Original publication: BikerTrash.com
Original byline: Staff
2nd Annual Border Run
(C) 2000 by Miss BB The “Blue Rockers” name was barely visible on the scarred and burned gas tank. The fire-melted rubber bubbled unevenly across the footrest and the kickstand starter. The old flathead Harley had survived the fire – just barely. Wounded, but still alive, we loaded her into the belly of Billy’s baby puke colored van. (The next time we use pyrotechnics as part of a performance, we will be a little more careful – the concert goers probably thought that was just part of the act!)
The wee hours of the darkness covered us like a blanket as we headed out for El Paso, Texas and the 2nd Annual “border run”. Excitement is always a big part of these trips and I had been like a child waiting for Christmas as the time to leave drew near. Keeping track of the miles as they clicked off, I kept praying to the biker gods to deliver us safely to our final destination.
One stop in Benson, AZ for some minor auto parts – we were making great time! The heat waves seemed to be cooking my body and I was reminded of who is really in charge. Across the street I noticed a convenience store and decided to get a bag of ice for our, now lukewarm, drinks. As I strolled down the sidewalk I heard a Harley coming up fast. As I turned to face the lone rider I waved and he signaled back to me and turned into the convenience store parking lot. He was tall and had a big smile stretching across his weather worn face, a red bandana encircled his head, his dusty brown hair was tied back and braided. The waist length braid rested against his dirty, worn leather vest. His smile and “hello” were genuine. After introducing myself I asked if I could take a picture or two of him and his bike. He smiled, shuffled his feet, looked at the ground and shyly said “sure.”
He directed my attention to the custom-made leather piece mounted in between his gas tanks. He obviously had a special God given talent because it was a fine piece of work. He told me about trying to build his business for custom motorcycle leather pieces. As he pointed out a few dinks and marks he apologized for the imperfections of his beautiful chrome lady. Looking directly into his eyes I said “these are signs of battle wounds cut from the road, leaving behind a history of scars that claim her body just as it does to our own”
After getting my bag of ice, I asked if he would mind carting me back to the auto shop. He didn’t mind at all. Throwing my leg over the back fender, mounting up I held tight onto his shoulder. We pulled up to the van and saw Billy’s shoes sticking out. He was laying under the van, flat on his back against the melting black top. Billy slid out from under when he heard the thunder of a Harley beast pulling to a stop beside the van. Taking note Miss BB riding bitch didn’t surprise him in the least. Shaking his head and quietly laughing to himself, Billy extended his hand in friendship. Our time together was at an end so I stuffed the lone rider’s hand with my business cards, I thanked him for his courtesy and for the lift and assured him “I look forward to our next meeting wherever that may be.”
Laughing, he said “Oh, you’ll remember by bike for sure, but not me. No one ever remembers me. I will remember him, though. I will never forget the rider.”
Needing to cool my body from the baking rays of the afternoon sun I went into the ladies restroom with a remedy in mind. I removed the man’s white undershirt that I wore as my top, soaked it in the cool stream from the tap and replaced it over my chest once again. Ahhhhhhh, that’s the ticket! It was now cool and transparent against my body. When I entered the shop for a fresh cold soda, the room full of red necks took a long look at my semi-nude wardrobe. The men were eager to have my attention – unlike the women who cast their eyes to the shop floor not wanting to acknowledge my presence. Oh well, who cares?
The desert highway seemed to stretch on forever. Flat, dry, hazy skies vacant of clouds hung over us as we closed the gap to our final destination, El Paso, Texas.
Settling in at the Chase Suite Hotel sometime around 4 p.m. I called Jenna Scott of Borderland Promotion’s Border Run committee to confirm our arrival. When Randy Magee, owner of Rods & Wheels Bar & Grill, took his turn on the phone, I couldn’t help playing a nasty trick on him;
Sounding serious, with an edge of anger in my voice;I could hear laughter on the phone as fellow Border Run committee members learned how I fooled the great and almighty Randy Magee.
“Randy, its BB we’re still in Arizona, Billy’s been arrested. I’ve already got a call out to my lawyer and bail money being wired to me as we speak.”“What are the charges?” Randy said with broken words.
“Bogus charges, Randy, you know how it is. The pig’s pull you over, hate your looks and no matter what you say you’re f__ked. Of course it didn’t help that Billy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The pissed off pig slamming cuffs on him and throwing his f__kin ass in the cop car – not giving a shit he had a concert to do – and hauling him off to jail. I promise you I have my people working on it right now. I’ll have him out by morning. Don’t worry.”
I heard Randy whisper to someone, “Billy’s in jail!”
