The Really Easy Rider
By MICHELLE HIGGINS
The New York Times
August 5, 2005
Like pilgrims to some holy land, but tattooed and on two wheels,
thousands of motorcyclists will converge in Sturgis, S.D., next week to
be part of one of the country’s largest and longest-running gatherings
of bikers. Many will ride for days, enduring miles of blistering sun,
bouts of rain and the occasional mouthful of bugs before arriving in
a cloud of dust at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.
Chevalier Kevorkian will be there, too, just as he has been about a
dozen times before. But his bike will roll into town another way –
in the back of a tractor trailer. For roughly $675, Mr. Kevorkian,
a 57-year-old screenwriter from Palm Springs, Calif., is having his
Harley shipped from his hometown to Sturgis and back. Instead of
taking three long days of riding just to get there, he’ll arrive
fresh off a flight and pick up his bike at a local hotel.
“I just don’t have the schedule to do it this year,” said
Mr. Kevorkian, who has ridden to Sturgis from Los Angeles in the
past. “At least I’ll be there and be on my own bike.”
In a major shift from tradition, a small but growing number of
enthusiasts, who like to ride but not to rough it, are shipping
instead of riding their bikes to motorcycle events. For the months
of May through August, the Federal Warehouse Company in East Peoria,
Ill., an affiliate of Allied Van Lines, expects to ship 3,000 bikes
for individuals and groups to various places this year, up from 2,800
as recently as 2003.
Taking notice of the niche, FedEx began marketing a vehicle shipping
service in January – a venture the company bought in 2000 and rebranded
last year. FedEx is marketing the service for groups. For example, it
will ship 12 motorcycles one-way from Los Angeles to Sturgis for $617
each. That’s $895 below the charge for shipping an individual bike.
Even more motorcycle enthusiasts are driving to events on four wheels,
pulling their bikes behind them in trailers. Lisa Weyer, director of
the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, estimates that the number of people who
ride to town has fallen to below half of all attendees. “Most people
trailer nowadays,” she said.
Not surprisingly, some hard-core bikers aren’t pleased with the trend.
At Sturgis and other big gatherings like Laconia Motorcycle Week in
New Hampshire some attendees wear T-shirts with a slogan that reads:
“I rode my bike to trailer week.”
Lee Bruns, 37, a machinist from Watertown, S.D., and his wife, Donna,
stopped going to the Sturgis rally several years ago. “The overwhelming
number of trailers have so overrun the event that we no longer wish
to attend,” he said. “The whole idea of motorcycle ownership is not,
nor has ever been, about the destination. It is and always will be
about the journey.”
THE popularity of custom motorcycles, sparked by shows like “American
Chopper” on the Discovery Channel, is contributing to the trend. Many
of these bikes, built for fashion rather than function, are just not
comfortable for long rides. And after paying thousands for a custom
paint job, most owners aren’t willing to risk the kind of damage many
miles of kicking up dirt and gravel could cause.
As a result, motorcycle trailer makers say their business has taken
off in recent years. Haulmark Industries in Bristol, Ind., said sales
of its motorcycle trailers are up about 25 percent in the last few
years. The company plans to introduce two new models at the Sturgis
rally this year that are priced from $25,000 to $35,000. The enclosed
trailers come equipped with air-conditioning, two fold-down beds,
a bathroom, maple cabinets and stainless steel appliances. There’s
also room for two motorcycles.
Some shippers cater specifically to bikers headed to events. “This
year, we’re turning lots of people away for Sturgis because we’re
simply full,” said Kristy Garcia, who runs Harley Haul in Pottstown,
Pa., with her husband, Rob. The business, which currently uses one
tractor-trailer, is doing so well they plan to add another next year.
Putting a bike on a truck doesn’t mean it’s safe from accidents. Last
month, Tommy Simmons, a pharmacist from Darlington, S.C., watched as
Federal Warehouse loaded his Harley onto a tractor-trailer headed
for Sturgis. But just days before his trip, Mr. Simmons got a call
telling him his bike had been badly damaged in transit. “It’s just
a disaster,” said Mr. Simmons, who had been planning the trip for a
year. “There’s nothing to do if you don’t have a bike.”
Such accidents are “very rare” said Jackie Taylor, manager of
motorcycle transportation at Federal Warehouse. About 3 percent of the
13,000 bikes it ships each year are damaged, according to Federal’s
Web site (), and the average claim is usually
around $500. Though the company won’t refund Mr. Simmons his money,
it has offered to ship out a spare bike he owns for free.
The new approach to getting to Sturgis is a big change from the days
when dust-encrusted biker gangs would take over the town and residents
would board up their homes and leave.
The demographic of motorcycle buyers has shifted in recent years. In
2003, the average motorcycle owner earned $55,850, up about 26
percent from $44,250 in 1998, according to the most recent data from
the Motorcycle Industry Council. On average, Harley-Davidson owners
earn more than $80,000 a year, according to the company.
For many of these riders, motorcycles are more a hobby than a
lifestyle. As a result, some motorcycle gatherings are losing their
rough edge. “People used to think Bandidos and Hell’s Angels,” said
Tom Griffith, a spokesman for the Sturgis rally. “Now, you’re just
as likely to see a bunch of lawyers driving, and for the first time
in 51 weeks they haven’t shaved.”
Of course, many bikers still ride to events. Last year, Steve Quarles,
48, president of an ad agency in Nashville, Tenn., traveled roughly
1,300 miles on his Harley Road Glide to get to Sturgis. This year he
plans to do it again. “It’s really a point of pride and distinction
for those of us who ride,” said Mr. Quarles, who has a sticker on
his helmet that says, “I rode mine to Sturgis 2004.”
For bikers who don’t ride, there can be consequences. “Everybody
rags on you a bit,” said Dan Dunham, owner of Kickstart, a motorcycle
shipping company in Lakeland, Fla., “but at least you’re there.”
Some riders simply fake it. Last year, Eric Fierst, who works for a
moving company in Landover, Md., that is affiliated with Allied, said
that he and his buddies got some flak for trailering their motorcycles.
“This year, nobody is really going to know, because we’re having our
bikes delivered to the house we’re renting,” Mr. Fierst said. Before
riding into town, he and his friends will take an extra precaution.
“We’ll wipe a little bit of dirt on our faces,” he said.