BIKETOBERFEST in Daytona Beach is an international award-winning motorcycle festival that offers participants an extended weekend get-away brimming with plenty of sun, beaches, bikes and fun! Thousands of bikes—and there are no two alike!—roar all around town. Popular activities include motorcycle shows and rallies that showcase new, vintage and custom bikes; demonstration rides on the newest machines from top manufacturers; and on-track motorcycle action at the world-famous Daytona International Speedway. You can also enjoy endless live music and plenty of people-watching.

This is a mini Sturgis on the beach and is one of my favourite USA rallies. Florida has great weather, sun, and all the girls who don’t wear much in this sort of weather.

Big Ballz and I did the obligatory walk down the main and perved on all the beauties and the bikes, got our ‘been there’ patches for our vests, and headed to the bar.

The main drag has a number of great bars and each fires at different times of the day. At around 2 pm our choice was Boot Hill Saloon; no spirits but plenty of beer and boobs.

After some slight lubrication we wandered down to Dirty Harry’s which had a hot fanny competition (steady on boys, fanny in USA is arse! Although either could have worked from what we saw). Big Ballz and I were in the front row and obviously loud. We won a couple of supporter T-shirts and the security took a shining to us and gave us the hint about the wet T-shirt competition coming up across the road. So we decided we had better have a look.

By 6 pm Big Ballz was talking a dialect of aboriginal or something, and we stumbled from bar to bar until 7 pm where we were again refused entry. Probably had something to do with the fact Big Ballz had finger-tested most test tube shooters, told them they were shit and wouldn’t buy them (of course I paid for them).

Having been escorted to the curb and pointed in the direction of a taxi, I decided to take the hint and take Big Ballz home—and what had been a $40 taxi ride earlier now became a $90 return fare. I argued with the taxi driver who stopped at the Hilton and told us to get out. I told him to have a good day, saluted and slammed the door. If I was to pay $90 we may as well stay at the Hotel and work something out tomorrow. I was doing quite well negotiating a rate for the night until Big Ballz slid off the counter, collapsed onto the floor asleep. It was at this time that we were told we should look elsewhere.

No to be discouraged, I hailed a taxi, told him we were going to St Augustine and I’d pay cash. Greedily, he accepted. When we arrived, he said $85; I threw $50 and said, “Sorry, that’s all I got.” To the sound of abuse he rumbled off into the distance.

Night 2 started much the same as the previous day but we slowed down a little, survived til 8 pm where we met with Turbine, Tiler, Dan and Bridget, and went to a bar with karaoke. We had an awesome night. The oldies left at 11 pm. In fact Tiler got her nickname after this night, as on the way home she spent more time on her knees crawling than walking and looked like a floor tiler.

Big Ballz and I were tuning a few local gals and feeding them with oysters and booze; they went to the toilet and didn’t return.

I lost Big Ballz about 1 am when he came over and demanded the camera as the MILF Hunter was here. Evidently this gentleman makes some sort of documentaries. All I know is that there were bevy of beautiful admirers around him and some of the ladies had obviously split drinks on themselves and were licking the ullaged off each other.

I awoke at approximately 4 am with Big Ballz yelling, “It’s all about the fucking code.” I told him to shut up and go to sleep.

In the morning we determined that he had been arrested on the beach semi-naked, was cuffed, searched, and the cops said if he could remember his hotel and entry security code, they would take him home; otherwise it was off to the lock-up. Unbelievably, Big Ballz remembered the code—although he lost all his cash, his mobile phone and a bracelet.

Of course Biketoberfest isn’t all about boobs and beer—there are bike rides too; and one ride that can’t be missed is to Bruce Rossmeyer’s Harley Davidson which is now the world’s largest Harley dealership. We waited in bike traffic for more than an hour to get in but what a sight—multi-level Harley shop, hotel, pub, eateries and dozens of trade booths. It was an incredible sight, and to pass thousands of bikes is just an experience you cannot fathom until you have down it.

On our way back we dropped off at the Broken Spoke which is another famous watering hole, and somewhere else that you queue with your bike to get in, but it’s cool to ride straight up to the bar and park.

Riding around for the next few days we passed Buck’s Gun Shop a number of times and vowed to pop in for a look. We walked in eyes agog as machine guns, long distance sniper rifles, pistols, and tear gas. Buck guessed we were out-of-towners and consented to give Big Ballz the largest handgun available and he proudly had his picture taken with it.

I spied a drawer full of police badges and folders, asked about their authenticity and was told most you need a permit for, others are for general policing. I couldn’t help myself, bought a Special Officer badge and flip wallet, which did come in handy later, although totally unplanned?