“There’s one more thing I have to tell you Randy.”
“What.”
“You do realize I’m pulling your leg?”
“Huh, I don’t understand?”
“I’m jackin’with you. Billy’s really not in jail, he’s standing right here beside me. You’ve just been fooled.”
Without a moment to rest from our 14-hour road trip, Billy Gordon and I headed to Rods & Wheels for an official welcome from the Border Run gurus. Walking into Rods & Wheels I caught sight of a fire engine red, 1939 El Series Knucklehead in mint condition. Uncontrollably drawn to the Knucklehead my will was no longer my own, I was possessed by the soul of the Harley before me. A sign leaning up against it read, “Owned by Susie Harper, Hand built by Larry Harper.” Moments later Susie Harper walked into Rods & Wheels. As she shared her story with me I learned the history behind this magnificent machine and its creator Larry Harper. Larry Harper worked endlessly on his Knucklehead, restoring it back to life with the skill of a surgeon. Two years ago, after completion, Larry was test riding another bike when a motorcar struck him down. His wife Susie vowed she would not sell her late husband’s pride and joy but has taken upon herself to learn how to ride. After she has mastered the riding skills of the road she will fulfill her husband’s wish by riding his Knucklehead and letting his dream live.
After a personal tour of Rods & Wheels, we decided to head back to the hotel, exhausted from the long road trip from Huntington Beach, California to El Paso, Texas. We were happy to be back in our room at the Chase Suite – the Chase Suite Hotel’s 2-bedroom suites with kitchen are better than most apartments I’ve lived in. Lord, oh mighty, where do I sign the rental release form so I can move right in!
Sometime around eight or nine o’clock that night we all got a thirst for some fine Southern Comfort night caps to top our first evening off right. But who wanted to find a liquor store and hassle with the road? “Not I.” Said the weary bikers, “Not I.” Said the Biker Bitch From Hell. A call to the front desk resulted in one of the employees hopping in his truck, going to a liquor store, buying the Southern Comfort and delivering it to our room. Now that is what I call service! You can believe that anytime I am in El Paso this is the place I will always stay.
Ahhhhhhhhhh, that hit the spot. Half lit and mostly brain dead a knock was heard at our door. Why if it wasn’t Larry Gore, Editor, webmaster and my boss from Bikertrash.com with his sidekick and traveling companion Buddy. I have to tell ya there are FEW, and I do mean few, I could ever work for without getting fired after I’d tell’em all to go f__k them selves. We all know bosses are like dirty diapers….full of shit. But there are exceptions to the rule; Larry is one of them. What a cool and right on guy Larry is. (I know all you readers out there think I’m really kissing ass and brown nosing it right now) When I run across people that are respectful and I feel I can sit down and talk to, I let’em know. Oh sure a raise would be nice too.
Smiling bigger than shit, Buddy passed on to me the ‘newest’ Bikertrash.com reporter, Huggy.
“What’s this?”
Thinking Buddy must of put on a good one last night.
“Your new best friend and the bikers emissary to the world.”
I looked at Huggy – a stuffed, hairy, brown teddy bear with black button eyes wearing his own black www.bikertrash.com T-shirt. Sporting his own BikerTrash.com press pass complete with his photo and a title of “Reporter”. The instructions said, “Hug me, I talk!” I squeezed the crap out of Huggy’s fat beer gut -not a burp, not a fart, not a peep could be heard.
“For some reason he stopped talking this morning” Larry said. “I think that riding 750 miles with Buddy must have scared him real bad and he’s just too traumatized to speak.
“Good.” I said, “I’d hate to be seen with a wussy talkin bear!” Huggy will be traveling around the world as he is passed along to different bikers, who can capture his adventures on photos to send back to BikerTrash.com for publication. After a period of time has passes with each new biker, Huggy must then be handed off to another so as to continue his around the world biker run. Yours truly, Miss BB, will be taking Huggy back to California for a little fun in the sun and then I will hand him off to another biker at the 18th Annual Laughlin River Run in Nevada in April.
Looking at Larry and Buddy though my evil blue eyes, “You mean Huggy’s to experience everything we do?”
“Sure, he’s a reporting biker bear.”
“You mean I can corrupt him if I want too?
“Ahhh, no Buddy already took Huggy to a whore house.”
“Oh my God, Larry, can I take a picture of him in bed with two naked girls smoking a cigarette like he just had sex?”
“Yes.”
“And getting drunk?”
“Yes”
“And getting kicked out of a bar for flying his Bikertrash.com colors?”
Larry now looked worried, “Well, yeah.”
