When you go to an event at a farm named Boogie- you better expect some clam jammin.

The camping scene was legendary in itself

Let me start off this blog by giving you a little background about myself and my life as far as motorcycle culture goes.  I grew up in a two wheeled family.  My father, my uncle, their friends and families became my family.  Growing up in the 80's motorcycle scene gives you a certain expectation of life as a biker.  I was that little dirty barefoot kid running around the rally making people ask- Where is her mother?!  Watching burnout contests, slow races, spoon and egg races, packing as many riders on one chopper and making it to the finish line.  Everyone jumping in to help pick up your bike when you dumped it, was there to throw beer all over you when you won- this love of life was SO MUCH FUN- how could anyone do the biker scene any differently?  Brotherhood, laughs, beers and stories until the sun came up.  Now, I know that having expectations is just an open door to being disappointed.. so I should've expected it in the long run. Working in the Harley business decades later has not only let me down from time to time, but it has also exhausted my love of bikes, riders and the biker life- and left me feeling like I lost my way. It's a job.  Like any other job- only I get to sell the freedom of the open road and the core bad ass element for anyone who wants to stray from the pack.  I am a rider. Plain and simple. Put me on a bike, Ill ride the shit out of it.  Bagger, custom, racer, chopper, I'll give it hell with what I got.  I do not weld,  I do not fabricate, I'm no mechanic, I don't take photos, or paint bikes.  I have a hard time thinking I'd fit in, in a group of talented people who's blood sweat and tears goes into their rides.  But my heart and soul burns with longing for the road, yearning for the feeling of family when the only thing that ties you together is the shared love of adventure, talking about bike builds until dawn, and sharing mile after mile of open highway.  I want to be on my wheels, constantly.  I want to wander, I want to roam, I want to sleep under the stars and feel like I'm one with the world again!

Every once in a while I get the spark back- that reminder that not everyone is a press pleated khaki, Harley polo wearing, weekend warrior.  (No offense to anyone, its just not MY style or interpretation of the lifestyle)  The core, the life, the heartbeat of the subculture of choppers and two wheels is alive and well in this beautiful country- and I've been lucky enough to witness it again this year. Getting back to MY roots- and knowing that these kids are still out there defending their freedom on two wheels, and having one hell of a good time doing it.

When I went to Mama Tried in February, I got to meet a lot of builders, photographers, merch vendors, enthusiasts, and riders.  Seeing some of their faces and bikes again this past weekend at the Boogie Farm Clam Jam was just the tip of the awesomeness iceberg.  I heard about the event from following people I met at the other shows on Instagram and Facebook.  Social media is such a great thing these days- and when I saw the pictures and friendly comments from last year, I knew I had to go.  I requested my weekend off far in advance, planned my trip- unfortunately my '76 wasn't done- being reminded it is a "winter" project and I'd spent my free time just riding the bikes that do run- so I jumped on my trusty Slim Toxie packed with a tent, a blanket, an extra shirt, extra socks and water, and hit the road.  Yes, alone- because the double edged sword of being a gypsy soul and wanting to wander, is you have to find like- minded people who also share the love of the ride... I came up short this year and had no one along for the ride. No worries- more beer for me!

The ride down was awesome, a few stops and 500 miles later, I reached the Boogie Farm.  Meeting Kyle and Jess, the owners of the farm, as soon as I arrived was cool.  Hopefully I won't always be remembered as the girl who rode up and said "Hi I don't know anyone. where can I park?"  Kyle generously gave me the run down and told me the best place to put my tent, and if anyone cared they could fuck off.

I'm already liking this place....

I set up camp and parked my bike, waiting for everyone to return from the lake ride, that I missed due to poor scheduling and my typical lolly gagging demeanor.  I'm never in a hurry when I'm riding, and Id rather take the scenic route, it's when fun shit happens. Plus, I wasn't the only late arrival.  A group from Peoria, a group from Chicago- apparently its an Illinois thing..  OR we all forgot about the hour time difference. *shrug*  there was also a group from Columbus Ohio chilling in the shade when I rode my bike to the far end of the field where I set up camp so the trees would be my shade too. Then I set out to meet some people.


