Ridin' With the Blues

Leader of the pack.

Barely several hundred feet into the ride, the group was split in two by traffic lights. Still unsure of protocol, I stopped for the red light and watched our Blues Brothers, along with a handful of followers, carry on. Whoever was behind me must have not heard the ride line message about obeying the traffic laws. He shot around me and crossed the empty intersection in hot pursuit. I looked to the biker stopped beside me, shrugged my shoulders, and did the same. The race was on.

From that moment on, it

Jim...sandals?!

was like a scene from a Blues Brothers movie. Throttles were abused at every opportunity, performance exhausts screaming out our passing as if a collection of a few dozen Harleys monopolizing the road did not garner enough attention on their own. It was almost surreal when a squad car passed us at one point, lights and sirens a blazing, to some emergency or other.

As we got closer to our destination, and deeper into the downtown core, running lights had become standard operating procedure. This did not go over well with some motorists and it was probably more due to luck than to our skill that we made it through unscathed. On one particular intersection, it was

Forget the blonde; call me!

a rather close call for the riders in front of me. As they carefully rode through a red light, most of the traffic yielded their right of way and allowed them to pass. No doubt they did this more because of our numbers, and that we were still in the process of clearing the intersection than anything else. That is, except for one mini-van driver who would clearly not tolerate this arrangement. He forced his way through and would have loved to have anyone try to stop him. Vulgarities and one finger salutes were exchanged by both parties, and what could have developed into an ugly scene was quickly over.

We arrived at Festival Plaza and that was where the day ended for me. Those who wanted to stay for the

Arriving at Festival Plaza.

concerts purchased tickets, and headed towards a reserved VIP section. I chose to hightail it out of there and beat it home before the rains returned. And rain it did, just as Dan and Jim, also known as the dancing refrigerators, made their way on to the stage. From the report I saw on the eleven o’clock news, it was a good time for all despite the deluge.

It had been a good day, and a helluva ride. No one got killed, which in my mind made it a complete success. Although we all broke laws and no doubt annoyed many motorists on our wild parade with the Blues Brothers, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

The following week I dropped in at Ottawa HD and purchased the latest CD by the Blues Brothers as a souvenir (and because I happen to like their music), and finally learned why they had arrived on bikes rather than by limo. They were, in fact, on Dan Akroyd’s personal Harleys, and didn’t need to borrow any bikes after all.

Nice T-Sport...okay, okay — I had to prove I was there somehow!	Bikers' VIP seating proves that membership has its privileges.

Read an article in Off the Net about illegal blocking and the consequent perils involved (will open in a new window).