16th May to 19th May 2023
Sometimes we search out events, festivals, interesting gatherings and obscure things to witness. Sometimes these things find us by happenchance. Our trip from Charleston to Myrtle Beach initially took us along a quiet back road through the very beautiful and peaceful Francis Marion National Forest and then we rejoined the more coastal highway US-17. It was here that we started to notice the preponderance of motorbikes. Mostly Harleys. All massive. All noisy. Overwhelmingly being riden by well nourished, bandana wearing, sleeveless jerkin clad folk who were either verging on, or well and truely arrived in, the grey hair years. A quick interrogation of the Googs informed us that our stay in Myrtle was coinciding with ‘Myrtle Beach Bike Week’. This was perhaps not a spectacle that we would have actively sought out but we were now committed and realised that it would provide an opportunity to do some mass wildlife viewing that ordinarily we wouldn’t be a party to. Like the migration of the wilderbeast. It also explained why we had found it tricky to find an affordable RV site anywhere near Myrtle Beach and why we found ourselves nearer North Myrtle Beach – not that this really made alot of difference to our experiences over the next 3 days.
The landscape and the character of this section of coastline is very American. There is an endlessly long beautiful white sandy beach, then there is a wall of highrise hotels and appartment buildings built right on the waterfront in order to take full advantage of the view at the expense of all others. There were no beachside cafes or prommenades or cycle trails. Then there are a few blocks of low rise vacation rental homes, then there is a busy four lane highway lined with strip malls, petrol stations, restaurants, massive ‘beach gear’ sales emporiums, mini golf courses and other businesses. Our camp was just on the inland side of this highway and so a half mile or so from the beach. It was also right next door to a big commercial development of shops and eateries that was also home to a regional theatre, a marina on the inland waterway AND one of the hubs for the Bike Week.
There were big spluttering Harleys everywhere. These bikes, as many of you I am sure are aware, are often specifically modified to be extra noisy. They leave the factory with a patented ‘potato-potato’ sound adhering to the 80 db noise restriction but many do not stay that way. A quick change-out to a straight exhaust sans baffles converts their characteristic throaty tones into brain-liquefying, internal organ rearranging din. Apparently the adage ‘Loud Pipes Save Lives’ works on the theory that if you can hear them coming then you look out for them, therefore they are safer. To be honest, given the fact that about 99% of the riders did not wear helmets, I think that the basic ‘motorcycle survival strategies’ employed by the Harley community are a bit mis-informed. They must all be deaf as posts as well.
The main activity during a motorcycle rally is cruising around in large groups of your fellow tribe members. It is blisteringly sunny and you shrug on your minimal sun protecting sleeveless Harley apparel (and short shorts if you are a female pillion rider) and omit the suncream – the tattoos look better on a red background. You don your protective bandanna and wrap around sunglasses. (A fly in the eye is bad news- safety first.) Your pillion rider loads her iced drink into the obligatory cup-holder and the miniture yorkshire terrier into its custom pannier and off you thunder, rattling the windows of the buildings and the souls of your fellow road users as you pass by. Where are you going? Sometimes nowhere. Sometimes to a park-up zone. The local Harley dealer will always host one of these. You arrive, you park up, you walk around. In loud voices you compare Yorshire terriers, brands of aftersun and hearing aids and then drive on. You might stop at an expo zone at a hub like the one next to our camp. There will be countless stalls set up selling merchandise, more Harley apparel and custom parts and there will be huge mobile workshops housed in eighteen-wheeler trucks where you can get your bike mods done.
All the while you are checking out every one elses bikes. Some are standard issue and handsome. Some are achingly beautiful custom designs with curves and swoops of their farings and gleaming, glowing paint jobs. Some riders will be towing a coffin on a trailer with a manequin in it which he says is his ex-wife. Some riders have moved onto trikes which make all the same noises, give the same ‘wind in the hair’ experience, but stay upright when you let go of them and are a bit more forgiving to older bones and wobbly legs.
Some riders will turn up on bicycles, feeling like they’ve brought a knife to a gunfight and then wander around feeling a bit out of place but enjoying the short term immersion in an alien world. These bicycle riders will be on their way back from a trip to check out the beach. They will have decided that the coast here has been a bit ruined by all the development and wonder why they came in the first place. They will wonder why Yorkshire terriers seem to be so popular. They will marvel at the array of denim clothing.
A some point in their short stay here the bicycle riders will find a good place to have a beer and a burger- an important travelling superpower- and they will have a round of mini golf. One of them (M52) will win and be irritatingly gleeful. The other (F51) will remind the winner that she was far more dignfied in victory after their last round. The course in question was the site of the 2023 Pro Masters Tournament. Fancy.
The weather will break, the temperture will fall and the rain will come. They will have to put socks on. They will leave Myrtle Beach a bit bemused by the place and with no plans to rush back. Thank heavens for the Harleys. They were the highlight of the visit.