June Lake 99’
The air was cool and crisp at six am that Friday morning.
The sun was barely breaking through the hazy marine layer.
The dew still hugged the windshields of nearby parked cars.
There’s a soft quietness to that early time of day.
Then suddenly the sleepy morning quiet shatters.
The roar of thirty Harleys scream to life in unison.
The Labor Day weekend and June Lake lay ahead.
They’ll navigate hundreds of miles of blacktop.
Together on this journey and the party beyond.
Road worn leather boots, rest atop highway pegs.
Long hair flailing behind, escaping from beneath black half dome helmets.
As they head towards the freeway side by side two abreast.
Their chrome polished like Roman armor glistening in the morning light.
It truly is a sight that is not easily forgotten by spectators young and old.
Brothers one and all.
A moving sea of black leather.
Adorned by a Patch that makes them one.
It’s an lifestyle not everyone can understand.
Yet it is their uniqueness, their fierce need to be different that binds them as brothers.
As old Shovelheads strain to keep up with the more powerful V-twins,
The rider’s faces taught filled with concentration covered with road grime.
Finally hours later reaching that final gas stop before the last leg of the ride.
Heads always turn as they ride in to refuel.
Bandannas wipe miles of highway dust from tired faces.
A whistle blows loudly and the pack once again roars to life.
Sometimes reaching speeds exceeding eighty miles an hour only inches apart
As they burn up the final miles of pavement on this annual ride.
Seeking out every second of daylight as they push on to make camp for the night.
Their Northern brothers wait downing ice cold beer.
Then off in the distance roaring like summer thunder they hear the pack
The anticipation heightens as the sweet smell of barbecue smoke drifts through the camp
Its all about the miles traveled and memories to be made.
Every year at June Lake.
Six Shooter Sally
9/99
