For 50 years, Ken Jordan has watched the images on TV, from vivid shots of the masses on Main St. to the action-packed scenes from Daytona International Speedway. Since he was nine, Ken has always longed to be a part of it, to amble shoulder to shoulder along with thousands of other motorcyclists who yearly converge on Daytona Beach the first week of March.

But Washington State is about as far removed from Daytona Beach as you can get, the furthest point from Florida in the contiguous United States. And for a family man working hard to raise a family, being able to attend Bike Week was wishful thinking. Making the journey to Bike Week isn’t cheap and Ken is the type of man to put family first in front of his own desires.

So when Ken’s sons, Joey and Clint, invited him over for a BBQ recently to celebrate his impending retirement, he had no clue what his boys had in store. He’d taught them to ride dirt bikes almost as soon as they could walk and motorcycling is inextricably linked to their sense of family. Spokane, Washington, the area the Jordan family calls home, is an off-roader’s paradise, filled with mountain trails, single track and jeep roads.

As a way to pay their father back for teaching them how to ride and for sharing his love of all things motorcycle with them, Joey and Clint bought their old man tickets to paradise. During the BBQ, they handed Ken a simple envelope, a token of their appreciation. Inside were plane tickets to Daytona Beach and a full itinerary – dirt track racing, the Daytona 200, Supercross, and the Ricky Carmichael School. Joey and Clint didn’t share whether a tear was shed, but I’m certain there were some soggy eyes in that household. I had the pleasure of meeting Ken’s boys last night at the Full Moon Saloon where we shared some beers and they told me their story. And their story touched a chord in me, how the sense of family could be so intertwined with motorcycling and how this love had come full circle. Amidst the frenetic pace of Bike Week and the commercialism that goes along with it, the Jordan family’s story is what it’s all about – fraternity, a common bond, a universality that unless you ride, you’ll never fully understand.
 
Our day started out with winds whipping the white sand over the beaches outside our balcony window as grey clouds blew overhead. Somebody must have gotten my order confused – I said I’d like a heaping dose of Florida sunshine and temps in the 80s. This ain’t happening. It’s blustery and cool today, with gusts whipping up to 30 mph. Fortunately I was headed over to Volusia Motorsports to pick up a 2010 Arlen Ness Victory Vision, a rock-solid ride with an aerodynamic wind screen that knifes through the wind. Having almost 800 lbs of Minnesota engineering beneath me didn’t hurt either.

We spend some time at Volusia Motorsports talking to Andy Pallemaerts, the company president. He’s got the area’s only Victory Motorcycyles dealership, a great shop that sells KTMs and bicycles as well. I saw Motorcycle USA correspondent Justin Dawes eyeballing a new downhill mountain bike really hard. Pallemaerts talks about how cool it is to live in an area where you can surf in the morning then travel five miles inland and be at your favorite trails for an afternoon ride. Sounds cool to me. His crew has the Vision prepped and ready, so we roll out to hit the scene.

I feel like a pimp on the blinged-out Vision. Tribal graphics, knurled Arlen Ness grips, lots of Harley guys are giving me the eyeball while Victory riders give me the thumbs-up. The bike’s big Freedom 106 engine and sleek styling is helping me win the battle against the wind as we ride over tall bridges and around town. But I don’t want to tip my hat too much, seeing as how we plan on doing a little Quick Ride review when we get back to town. Needless to say, it’s a great bike to be hitting the Bike Week scene on.

We make a bee-line for the Speedway to catch the last rounds of the AHRMA racing going on at the track. It’s the final class and a ’92 Honda CBR F2 is battling it out with a big boxer-driven BMW. The riders have the throttles pinned and the engine’s are wailing as they bank into Turn 4. Don’t tell these guys that they’re not in the Daytona 200 because they’re pushing the bikes for all they’re worth. The Honda edges the Beemer at the line and secures bragging rights for the day. The AHRMA enjoyed another successful event. I only wish we could have gotten there earlier to enjoy more of the racing.

I did enjoy riding through the tunnel under Daytona International Speedway’s Turn 4. With the rumble of the big V-Twin echoing in the underground chamber as I rode through, I couldn’t help but be filled with a sense of nostalgia. So much racing history has been etched on the asphalt above me. Next to Indy, there isn’t any other racetrack that is as indelibly etched in American roadracing lore as Daytona. The racetrack supports this town. It has put this sleepy strip along the Atlantic on the international map, and people come from the four corners to visit this racetrack. I remember two years back when Motorcycle USA’s Steve Atlas rode to an astounding ninth place finish in the Daytona 200. And this with a privateer team riding an unfamiliar bike without much practice time. Of course, we weren’t lucky enough to have Steve onboard the Motorcycle USA team yet, but I was impressed as hell nonetheless.

Evening time we headed over to the Lighthouse Landing for some killer chow. Female custom bike builder Athena ‘Chickie’ Ransom was there, too, getting her grub on. The head honcho of Vagabond Choppers is in town promoting the Chicks Rule & Boys Drool Tour. The tour is a traveling showcase dedicated to women motorcycle riders, demonstrating what all is out there to our sisters in the saddle, from gear and clothing to motorcycle accessories and bikes tailored specifically for women. They’re not abandoning their girlie side, as along with how-to seminars there are fashion shows, book signings, and special guests on the Chick’s Rule schedule.

The day ended with our first trip down Main St. The winds had gotten even fiercer and the temperatures had dropped and many motorcycles were parked comfortably in front of their hotels. That didn’t prevent us from having some fun at the Full Moon Saloon. An ‘80s cover band called Hypersona was laying down some wicked Ratt & roll as the party went Round and Round. OK, I’ll stop slaying you with the cheesy hair band one-liners, but a good time was to be had. The Full Moon had the biggest crowd of the Main St. venues and the beer girls were being brave soldiers in their skimpy outfits and push-up bras as they served happy patrons with a smile. The Jager girls were busy serving up the syrupy elixir that is a perfect way to warm up your insides on a chilly night.

Back at the hotel, I sat on our balcony and watched the bright moon’s reflection off the calm waters of the Atlantic before going back inside and fading off into La-La land already thinking about what Day Two has in store.