The introverted side of my ambivert personality kicked in this year. Other than decent conversation I had with a seasoned enthusiast I did not partake of any of the events surrounding bike week. I’m not saying that bike week wasn’t full of excitement and adventurous opportunities. It’s just that when you’ve spent the last 20 years of your life bouncing around Daytona Bike Week every year it begins to lose its luster.
Ironically, every year I’ve attended I went by myself because I want to get there, absorb the environment for a while, then leave when I’m ready to leave. Additionally, when I’m pressed for time it’s very hard to unwind and take in the scene. Too many priorities back at home made for a tight window of freedom where I rode down, cruised the main drag, hit a few bars, then immediately retreated North to St. Augustine where I spent the night.
I’m a very light sleeper–One thing that I’m done with is getting a hotel room right in the midst of the action, then having to listen to Harleys roar up and down the street all night. In the past when I lived in South Miami and West Palm Beach all I had to do was run up to Daytona, party hard all day and slow poke my way back down South. Wash, rinse and repeat the next day. That has not been the situation for a long time.
The game plan these days has been to do a semi-turn and burn. Pick a rally point North of Daytona before riding down, riding hard to Daytona, party all day and retreat North before sundown. This way I can have time to wind down, get some rest, then have a shorter distance to pound the pavement back home to Alabama.
This year the game plan was particularly advantageous as a large storm from the West progressively overtook the entire Florida panhandle. I devised an alternate route through the Southeastern corner of Georgia to avoid the torrential onslaught of rain. Those that put partying before safety decided to stay longer in Daytona and paid the price the following day as they had to ride the entire trip through blinding wind and rain–Forced to make frequent stops and take refuge at random gas stations.
Having gone through that in the past when I traveled I-40 West to New Mexico, Arizona and California I wasn’t about to needlessly go through an ordeal like that again.
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