2016 - The Call of the Spessart Forest
When the Harleysons MC calls, the echo from the forest of legendary bike rallys is a deep rumbling from historic air cooled engines.
Historic too was the reason the call went out to gather in Erlach, Germany. 500 years since the Deutsches Reinheitsgebot (the German law governing the making and marketing of beer) had been set down. If you ever needed a reason to party, this was one of the better ones. Far away from human habitations the Erlach grounds are the ideal meeting place for vehicles that are propelled by the ponderous explosions of fuel mists in dark and voluminous iron tubes. No one to take offence at the loud band, too. Heaven.
Concerning the beer, no mass produced suds from tanks the size of container ships here. Craft beer brewed up by ambitious hobby brewers too is less than welcome here in the homeland of traditional microbreweries. The impressed guests were delighted to find a choice of very local beer varieties, served well chilled from small kegs. Aaaahh! Even the wine afiçionados from France forgot for one weekend their favorite red wine to sample these German delights.
Friday night was a well lubricated event,
and on saturday morning at 10 the Harleyson’s MC convoy started on a winding 200 kilometer route across the dark and ancient Spessart forest. 24 V-twins from five nations made the still air under the leafy foliage resonate mildly and the sun's rays bathed the grinning faces of the riders in a warm summer light. Everything was just perfect. Even the mechanical gods were in a benign mood. Not one of the bikes had hiccups. Not bad, when the combined age of the machines was a whopping 1,663 years. Chapeau, Harleyson's! The oldest bike was a 1927 Excelsior with 750 cc. And the long way from Switzerland couldn't stop Harri and his 1958 Panhead Duo Glide.
Back in the grounds our host Toni and his brigade gave everything in the kitchen so that nobody had to go hungry. The beer, too, was again in high demand, and well chilled steins of the good brew ran down parched throats as if there was no tomorrow. Irish folk was heard round the camp fire, where the Gypsy Tour was winding down with tall tales of gasoline and rubber.
A humongous breakfast on sunday morning provided the energy to kick start the old beauties for their long way home. Let's meet again next year, for another Gypsy extravaganza.