Virginia but he is just as jovial and fun to speak with and we keep in constant contact. You never know what life has to offer, but you can almost always guarantee that you’ll meet some fascinating people while riding your Harley. Looks like now there is going to be a road trip to VA one day soon to visit an old friend and gather new stories.