In 1981, a group of friends gathered and the tradition was born. Through word of mouth, the gathering has grown year over year from a group of 25 friends, to thousands upon thousands that causes the village of 500 to balloon.
I attended my first Friday the 13th in 2007. I rode in with two other friends and we spent the day in awe of the numbers of people, chrome, and leather. Somewhere along the way we were separated but that was fine with me. I was in my own world.
Yesterday, I was there again, as I have been for every good weather gathering, and most cold weather ones, too, since my first visit. After a while, it all looks like a blur. Bikes upon bikes, roaring engine after roaring engine, chrome upon chrome, and vendor after vendor. It’s a biker’s paradise.
Everyone, for the most part, is there. The dominant clubs, the support clubs, the riding clubs, the ministries, and the weekend warriors. And everyone gets along. The media portrayal of the bad biker is shattered with every conversation.
That’s the best part. You can talk to anyone because they are all there for the same reasons – the love, and excitement, of the motorcycle and lifestyle. As thousands gather, each person has a story, and in that moment, they share their common passion.