{"id":30012,"date":"2026-10-02T00:12:35","date_gmt":"2026-10-02T00:12:35","guid":{"rendered":"urn:bikertrash-source:cyrilhuze\/index.html"},"modified":"2026-10-08T23:10:16","modified_gmt":"2026-10-08T23:10:16","slug":"cyril-huze-archive-12","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/?p=30012","title":{"rendered":"Cyril Huze"},"content":{"rendered":"

Originally published:<\/strong> 2004
Original publication:<\/strong> BikerTrash.com
Original byline:<\/strong> Not confirmed<\/p>

The following is re-printed with permission.
Visit the Cyril Huze website<\/a> for a look at how he creates custom motorcycles that are real works of art.<\/p> ROAD STORIES<\/b>

Cyril Loves To Ride And Write.
<\/b><\/p>

After each day riding, driving or trailing, Cyril loves to jot down his travel emotions.
The landscapes he crossed, the new and old friends he met, the joys and pains on the road, everything is a pretext for filling up his diaries.
From time to time, this page will fill up with a new road story, a real life experience that should convince every one that Cyril has a total passion for life, for his friends and his motorcycles.<\/i><\/p>

Sturgis With A Little Help From My Friends
<\/b>(C) Cyril Huze<\/p>

It ‘s a special Thursday.<\/p>

I am about to drive & trail from South Florida to South Dakota to live again one of the biker ‘s ultimate dreams, Sturgis Bike Week.<\/p>

Damien, my 17 years old son will be my companion and road partner, and neither of us is sure who is more excited. Conscious of the importance of this pilgrimage, we spend the day before doing and redoing our checklist. From our road steps to Sturgis, to the Black Hills Rally events we don’t want to miss. From the listing of all South Dakota scenic roads, we will ride again to the old friends we have to meet. From the Indian Sioux tribes, we will visit to the bike shows where my new Customs will compete. My 2 new Customs already sit inside the trailer. Each just went through 4 hours of detailing! The 4 of us are impatient as we prepare to leave my city of Boca Raton at 8AM. Every year we feel the same: always the same emotion, the same joy, the same bit of anxiety at the idea of the 2375 mile drive which still separates us from dream to reality. From “I will make it” to “I made it again!”<\/p>

We cross the Florida border without realizing it. Damien is in charge of the music and has made a broad and eclectic selection of CD’s to adjust to our moods and to the musical state of mind of the States we salute. Fortunately, we share almost the same taste: from Hank to Hendrix, from the Stones to U2, from Neil Young of 20 years ago to Neil Young of today (For me, Neil is representing perfectly the romantic road warrior). When we enter Georgia, we hear “Georgia on my mind”. In Tennessee we listened to country music. When we pass a biker, we sing with Neil Young “somewhere on the desert highway she rides a Harley Davidson, her long hair flying in the wind, the chrome and steel she rides.” Outside Nashville, we pass an open trailer with 3 Harleys. It will be the first of a long, long list of brothers & sisters we will see heading to the same summer biker’s capital. On their trailer, a sign reads “going to Sturgis”. Sounds even better than “just married”. <\/p>

I have no sign, but my custom low rider truck (yes, 4 \u00bd” from the ground!) with my low profile trailer (yes, enclosed and as low as the truck) is more than a Custom Builder ID Card. We drive side by side for a few miles, a mutual sign of friendship. We occupy the entire highway. We stay silent. Damien smiles. The Sturgis experience just began. We are happy.<\/p>

Each stop along the highway is an incredible experience. Though I am accustomed to satisfy the curiosity of those wanting to see what is inside the trailer, it still amazes me that people show such an interest for us. Truckers stop eating to talk to us. Waitresses ask for (or take) a 5 minutes break to take pictures of the bikes. Small gift to a husband, a boyfriend, a biker friend or to themselves posing in front of Custom Bikes. Damien & I are overwhelmed by such friendship. We not only share the same state of mind,we follow the same religion. Almost everyone we meet, biker or not (but all bikers in their minds), wish they could join us. Building custom motorcycles is not always as much fun as people imagine, but the emotional rewards are always immense. When I get tired of driving across the country, I like to look in the rear view mirror imagining the bikes happy to go where they go, to a rally or back home. For me, they are real persons, my road companions, my close friends, the ones that give me so much joy, the ones with whom I am never alone.<\/p>

