But, honestly, it just didn't do it for me this year. We've been invaded. I guess it was inevitable, nothing can stay grassroots/small circle/garage built goodness forever. The do-rags were out in full force, Affliction t shirts, swole up roid boys, fat tire horridness, Guido crotch rockets with 300 mm tires. Mean mugs were everywhere, up and down the vendor rows...yeah, I said it - rows upon rows of vendors. Selling seats, t shirts, you name it.
There were absolutely some wonderful motorcycles present. I'll be posting those up in the days to come. But from someone that isn't one of the chosen few, uber kewl secret handshake kids or a dude in a group of drunken 20 somethings, I felt out of place. Thanks to the Biltwell boys for letting me steal some shade and a quiet corner for most of the afternoon. These pictures actually make it look a lot better than it was.
I think this sticker, while a grammatical wreck, about summed up the day:
