Remember when all the real bikers went down to Daytona and their old lady's would show you their juggs anytime you asked? What about back when three times out of five you could get a transplanted Tennessee stripper back to your motel room only to pass out in your own vomit? It was a time well before the droves of film crews followed every swinging dick down there that could weld doo-dads to his bike and every bar had a "no-colors" policy.
Well kids, the past is the past and Daytona Beach is a much tamer place than it once was. With the hard living set being well over the hill, Mr. and Mrs. outlaw biker are now Mr. and Mrs. in-law Triker. The lax officers of the past are now in full force working for the clampdown, with the tourniquet of authority being felt at every illegal right hand turn.
Yes, it's true, girders have been replaced by baggers on Main Street, but all this doesn't mean us chopper heads can't go down there and have a good time. When we showed up to Daytona Beach this year the beer was just as cold and the ladies just as hot as they have ever been. Throw in some hijinks from our pals at the Limpnickie lot and a few trips to Biggins and to tell you the truth we actually had one hell of a time.
See you down there next year! SC