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.