SOMEWHERE IN HOG-WILD NORTHWEST ARKANSAS Calling the Hogs here has a different tone to it.
"Vrooom!" "Vrooom!" "Vroom!" "Choppers!"
When I tried to make motel reservations here so I could double-up and cover Greenbrier-Siloam ndSprings on the way to UCA-Tulsa, just about everything from Fayetteville to Missouri was booked. Some reservation assistants chuckled and noted things had been booked in just about every community in bulging northwest Arkansas for six months.
Noting the Razorbacks originally had an open date and were now scheduled to play at Texas, I wondered why.
I found out at a local restaurant, with the parking lot filled with shiny machinery of all colors, and the folks walked it with leather jackets and boots with chains.
"Bikers, Blues and Barbecue," a mega salute to food, fun and ATM's (that's All Things Motorcycle in this context) is a staple here in late September.
The event, which turns Dixon Street in Fayetteville into a rollicking staging area seemingly readying for a Star Wars style massive attack, attracted more than 100,000 bikes of all shapes and sizes even a few scooters but they kept those mostly under wraps.
It's the largest charitable bike rally in the United States with proceeds going to 27 charities.
Last year's event attracted 325,000 people.
It seemed like 1,000 of those bikes passed me on the way up I-540. They'd come at you in waves, men and women driving at full throttle, many with passengers hanging on. You're in a leisurely drive and suddenly you feel you've been thrust in the middle of a NASCAR race.
"Vroom!" "Vroom!" from all sides.
The festival features music (such as the Allman Brothers Band), barbecue contests, a parade of power, a poker run and a head-to-head bike beauty contest in which the "Best in Show" is determined by audience participation.
They even had a watch party for the Arkansas-Texas game but I suspect many went for a gorgeous afternoon ride after the first quarter.
It was a great weekend for "Vrooming."
The sound of revving bike engines could be heard morning, afternoon and night. Bikers, singles to doubles to groups, could be seen and heard on interstates and small farm-to-market roads as they negotiated the rolling hills and curves in a neat biking area.
Friday, I went into an 24-7 restaurant and bikes were parked four-deep in spaces in almost every available space.
It was frantic in the wee hours of the morning. "I guess I need to work a little longer," a server said to her boss as several groups piled in by the half-dozen.
"How many?" one of a group was asked.
"Six or eight, maybe nine or 10," he said matter-of-factly.
Many of the bikers are making fashion statements either with the newest black leather or the multi-colored do-rags (many with a message) or with their shiny bikes. Most wear helmets (they call them brain buckets); some don't. The daring ones who go at high speeds, often without a helmet, are called "Big Dog Racers." They're more "Big Stupid Racers" to me, living too much on the edge.
But scanning the restaurant, the groups defied the usual biker stereotypes. There are people of all ages, all walks of life. Along with jeans and vests, some wear riding boots, some wear work boots, several in athletic shoes. I saw one woman riding along in high heels.
What impressed me about this cross-section was their sense of community, how they seemed to care for each other and other people. How the commonality of a passion for bikes made up for a lot of differences in race, politics, work status.
The conversation around the tables where I sat concerned families, future travel plans, stories about the craziest stunt they saw during the day, about togetherness and taking care of each other, about having fun.
The wait staff was hustling. A delivery person showed up with a pizza order for the early morning workers, too busy to cook.
Many of the mean biker stereotypes are shattered. One biker had a frame for his license plate, "Jesus Christ, My Lord and Protector."
Several of the local churches embrace the bikers, furnishing them water, showers and washing their bikes for free.
When I pulled into my motel Friday night, there were 28 motorcycles parked neatly in a row. At other motels, the parked bikes circled columns, almost like sparkling Christmas columns.
It was kind of a Christmas in September up here.
Santa zoomed in on two wheels.
(Sports columnist David McCollum can be reached at 505-1235 or david.mccollum@thecabin.net)
