After a journey of 2,500 kms from Jeddah, we rode our Harley-Davidson motorbikes through the brightly lit streets of Muscat to the Intercontinental Hotel. For the final 1,500 kms, our group of three Harleys and a back-up van had been traveling with a disciplined group of eighteen bikes from the Riyadh HOG Chapter, along with their two back-up vehicles. For Jeddah veterans Diamond and Houria Robyn, and Amer Khashoggi, it was the end of another long journey. For us, it was an initiation. We registered for the 6th Middle East Harley Owners Group (HOG) Rally, collected our itineraries and looked forward to a good night’s rest.
Two full days of activities had been arranged for some 220 HOGs who had thundered into Muscat from all over the Middle East. The first was an organized “fun run” so that we would have a chance to ride through some of Oman’s beautiful mountain scenery which forms the city’s dramatic backdrop. In a group of around thirty bikers, we set off through the carefully landscaped streets of Muscat, stopping off at the city’s largest fuel station to fill up. And that was when “Maridadi”, our stalwart charger, began to play up. As the fuel station resonated with the impatient revving of bikes ready to depart, Maridadi refused even to even over. We were in a safe spot, with the Harley dealership just a few miles down the road, so the group moved on and left us behind.
Disappointed with the turn of events, we found a taxi, went to the Harley dealership and came back with the mechanic — and some new T-shirts. The delay in the service station also gave us a chance to meet Steve Betz, the Dammam HOG Director and coordinator of the whole rally. He really looked the part. Any student would have been proud to own his faded blue jeans with ripped knees and patches. His sleeveless t-shirt and well-worn leather Harley vest revealed tattoos on his arms and his voice sounded as though his larynx had been replaced with ‘Thunder Header’ exhaust pipes. When he got on his Ultra Classic to ride away, he lit up a cigarette. When I expressed surprise that he could smoke a cigarette and ride a motorbike at the same time, he gave me a wicked look, reached down to the left of his handlebars and produced a small object. “I even have a cigarette lighter on my bike!”
We also chatted to some of the service station attendants who were under the impression that a “rally” meant that there were to be motorbike races. They were somewhat disappointed when we told them that all they would see was an orderly parade of bikes through the town.
Meanwhile, Maridadi had a new fuse installed and we took off on our first long ride together. We took the same route as the group, through the mountains to Qurayat, a small town by the sea about 80 kms away. After the stress of having to keep up with a pack, we really enjoyed cruising at our own pace and enjoying the scenery. Once in Qurayat, we made our way through the narrow streets to a modest Corniche, where a boy of about eight stood in the middle of the road in our path, forcing us to stop. His little friend then threw a very carefully aimed stone at us which ricocheted off my husband’s helmet. Further on, by the quayside, a mob of young boys surrounded the bike. Like the big boys taking part in the rally, these guys wanted to hear the roar of the pipes. Their hands all landed on Richard’s throttle hand and forced it to twist until they achieved a satisfactory result.
Half way back, we found Marwan Al Mutlaq, our Riyadh Chapter Road Captain, relaxing cross-legged on the rocks under the shade of a small, spindly tree. After a long ride with the responsibilities of a Road Captain, he and a few friends had come out to enjoy the scenery in a small group. With the bikes parked against a backdrop of the barren mountains, and everyone wearing black biking gear, it looked like a scene from Mad Max.
Once we were safely back in Muscat, Maridadi’s electrics packed up again. By now, we were hugely relieved that this breakdown hadn’t happened on the way from Jeddah, or on the way to and from Quarayat where we hadn’t had any back up at all with us. Instead of taking part in the fun and games of biker obstacle courses, we had to order the break-down truck and send “her” (you guessed it: Maridadi is female!) off for repairs. As we strapped her down onto the truck, a by-stander commented: “That is the saddest sight!” His bike was also at the dealership with electrical problems.
The point of the Rally is to get as many bikers as possible together in one place so that they can have a lot of fun, meet new people, share stories and, above all, show off their precious, customized metal. There is a Harley mantra that the purchase of the bike is just a down payment. A select few, which are lovingly cleaned and polished for hours, are entered into a “Beauty” contest and on these bikes, no expense has been spared. Each one is a work of art with the greatest attention paid to every detail. Unfortunately, Maridadi (which means “beautiful” in Kiswahili) was still out of action and couldn’t be entered. The bike that had already stolen my heart is, however, the antithesis of these pampered beauties: it is Amer Khashoggi’s Road King, which has traveled thousands of miles and carries the battle scars of his intrepid journeys. While I was admiring some of the bikes, I met another biker who was apparently in his mid-fifties like my husband. We were noting the average age of the participants. “We are known as ‘Bambies’ — Born Again Middle-aged Bikers!” he told me.
The Bikers’ Ball was like a themed fancy dress party, but as Diamond said: “The trick is to act like you dress like this all the time!” The truth is that biking represents their alter-ego: they are all conservative professionals with serious day jobs. A huge number of people were recognized for the part they had played in organizing the Rally. It is said that behind every great man there is a woman, and sure enough, behind this testosterone fuelled event was a “Lady of Harley”. Lisa Schlensker is the HOG representative for the Middle East, based in Bahrain, and supports all its activities in the GCC. She is also one of the very few Middle Eastern “Ladies of Harley” who owns her own bike. Among these few, I met Iman Al-Gharabally from Kuwait, who owns a Deuce Anniversary 2003 bike.
The highlight of the weekend is the parade — more aptly described as a Thunder Roll. With Maridadi still at the dealers, Richard and I hitched pillion rides with other bikers. I had imagined that this would be a stately and dignified (albeit noisy) ride through the centre of Muscat. It had been scheduled to last for three hours, but the Road Captain set off at a cracking pace and by the time we were back at the Intercontinental Hotel, we hadn’t even been on the roll for an hour. Nonetheless, we thoroughly enjoyed the scenic route, especially along the Corniche Road where we doubled back on ourselves and could see the mass of riders coming towards us on the opposite side of the dual carriageway. We wondered why there were so few spectators lining the streets to watch until Houria pointed out that the timing was probably responsible: The parade was done during prayer time. The few who were there were treated to ear-splitting revs as we slowed down along the Corniche.
After producing clouds of smoke from behind her headlight during a test run, Maridadi’s electrics were eventually sorted out. Our journey with Diamond, Houria and Amer continued to Dubai, with the Riyadh Chapter, and covered 3,215 kms. From the start, this trip had been a huge risk, and they supported and encouraged us the whole way. Ever since my spinal injury in 1999, I have been plagued with excruciating burning pins and needles if I stand or sit for too long in one position. An ambitious journey on the back of a motorbike could have been a killer. Yet for the first time in almost seven years, I experienced a week of pain-free days while riding from dawn until after dark on the Harley. Was it the ergonomics of the seat and back rest? Was it the adrenalin? Was it the constant and regular vibration of the engine? Whatever it was, it worked miracles and we look forward to our next biking adventure.
