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Gregory Ormson

Writer, musician, yoga-loving motorcyclist.

  Utah’s Old Skool Motorcycle Rally in Panguitch – Read this and you’ll know

Asked what brings people to the rally, Steve Garrett, organizer, and leader said, “The riding. There are five National Parks all around us. We are about the bikers, the town, and nothing else.”

Garrett, his wife Sue, and a dedicated team of staff and volunteers have worked hard to strengthen ties with the City of Panguitch. This year, the city helped prepare the fairgrounds and cleaned the main building for biker registration. They also erected large tents and helped Garrett hoist a new welcoming sign, sponsored by Russ Brown Motorcycle Attorneys, on Highway 89, the ingress to both north and south Panguitch. “The town appreciates this,” Garret said, “with its big welcome to Panguitch message.”

Started officially in 2008 by Rick Story, a long-time employee of Timpanogos (now Summit) Harley Davidson, with assistance from his wife Sweetie, the rally grew in four years but health concerns forced Rick and Sweetie to take a break this year. Garrett, who’d worked with Story in the previous rallies, took over leadership with assistance from his friend, Rabbit Downward. 

“Old school meant pride and brotherhood,” Story said. “It used to be that all bikers cared about one another, and it didn’t matter what kind of bike you had.” The rally is evidence that old school doesn’t mean old, and old school ideals aren’t dead. 

Bikers helping bikers, at no cost, still lives as one of the main benefits of connecting with the Russ Brown Motorcycle Lawyers organization. They were a major sponsor of the Panguitch Rally this year, along with Zion Harley Davidson, and Wasatch Indian Motorcycles.… read more...

Excerpt, A Motorcycle Ride in Mexico

Dust eats away at my skin. The leather I wear makes every minute an inferno on the motorcycle. Heat explodes up my ass, creeping past crack and sack to pillage my spine and overburden my shoulders. But I am an adult, I am in Mexico, I have documents and a clean record; I can drink, buy drugs, or pay to make fantasies come true. I can also do none of that, or get a ticket to take the pirate ship and sail into the mystic with tourists, eating as much shrimp and drinking as much Dos Equis XX lager as I can handle while daydreaming in the Zen of a blue sea.

Deeper and deeper in a broken territory I’m riding a two-wheeled track called risk. It’s as if reality stalls and the motorcycle dances in time with the dazzling sun of Mexico. With eyes to see, anyone looking around would swear Salvador Dali painted the street where bar balconies, groaning under the weight of heavy bikers, bows like snow-covered branches. On the third floor of the Iguana Banana, above the balcony facing the Malecon, a band is kicking out a version of Bowie’s “Five Years.” Inside the Iguana, I sing along with them, “A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that.”

In tune or out of tune, nobody cared, as the thump-thump of Evolutions announced the schedules be damned ‘cause the party’s on, and ripe are the two-legged coyotes primed for this biker party happening everywhere. One, in fringed buckskin and patches, says he’s from the land of Geronimo.… read more...

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