Body Art and Bikefests

I once had a College Board member in Illinois who was into motorcycles. He first bought a Harley and then invested in a tattoo that covered his entire back. He said he allowed an artist to create “on the virgin canvas of his body.” I thought that was a little weird. And, quite honestly, I couldn’t relate. In my Bethalto days, I owned a Honda 80. Going downhill, I could achieve speeds of the low forties. I enjoyed scooting around town but I never considered giving my rather large canvas to an artist.

Since moving to Snyder I have adjusted my views of bikers and the whole “get your motor running…dead out on the highway” mentality. I have now survived three White Buffalo Bikefests, two of which as the chamber of commerce president, and I have to tell you…there is no way to quickly label the folks that climb onto a “crotch rocket” and drive to our fair town every year for the festival.

Or there are certainly the stereotypical hard-drinking, grizzled, tattooed, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, leather-wearing types that have voices that match the sounds of their machines. But that doesn’t tell the story. There are also baby boomer investment bankers, law enforcement professionals, educators and folks who own businesses that could buy and sell me three times over. They just love the open road and the freedom of it all.

I have to say, in my brief and limited experience, they are perfect guests to any community. Literally thousands descend on Snyder each year bringing thousands of dollars, very little trouble and when they leave the community is nothing but enriched for the experience. Having said that, I have no personal interest in investing in my own Harley transportation.

Oh, I once thought about it. In fact, every time I have started to warm to the idea, it appears that someone upstairs has tapped me on the shoulder. When I was a broadcaster, it seemed that each time I was contemplating such a purchase, I’d have to lead a newscast with details of the latest motorcycle fatality. Recently, one of the most admired members of my own administrative cabinet was launched fifty feet in the air on a local highway before landing on her head and hand. She laid motionless for three weeks before God intervened and brought her back to life. There usually is one common denominator to all of these accidents----it isn’t the cyclist’s fault. It is the car driver who “doesn’t see” the victim…or…in my CFO’s case….the idiot who decided to drive his truck blocking both lanes of traffic at the base of a hill.

It isn’t the cyclist’s fault…..and yet….without a more substantial vehicle around them….it is the motorcyclist who either dies or is maimed.

I’ll be fine to drive my Ford Explorer on weekends. I can roll down the windows if I need the feel of the wind rushing through both of my hairs. And as for the virgin canvas of my body? If you connect the moles on my back, it is easy to visualize a great white Buffalo.

A very pale and angry bison.