I can't tell you everyone's names, or their bikes, It was a complete blur to be honest. I was in awe and recognition that I had found a good thing. I needed this. So I just let go and went with the flow.
The endless (it seemed) kiddie pools filled with HAMMS and water were a god send on such a hot day- and finding bits of shade in between scoping the bikes was necessary. I settled in near the vendors, just to see what was going one, learning that there would be a wedding at the clam jam today- pretty fucking epic.  It reminded me of a scene from Hell's Angels on Wheels, walking down an isle of choppers to the sound of all of their friends' hoots and hollars! Now THIS is a wedding.  I've never seen so many grungy biker dudes tear up.  It's a secret and soft, warm feeling when you see two people so in love- and being in a loving and supportive environment surrounded by friends, family and random ass free loving bikers. I'm jealous of their love, and I know with a bond like that- so deep and natural, primitive and real, they will last for ever.  The short vows that cut to your heart and soul.. now that was the tear jerker!  Proudly displayed as man and wife, they took everyone's mind off of the sweat bees and heat- and reminded us all of why we were there- not just for the wedding, or the event- but for each other.

After the 'ceremony' the bride and groom offered up a free meal of smoked meat and veggies, coleslaw and fixin's - to be honest I didn't feel like I was supposed to be there, but as the day progressed, my feelings changed, and I felt like I should have always been there. The sun slowly dropped in the sky, and it was time for the raffles- The amount of generosity given up in the small circle of bikers was astounding- everything from a springer front end to helmets and parts, trophies for best bike, longest ride and paint- the reactions from the winners were all genuine and priceless.  Well deserved to the lot of them- just how to tie that trophy on your chop??

Finally, as the sun said its last goodbye, chopper games.  The slow races made me wish I had my ironhead... I may have given Fargo a run for his money... I opted out on the waiver earlier in the day, knowing full well I couldn't participate in the games, the 50 races, or the slip and die on the other side of the hill... I went as a spectator.

I was that quiet girl, standing on the sidelines, not getting in photos, not getting in the way, not making my presence known.  I wanted to experience it all, uninhibited and completely open.

I'd say it was a complete success.  I got to talk choppers with a few guys- I took in what they wanted to tell me, what they wanted to show me... I'm not the most learned person when it comes to all of the makes and motors- the customizations possible are endless and there were a lot of them there.  Two strokes, Evos, Ironheads, Pans, Single cylinder and Four strokes...stretched, springers, cafe, hardtail, bagger and even mini side car?!   I know what I sell- and I sell production.  Its no where NEAR as fascinating as what you can do when a torch and welder are involved, so listening to their stories, their builds and the details and time they put in to their bikes- I was just in awe.  I loved listening to them.  I love listening to anything that isn't every day to me.  Most people I talked to were surprised I rode alone, but that's a typical response.  I enjoy the road alone.  I got to share my story with a select few who took the time to seek me out- for one reason or another- I met a few women who rode out on their choppers, some from quite the distance.. reminding me of my younger days when I had the spare time and fire in my belly. The Party element was in full effect, with a projected movie on the side of the barn, still bottomless HAMMS in the pools, and with the sun down, the party was able to expand out and around the bikes, a bon fire lit up and the beer boxes made the perfect kindling.
At some point I remember a T-Rex showing up to boogie- I was awarded a string of beads- I shared a few tokes, watched a few crap games, cheerfully related to a gal who had the same year Ironhead as me, wishing she too, could have ridden hers out.  We'll show em next time.

the route i took haulin balls with my 103

I quietly took my happy head and retreated to my tent, where the sounds of parties and chatter around smaller fires lulled me to sleep.  The next morning, we all rose with the sun, and heat- slowly getting our bearings, sharing stories from the night before- packing up our bikes and getting ready to once again, hit the dusty road.  For some, the destination was Sturgis. Some headed to the city to get parts others on the ride to the next party or chopper family get together- and yet a few had no plans, just ride.  My destination was home.  I had company for the first hour and a half- thanks to one of the Chicago crew, then off alone, again, to return to life- and remember why I do what I do.  The reflection on that ride made me smile...

To anyone reading this that was there.. thank you.  Thank you for being the vein of humanity, the last shred of real in this world.  Accepting, loving, fun and fearless- you are the motorcycle community that I love and remember from my childhood.  You are the youth of the chopper world, and it needs to live on.  This party will be on my regular.  I will have my Ironhead, and I may sign that waiver.... just to give Mumbles a sled ride.
Boogie on Road Warriors... see you next year.