STURGIS GOT NOTHING ON GALVESTON!

And so it began on Thursday, with a procession of trailers and bikes; over the causeway they came in droves. They filled the island for four days with vibrating, heart-pounding noise and brilliant displays of every color. The seawall was lined on both sides with every variety of motorcycle, sling shot, and even a few golf carts (appropriately painted and dressed out of course:) The weather was beyond gorgeous, in the 60’s during the day. The hotels were filled to capacity, as were the restaurants. The local shop owners welcomed them with open arms. Truth be known, many of the bikers are actually professionals during the week. The crowd was respectful, even at night; although The Strand was elbow-to-elbow with street dancing the order of the day.

They did bring with them a flea market with a plethora of t-shirts and leather jackets. Interestingly enough, they also brought their own lawyers, just in case an insured vehicle didn’t give way to the bike and injury resulted. There were, of course, the latest in clothing choices with the every-popular “Let’s Go Brandon” shirts:) There was even a “Bike Blessing” available on Bike Bless Rd (an impromptu lane in front of the Galvez). Considering the accidents that are common on this Bike Fest weekend, a blessing wasn’t a bad idea.

It’s difficult to say whether the Galvez owner was particularly pleased with the bikers’ choice, but the hotel was definitely a favorite venue. Considering the price of a room there since the renovation, I’m guessing the bikers’ dollars were welcome in spite of the noise. While many locals chose to leave the island for this weekend, I personally enjoyed every minute of the excitement.

At the end of the weekend, as I look back over all the machinery available for viewing, there were a few that standout in my mind. The sling shots (3-wheel bikes encompassed in a fiberglass body with constant motion lighting) and the lone purple bike were my personal favorites. Admittedly, I will miss the excitement; however at 2 a.m. I may not miss the wakening by the Harley’s “potato-potato” mating call. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times:)