Today was the final official day of the Shark Week II rally. We had time enough for one last ride. The plan was to go to a biker roadhouse called, oddly enough, Shark's. Shark's seemed custom designed for our Road Glide devotees. They had sharks all over the place, mounted on the walls, topped off by a massive shark hung in the front of the facility. We knew we had hit upon a place that finally got it. A shark theme for a collection of shark nose riders. Perfect! Only one problem. The workers there had no idea what a Road Glide was. As some attempted to explain the front faring's resemblance to a shark's nose, all they got were blank stares from the help. They might as well have been explaining nuclear physics to a bar full of Jessica Simpsons. The trip was not a total loss, though.
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| Pee Wee does his best Steve Irwin impersonation |
The trip to Shark's was made even more rewarding when it was discovered that that we had proudly added three more members to the "beyond 45 degrees" club (i. e., those who somehow put their bikes on their sides), two on the way to Shark's and one that nearly knocked Pee Wee out of the shark's mouth. All were summoned for the rewarding of the prestigious Shark Tooth of Shame, which they collectively displayed proudly later that evening.
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| The First Five, 2012's recipients of the Shark Tooth of Shame |
Upon completing the lunch it was time to head back to headquarters to prepare for the evening's dinner and raffle. Dinner was a carefully planned affair at an relatively upscale restaurant, which in Le Clair meant it wasn't McDonald's. Mutt and Mutter put on their best wrinkled duds, the only clothing that wasn't soaked in sweat, covered with bugs, or freshly purchased from the area Harley dealers, and sauntered down on foot the the facility, which was within staggering distance of the hotel. Imagine their surprise when they found themselves the first ones at the restaurant. A lovely hostess welcomed us as we asked if we were at the correct facility, advising her that we had reservations for approximately 150 people. The hostess immediately went from a lovely demeanor to a panicked one, as they in fact did NOT have reservations for approximately 150 people. They didn't have reservations for anyone associated with Shark Week, and certainly not for a bunch of grimy, sun-rotted, stinking Harley riders. Assuming that we had gotten the name of the restaurant mixed up somehow, we began our short trek back to the hotel. That's where we met the "power women" coming our way, Jeannette, Heather, and Nan. They were, in fact, on the way to the same restaurant from which we had just emerged. So we turned around and followed them in to witness what we assumed would be great carnage. The restaurant staff resembled European financial ministers, each frantically trying to pass the responsibility of dealing with the power women off to one another. In the end it was determined that a series of communications mishaps resulted in the restaurant never having been advised of our plans for the evening. However, sensing the massive revenue resulting from 150 hungry bikers, they quickly attempted to scramble and accommodate us…….in the bar. The word was we couldn't use the restaurant, because that's where the "normal" people were sitting and eating. Being a bit put off by being viewed as something other than "normal," the power women declined. It was decided that each party would find dinner independently and then reassemble later in the evening for final activities. Whereupon Mutt and Mutter decided to wander over to the adjacent……McDonald's. As we entered this finest of American establishments we found that our idea was not unique, and in fact McDonald's was filled with just under a total of 150 bikers. So much for upscale. We looked them over, turned to each other, and simultaneously stated, "where do the normal people get served?"
