Steve’s Legendary New Years Day 2003 Montana Winter Ride

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Wednesday morning on January 1, 2003 - The New Year!
"The Legendary Ride"

New Years day has finally arrived and the first thing I did when I woke up besides getting coffee was to look out the window to see what the scoop was. The sun was starting to shine and the roads were frosty with temps in the mid 20s; looks like a good day to ride to me. After soaking in the spa, having breakfast and all that stuff, I rode to the rendezvous point at the Rhino Bar in Missoula at 11:30 am. The ride was supposed to start at 2 pm so we all hung out and drank coffee first, then beer and chili to warm our blood. There were also a lot of chatter and lies being told. Seems I was also the talk of the bar as word spread like wildfire that someone had ridden 915 miles all the way from California to attend. This was way above average as most long distance riders that lived more than 50 to 100 miles away trucked their bikes in. I could never figure out why anyone would truck a motorcycle rather than ride it, now I understand, they don't want to get the "Montana Patina" all over it.

Around 1:00 pm the bar became smoke filled and elbow to elbow so it was time for me to go outside and get some air and check out the bikes. I counted more than a hundred bikes and was told that riders came from Montana, Idaho and Washington. The Montana Legends mostly rode antique motorcycles, some with side cars and some without. There was every type of bike imaginable and it looked like most of them were after the oldest bike award. Now I can see why some were trucked in.

I saw painted Indian Chiefs, Knuckleheads, and Panheads dating back to the 40s, 50s and 60s, and numerous Shovelheads. One guy brought his Harley 45 from Coeur d’Alene in the back of a beat up Ford pickup. Other antique bikes included a BMW R27, a Honda Dream, a Vespa 125, two Urals, and a bunch of the local sport bike riders braved the elements on their shiny modern Japanese machines. Of course, there are always Harleys, ranging from new and old and choppers as well. I even saw a chopped BMW and an 85-year guy riding his BMW R100. There was also a collection of old rust buckets and worn out Hondas. The Montana Legends provided a pretty stunning collection of antique bikes and all of the riders were wearing Hawaiian Shirts, they sure stood out in the crowd. The parking lot at the bar looked like it was a candidate to become a cycle salvage yard sale or a scene from a motorcycle movie. I have always felt that it does not matter what you ride but that you ride and everybody should have received a "showing up" award. The bottom line...it was just a lot of fun, great people, and the beer was good too!

A reporter from the TV Channel - KECI TV 13 was there taking video and sound clips for their nightly news broadcast. I seemed to be the major attraction and he treated me like a rock star with my own interview and sound clip. Believe me, I did not ride all that way for the publicity; however, I was eating it up. There was no doubt that I deserved it and accepted my interview with gratitude.

Finally, the ride started about 2 pm, and of course by then, the sun had disappeared and we were left with temps in the low 30s and unexpectedly dry roads. A couple of the guys acted like traffic cops and blocked the cross roads so the procession of nearly a hundred bikes could wind through town in a large river of motors. You should have heard the sound of the Harleys echoing between the buildings, it sounded louder than a jet airplane. We rode out Highway 200, and trying to stay with the crowd, I couldn't help but pass some of the old antique bikes that had a top speed of 40 mph. Since I was the only one with a stereo, I would slow down so the lady passengers could hear the tunes and rock out a little before I proceeded on. The ride only lasted about 15 minutes and our destination was the Harold's Club in Milltown, about 7 miles away. When I arrived at Harold's, the first thing that I asked is where is the Milltown Hill.

Harold’s Club is sited on the other side of the Burlington Northern railroad tracks. To get there, you must descend a grade, cross the tracks and then try to ascend a fairly steep hill which is always icy and as slick as grease. I was told that someone usually tips over but this year everyone was skilled enough to pass this last riders test. The locals call this the dreaded "Milltown Hill." If you ever want to learn how to ski on a motorcycle, this is the place to learn. Just put both feet on the ground, pucker up, put your bike in first gear, and coast by compression down the Hill. Keeping both feet on the ground allows for balance and you can dig your heels into the ice to keep from crashing. Just like Fred Flintstone and his Flintstone mobile!

After a few beers, some chatter, and some more lies, the Legend's guys gave a big hoot and holler and proceeded to give out some very unusual trophies. Since I was now a celebrity, they gave me two of them. I earned the “Longest Ride” trophy about five times over. The last-best distance was given to a guy that rode from 200 miles away. I am not sure where he was from. It was obvious that I had broken the all-time record for the long distance rider. I told the guys that "if anyone wants to beat my record next year to let me know and I would take the long way up here." They also gave me the “Legend’s Choice.” This coveted award is given to the person or bike that was outstanding in some un-categorized fashion. A member of the Legends that gave the trophies away said, "what could be more outstanding than riding 915 miles in the dead of winter, through five northern states to attend a rally that lasts for four hours and goes seven miles?" There were also other unique trophies given to other riders. The "Legends" called them "useless trophies" but I called them unique.

After I graciously accepted my trophies, someone won the “rat bike” trophy for his Yamaha SX650 that was missing its kickstand. There was also an award for the “nicest looking girl” and two deserving young ladies each took home a trophy. The oldest bike and oldest rider awards went to the same guy who was from Butte. The crowd really warmed up as one of the lady riders flashed her boobs in front of the crowd after she received the “best crash” trophy award and the “youngest rider” award. Sorry, but I do not have a photo of her or her boobs. I assumed it was the earrings in her nipples that made the guys start drooling or maybe the fact that her nipples got instantly hard from the cold weather. Anyway, it was all in fun -- or was it the beer!

About an hour before nightfall, we all left Harold's Club and skied our motorcycles down the Milltown Hill and everybody rode off in their own direction. My direction was to ride back to the hotel and pack up my gear for the next day's ride home! If you're "born to ride", sitting at the hotel room will drive you nuts; however, I could not complain about taking one last soak in the hotel's spa but I was ready to ride. I kept telling myself that if I wanted to see Montana (in the daylight), that I should tough it out and wait till the next morning.

For more information and details on the ride, read Jim Beyer's article in the February 2003 issue of the Thunder Press Magazine. It's an outstanding article and the guy is a great writer and his story will keep you reading till the last word! When you read it, you can tell that I gave him something to write about, just by showing up for the event. Jim also added the photo of the woman that flashed her boobs; however, he used the "before" picture when she still had her leather coat on. If you do not subscribe to the Thunderpress Magazine, you can give them a call and order your copy today. The magazine should also be available at most Harley Shops.

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