My Call to the Vous

My Call to the ‘Vous

By "In The Wind" Gary T

It was a beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon shortly after the lunch hour in June of ‘98. I was methodically planning a way to leave work early so that I could kick-start my weekend, which I knew would involve riding the scoot. The sooner I could get out and go, the better life would be.

Minutes before leaving my desk the phone rang. I thought to myself, “do I answer this, or do I let it go to voicemail until Monday? Feeling responsible, I picked it up. It was George, a biker friend who happened to be in Albany on his own business. “Good,” I thought to myself, “it’s not work related.”

George’s question was even better. “How about hooking up tomorrow for a scooter ride?”

Without hesitation I said, “yes, where to?” George explained to me that he had met a few bikers at a gas station earlier that day in Albany who told him they were going to a biker party somewhere near Mariaville, New York. George jotted down a few directions on his gas slip. We made a plan to meet for breakfast the next morning at a greasy spoon to decide if we really should take a four-hour ride and head east.

Saturday morning was absolutely perfect: beautiful sunrise, crisp air, the most brilliant blue sky—just a perfect day to ride anywhere. The short ride to breakfast was all I needed to immediately realize I was about to log some serious miles on my scooter that day.

During breakfast both of us felt swept away by the perfect riding conditions. We never hesitated, nor did we discuss the fact that George had just the night before traveled four hours home from Albany in his cage. We decided emphatically, “Let’s ride out to Mariaville and check out the biker party!”

We paid our breakfast tab and headed out to the parking lot, which was a sight in itself. We walked toward the iron-horses, their chrome glistening in the morning sun. It was as if they were sending us the message: “Let’s ride!” Our bellies were full, as were the gas tanks of our two hogs, ready to roll.

We spent the next four hours of riding, head-on into the most spectacular sunrise we’d seen in a long time. We followed the scenic route from the Finger Lakes Region and traveled through the Catskill Mountains east along Route 88. It was magical! It didn’t matter to us where we would end up, at least not at that moment.

We pulled into a small town right around lunch time. Not much traffic—actually pretty quiet. But we noticed a restaurant close by and decided to eat there. Much to our delight, when we asked the waitress about the biker party she had all the information we needed to get to the main entrance. “It’s just up the road,” she told us. Of course, she looked at us like we must live in cave, due to the fact we knew nothing of this famous event.

We headed up a winding, hilly, unfamiliar country road into what looked like God’s country. We rounded a curve and came upon a few biker dudes standing at a gate near the road. We pulled up and asked if this was the biker party that we had heard about. The first guy responded, “This is the ‘Vous, and it’s the best party in the state!” The second guy added, “If you don’t have tickets you’re probably screwed.” They told us to pull out along the dirt drive, pointed to the small ticket booth, and suggested that we inquire there.

It was very bad news—no tickets available.

While we were hangin’, trying to figure out our next move, a dude approached us—maybe a biker, maybe not. It didn’t matter, though, because he had what we wanted: two extra tickets that he was waving around because his friends had cancelled at the last minute. At least that’s what he told us. In any case, the tickets were for sale, and he knew we wanted ‘em. Little did we know, or care at that point in our trip, that we would be purchasing tickets for five times the normal cost.

By then it was well after lunch on Saturday afternoon. The sun was hot, and we had our flashy new wrist bands on. We swallowed a quick beer and mounted the scoots, which still felt great even though we had just ridden them for hours. We headed out a dirt drive toward a long hedgerow. At that minute I was thinking to myself, “Where are the people, the bikes, the party? Man, we’re headed for the freakin’ woods!”

All of a sudden we broke through the trees into a clearing and found ourselves riding along the top of a hill. All we could see was a sea of Harleys, shining chrome, people everywhere, tents, campers, and a motorcycle rodeo was underway. “What the hell just happened?” I thought. “We’ve landed in a biker’s dream come true!”

Little did I know that this exact moment would be a life-changing experience for me. Wow! I’d never seen anything quite like this, but I know I liked it, and wanted to see more.

We started riding through the campsite on our bikes, knowing absolutely nothing about this event. But, we were sure learning a lot in a hurry. We slowly putted along, watching all these bikers, hooters, scooters, beer-drinking people, and, yep, even some people flashing us! Everyone was having a great time. In fact it seemed to me as though they had been there for weeks. It probably seemed that way to some of them, too, since many of them had entered the grounds two days before we arrived.

After making our way back to the top of the hill, we checked out the antique bikes at the barn, the general store, and the vendors’ goods. There were bands playing, food everywhere--all very cool stuff.

Then, it hit me like a brick. A reality check kicked in. We were not prepared to stay. Knowing nothing about the magnitude of this party, we hadn’t brought overnight gear with us. What’s more, we hadn’t made, plans with our people back home for an overnight stay. We decided to spend a couple more hours at the party and then hit the road for home, a full 250 miles back west.

The return trip was a nice ride, in its own way. But, for the entire four-hour ride all I could think about was the biker party we’d just left behind. It was clear to me that I needed to do some research and figure out how to get my ticket for the next event. I was going to be there when the gates opened!

Since receiving my “Call to the ‘Vous” that day I have attended the Harley Rendezvous every year. Many others before me have written about the real spirit of the event, and how we bikers all live and let live. I now recall the countless number of great people I’ve met each year, and the special friends I’ve made over the past nine years while camping. This is something that will always be in my heart. I also think of the people I’ve met along the way, and grew to know fairly well, who have passed on to different riding places. I get the feeling they are still with us, watching over us at our events.

Today, as I write this memory, I find myself reflecting back over the great times and the spirit of the Harley Rendezvous at the Indian Lookout Country Club. One thing’s for sure: I’ll always remember my “Call to the Vous!”

By the way, George never returned after that year. In fact, he sold his scooter and moved away, leaving me to wonder why.

“In the Wind”….Gary T.

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