By experience, I know that no one can drive or ride 2500 miles without incident. The first one will really frighten me. Everywhere we stop we get, without difficulty, a first floor room so that we can keep our eyes on the trailer. In St Louis, the hotel manager is a biker. He convinces us to unload the bikes, something I never do before final destination. He offers us an extra free room to keep the bikes. Too nice. I can t refuse, he would be upset. An employee has also offered to help lift the bikes above a sidewalk, between the parking lot and the room. This employee doesn t understand our instructions and pulls one bike when we want it to be lifted. Result: the front fender rear gets scratched. The bike is wounded. I hurt deep inside. The employee realizes his mistake. He sits down on the curb, his head in his hands, devastated. Hotel guests and their children around us stay silent. Nothing to say. Returning to the room after dinner to check again the damage, a piece of paper is taped on the door. On it, two children guests drew both bikes. It reads: We love your bikes. It will win! Signed Sarah & David. I am touched and smile again. There is so much love around us that we will, for one night, forget the incident.<\/p> The second event takes place in a tiny country diner somewhere in Kansas. seated near a window, we see a brother pulling into the parking lot, his Harley Shovelhead out of breath and finally dying in front of us. Its rider is exhausted, face burned by too many days in full sun. the license plate reads Florida. As he abandons his machine to take refuge inside, he notices my rig. No difficulty to recognize his owner. Randy rode from Smyrna Beach. For 2 days his machine has a massive electrical problem. Three shops in a row failed to resolve the problem. Randy arrives in Kansas with $50.00 and a box of fuses left in his pockets. He is an airbrush artist heading to Sturgis. We are 775 miles away. It should be his 7th. He tells me, “Cyril, it will be the first time in 7 years that I will miss Sturgis.” Damien has already abandoned his cheeseburger. In the parking lot he is opening the trailer back door, ready to load in the paralyzed Shovelhead. Damien, do you know how much I love you? For the next 2 days Randy is a fun companion. In the back of the truck, Damien & him are playing Harley trivia. Thanks to Randy, I learn a few more things about Harley history.
No sign on the road send more chills up my spine than the one that reads South Dakota. I know the bikes feel the same. In front of us, a couple of bikers with a Louisiana plate wave at the same sign. Sturgis is still 320 miles west, but bikers always find a way to make the last miles. We are in Sioux Falls, my last chance to fix, on time, my wounded Custom. I go directly to a local biker friend. He immediately calls the only Harley Doctor in town. 15 minutes later, Tom the doctor inspects the patient. Good sign, he falls in love with the bike. Then I freeze when I hear “nothing I can do”. Tom turns at least 15 times around the bike mumbling “too risky, too risky”. Randy & Damien encourage him to try to fix this fender. I approve. After a few more turns around the sick, Tom finally decides to try. Am I praying? I don’t look at the fender, just at Tom. I hear 2 small noises. He is smiling, looks at me and says, “where was the problem?”.Tom refuses to be paid. Just wants a picture of the bike. Thanks Tom. Guys like him should make the money surgeons are making. A paint touch up at arrival in Sturgis and nobody will ever know . The last 320 miles are the most exciting. Free Bird from Lynyrd Skynyrd is pulsed through the 4 amps of my Chevy. We are surrounded by thousands of bikers and trailers. We first wave at each other till we realize that it’s impossible to wave every second. Now, we are in the Rally. At sunset, we cross the Badlands. It looks like the pure child of mother earth with the moon. The sky is blue & pink. The Badlands are sand and red. The Great Spirit lives in this Sioux territory. It’s magic. I shut off the truck sound system. Do I hear Indian songs? First ecstasy in Sturgis. Driving through the Black Hills proves also to be an emotional experience.

Here they are, dark green and sand, its canyon roads ready to absorb 350,000 bikers from all over the planet. Randy leaves to join his airbrushing friends. We move in our usual cottage located in Spearfish. For the first night, Damien is too excited to sleep. As soon as they are unloaded, he polishes the bikes. We finally collapse when the chrome shines. On our first morning in Sturgis, a deer, wandering around the cottage, salutes us. Daytona should import deer. Just an idea!<\/p>

Archive 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.<\/small><\/p>\n\n\n

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Originally published: 2004Original publication: BikerTrash.comOriginal byline: Not confirmed The following is re-printed with permission. Visit the Cyril Huze website for a look at how he creates custom motorcycles that are real works of art. ROAD STORIES Cyril Loves To Ride And Write. After each day riding, driving or trailing, Cyril loves to jot down his … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[422],"class_list":["post-30012","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-people","tag-pe006"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30012","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=30012"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30012\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":900568,"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30012\/revisions\/900568"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=30012"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=30012"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/motorcyclesontheroadagain.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=30012"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}