Like clockwork every January, Easyriders kick starts their show series, sponsored by Bikernet.com, in Pomona Ca. Now I've been into the bike scene for along time, but somehow never made it to this show. It was always something. If not the flu, the bike was broke, I was broke, or I just plain forgot. This year would be different. Bandit would surely remind me, plus I hadn't contracted any of the usual flu bugs spreading over the land during the holidays.

Friday the crack of noon, the phone rings, waking me from a groggy stupor. I stumble for the phone and try to answer it, as if I'd been awake for hours. SInce I'm kind of a reclusive artist, shut-in type and I don't have caller ID, I'm always wary whenever the phone rings. I figure it's either the old lady checkin up on me or somebody wanting me to do something. As cheerful as possible I say, "Yellow?"

A voice barks back, "Wake up and get your lazy ass over here and give me a hand with these goddamn bikes. "It's Bandit and he's in a foul mood. I began to recall that I'd agreed to a few days back, to lend him a hand. He needed help loading the Shrunken FXR and Salt Shaker for the show and sure enough, I forgot. The rest of the Bikernet staff was either hung over or out goofing off. He was pissed.

That damn Code of the West. When you ride a ratty old pan, you can't help but call for help now and then, but I had called Bandit too often lately, so I owed him. I said, "All right, stop yer yelling, I'll be there as fast as I can."

When I show up he says, "We’re burnin’ daylight." I told him I needed to grab a bite before I left, and then the old Pan just didn't want to start, how I stopped for gas, and that traffic had been such a bitch. He then scowled, "yeah right."

I figured it was cool. I mean no big deal, we'll load 'em up drop 'em off and check out the scene. How bad could it be? Check out the bikes, scope out the babes, BS with the bros, plus we could throw back a few cold ones to boot. That's what I thought anyway.

So after an an hour's drive of him lecturing me about what a no good forgetful low life unreliable slacker I am, we get there and unload. Piece of cake, but where's all the bikes, babes and beer? Seems we got there on the early side and there wasn't a whole lot going on, plus I had mistakenly thought the show started on Friday. As it was, most folks weren't coming to set up till the late afternoon.

I thought I could still salvage the day and told him, "let's blow this joint." and then added, "too bad your bikes are a bit dusty for the show." As I headed for the truck, the big guy grabs and spins me by the shoulder looks down at me with an evil eye and says, "Hold on partner, just where the fuck do yo think your going? Why in the hell did you think I brought your sorry ass along?" I've got a big duffle bag behind the seat full of rags and polish and you've got those scrawny little girlie hands perfect for getting in the nooks crannies."

Like the terminator, He says, "I'll be back." After several hours of polishing and grumbling, I notice his absence. So I go to look for him so we can split. I got to say, that building at the fairgrounds is a big mother. As I make my way towards the far end, I can hear the echo of a group of people (mostly chicks), laughing and talking.

I walk up to Bandit who has several chicks on both sides of him like big titted bookends, he says, "Ya done? Have a beer." Well there was a cooler, but it was empty. When I tell him he says, "That’s too bad little buddy, we may as well leave before traffic gets bad." So we split.

On the way home he explains how he can't go to the show on Saturday but wants me to come back on Sunday so I can help load the bikes again. For some reason, I'm in a rare optimistic mood, and figure it's cool. This time the show will be on and at least there will be bikes see and who knows what else.

Sunday, I get to the headquarters kind of late but it was cool as the big guy was still working on the Sunday Post. I got nervous, as It started to look like we wouldn’t get to the fairgrounds till about 3:30 p.m. and the show would close at 5:00 p.m.

Upon arrival, we spot Paul Cox heading out with the Rat Fink and Brooklyn Beatnik bikes. I thought, "fuck!, people are all ready packing up." We meet and greet with him for a few minutes and then head on in.

Once inside, everything seemed cool. There were still lots of bikes and the winners had not been announced yet. As I turned to check out a scooter, Bandit yells, "Well what the fuck you think your doing now?”

”Checkin’ shit out", I said.

He then pushed a camera in my chest and said, "Here, I want you to take pictures of all the bikes that you think I might want to feature, and be sure to pick up the business cards so I can contact them, make it snappy dammit, you only got about an hour!" There was 150 bikes in the show, so I ran off as fast as I could looking, shooting and grabbing.

When I finally looped back, there stood Bandit, next to his bikes with a big devilish grin having a beer yakin with those chicks again. Damn!

He then said, “Time to load up, let’s hit it."

Bitchin’, just bitchin. I better ride to Sacramento for the next show, so I can relax.

--Chris Kallas

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