Posted on April 5, 2021
Alastair Nelson, Staff Writer
Early this year the Daytona Beach City Commission gave the 80th
annual Bike Week the green light in hopes that the event would give the
local economy a much needed shot in the arm. (Pun totally intended) And
so, with zero regard for the safety of you, your loved ones, or your
new favorite reporter, yours truly, Bike Week 2021 washed over central
Florida like a tidal wave. Or maybe, more accurately, a fourth wave? Amy
Green, a viral pathologist at Halifax Hospital, fears that could be the
case. “I know local businesses have been suffering and I sympathize
with them, I really do. But hospitals all across the country are being
hit hard to and when it comes down to it, people are dying,” says Green.
Last August, South Dakota hosted its annual “Sturgis” biker rally to
the tune of 450,000, people, most of which did not follow CDC guidelines
when it came to crowd-size, social distancing, or mask use. State
Health officials quickly labeled it a “Super-spreader event,” tracking
cases from there to twenty other states via 300 people. According to San
Diego State University’s Center for Health Economics and Policy
Studies, the Sturgis rally led to 260,000 COVID cases across the
country.
So, what did our local powers-that-be do, to make sure Daytona Beach
didn’t become the next hot-spot for covid-19? For starters, they asked
(not told) retailers to limit capacity to sixty percent. Secondly, they
made key roads in the Downtown and Main Street areas one way,
motorcycles only. And finally, street vendors were spaced farther apart
than usual. That should do it, right?
Now, you’re probably wondering how these new rules were enforced.
Well, after spending just five minutes amongst the leather-clad rally
attendees, I can tell you. They weren’t. What I witnessed was a typical,
if not more crowded, Bike Week. I saw three people wearing masks and
zero social distancing. The vendors were crowded, and the bars and
retail shops were packed. The first person I asked for an interview
likened me to the female genitalia because I chose to wear a mask. After
having spent the last year away from crowds, I’ll tell you, my anxiety
was running high before this encounter. I left, immediately, and fast.
The next day, I drove out to Sopotnick’s Cabbage Patch Bar, on State
Road 44, a destination spot for bikers every year, famous for having
cole-slaw wrestling matches between scantily clad girls. And much like
Main Street, it was a circus of irresponsible activity. Girls in bikinis
washed bikes while old men crowded around gawking and suggesting they
“shake this” or “remove that.” Again, I was ridiculed for my choice to
wear a mask, and again, I left without a quote for my story.
Finally, with my deadline drawing near, I made my way to The
Doghouse, a biker bar in Port Orange. There I spoke with Frank Simmons,
or Frank “the Stank,” as his vest reads over an embroidered Bald Eagle
with a cloud of green fumes issuing forth from its backside. I was able
to catch Frank between the parking lot and the building, so I hadn’t yet
donned my face covering.
Frank comes down from Georgia every year for bike week and when I
asked him if he was at all worried about the virus, he told me Bike Week
was worth the risk. “I’m not going to sit home, too afraid to enjoy the
only life God gave me,” Frank said. When I then asked him if he was
worried about bringing the virus back home with him, his wife, Marcy
Simmons, answered instead: “Everyone is responsible for their own
safety,” she said. “I’m not forcing anyone to be around me [that]
doesn’t want to be around me.”
Stats are still being tallied up, but so far, it’s looking like Bike
Week 2021 will go down as one of the top five Bike Weeks ever when it
comes to revenue generated by the event. We just have to hope that when
the bill comes due, it was worth it.