Oh shit, look out world because here comes Miss BB with Huggy, one fun loving, traveling man willing to talk and write about everything he does and sees.
Barnett Harley-Davidson, Border Run Sponsor, was PACKED with scoots and bod’s! What’s the first thing Billy and I see as we’re walking in…guess. Ok here’s a little clue. What is brown, hairy and out to party? Why Huggy of course! There was Huggy assuming the position for one of El Paso’s finest, you know “up against the wall, asshole and Spread’em”. Rumor was that something not so legal (but homegrown) fell out of his pocket, rolled to a stop in front of the cop’s boot. Huggy said he was framed, that he found the item in question and was looking for a Cop so he could turn it in.
On a stroll around the place I saw “Adult Can Art”. What the heck is that? Gerald C. Davis takes a can of Harley-Davidson beer and gives’em some personality – and genitalia. The cans look like a normal figure of a person until you pull them up. The H/D biker dude can has a very impressive appendage and the H/D biker chick is biologically correct. Right. With a lot of help from a plastic (aluminum) surgeon maybe.
With Huggy tied down and placed under my arm so the little busy buddy wouldn’t get into anymore trouble for the evening, we went back to the Chase Suite Hotel for some well deserved R&R. Food in our belly, Southern Comfort warmin’ our gut Huggy and I settled down to watch the Lakers kick some ass.
Early Saturday morning, Huggy and I headed out to Iron Horse Saloon to meet up with Gene and Rene Hobson founders of Katja Epilepsy Foundation, Inc. Katja, Gene and Rene’s daughter, had suffered for years with epileptic seizures. In 1996 Gene and Rene Hobson founded the non-profit organization located in El Paso, Texas which assist 40 – 50 people a month stricken from this disease. The foundation provides financial assistance for medications; educational materials and other related costs. Today Katja lives without fear of seizure attacks due to a combination of medications and surgery.
Huggy and I wanted to get ahead of the biker parade. It was due to leave the Iron Horse Saloon and wind its way to McKelligon Canyon Park. The skies were clear blue with the promise of a beautiful West Texas day. I wanted to check out the McKelligon Canyon Amphitheater, a million-dollar outdoor entertainment facility, where Billy Gordon & The Blue Rockers concert was to take place later that afternoon. The mountain valley provided the natural backdrop to the stage. The scenery was impressive to say the least. Besides snapping photos I always talk to the bikers about the event happenings.
This was a relatively new event and there were some annoying logistical problems. The Border Run Event Committee sends out their most sincerely apology to you all. I quote, “We realize we over looked some things and promise not make the same mistakes next year.”
Billy Gordon & The Blue Rockers concert start time was supposed to be 5PM but due to some of the logistical problems the concert didn’t start until around 7PM. During the first set Billy enthralled the biker crowd with his Jimi Hendrick’s ‘Star Spangled Banner’ rendition running the effects of his red, white and blue guitar, amplified though his charred and blackened Flathead Harley engine. Raising the guitar high above his head, blue and green smoke snaked forth from the pick guard. Violently slamming the guitar upon the stage’s cement floor, wood splintered the guitar cried out its musical suicidal scream. Leaping into an original tune Billy fed the starving bikers a soul full of peace.
My “brother” Troll is a large man who is unfortunately locked to a metal walker that he had to exchange his Harley for. This makes getting to and from a real pain for him. During the concert break, Donna, Troll’s wife, asked if it would be alright if Troll, herself and a few family members could sit back stage because Troll can’t walk up or down the stairs that lead to the audience seating.
“Why of course, no need to ask any further.”
With everyone settled in, the second half of Billy Gordon & The Blue Rockers concert got under way. Darkness filled in where the afternoon shadows had ruled the desert valley. Music once again filled the valley with hot, sweaty rock n’ roll steam. Slamming a shot of Southern Comfort from the bottle to my lips, burning it’s way to my soul I began to dance. Powered by Billy’s command I left the stage joining all my brothers and sisters in the front row seating. Celebrating our right to freedom I danced for you, I danced for them; I danced for me, making love in rhythmic tune with the music.
Late that night as I slept peacefully, I was awakened by a lone Harley parked outside under my hotel bedroom window. His engine called out into the night air for “someone” – was he there for me? I got up and out of bed and before I could answer his call I heard him leave. Was this biker there for me? Did he have a message to convey? I can still hear his Harley calling nightly. I want to thank all the bikers who rode in for the Border Run, my brother Troll, his wife Donna and my new family. Live Free.
MissBBArchive notice: This article is preserved from the original BikerTrash.com archive. It reflects information available at the time of publication. Please verify dates, locations, prices, links, and other details before relying on them.