06-29-2026, 09:18 AM
We all love riding, and who would pass up the opportunity on a beautiful early summer weekend? Well... me, if it was this weekend.
It was a long day in the saddle on Friday. 350 miles to be almost exact on the Blood Bike, and I was getting tired. As I got closer to home, I started to see the telltale signs... A tragic hipster on the side of the freeway frantically trying to kick-start a dead chopper with a Mexican blanket seat and overdone patina on the tank. Groups of black leather-vested riders on the other side of the freeway, looking back, waiting for their slower riding buddies to catch up. As I got a few miles from home and just wanted to gas up the Beemer, park and kick my boots off, I came up behind a few slower riding newly-hatched Harlistas, still sporting paper temporary tags on the backs of their bikes, nervously navigating The 5 during rush hour. I don't have time for Amateur Hour... I hit my strobes and they half-panic thinking I'm a cop and move over for me to pass.
Stopping at my usual 7-11 gas station and convenience store on Chapman Ave, I pull up to the only pump that isn't surrounded by a bunch of Harleys. I get a glance from these guys as I dismount and pull out my credit card, but they don't know what to make of a bright yellow BMW that clearly isn't part of their world, and they do not engage. I fill up, slide down a dead-end side street, go around a barricade and into my condo complex. Taking off my helmet in the garage, I can hear a chorus of loud V-twin pipes thundering in the distance.
It's Born Free Weekend! I live off of Chapman, which heads East a few miles from my place into Santiago Canyon, the destination "twisty" canyon road in Orange County. It's not that twisty, but does offer sweeping turns through a somewhat hilly canyon, and at the other end is Cooks Corner, the O.C. equivalent of Malibu's The Rock Store. In the middle of the canyon is a vast event space in a somewhat wooded area, used year-long for company retreats, boy scout jamborees and all manner of things. This weekend it hosts Born Free, a biker festival second to none. Thousands of bikers decend into the area to commune, show off their bikes, stroll row after row of vendors ranging from mom-and-pop t-shirt shops selling gear with logos your Mom would not approve of, to major companies like Motul and Bell.
The canyon road becomes an endless stream of screaming freedom, with bikes hurtling in both directions in and out of the canyon. O.C. Sheriff and CHP bikes, stationed in the turn-outs along the road are tag-teaming each other as they pull out to nab unsafe riders. Bikers tap the tops of their helmets in warning as they pass each other.
Born Free is my annual guilty pleasure, combined with a long hike. It's 98.7 percent Harley, but I love to people-watch, and Harley or otherwise, communing with other motorcycle lovers is always a good time. However, it's the last place I want to be riding one of my motorcycles. Plus, the vast parking area for the show is a huge dirt field. You all know how I feel about dirty bikes, and at the end of the day the constant dust cloud raised by bikes and bro-dozers coming and going does its damage.
So, I hike in. At the end of the day, coming and going, it's a little over 20 miles, including the steps to mill around and check the show out. I have to admit I love it. Much of it is one Harley after another, and if they're not of the spectacular variety they sort of blend together. There are other makes, and some of them are stunning. Here are a few. The one notable Honda was a custom CBX, with a candy grey tank sporting a Honda car logo on the tank - the newer lower-case script, which I've only seen on the Prologue electric car, an interesting choice.
It was a long day in the saddle on Friday. 350 miles to be almost exact on the Blood Bike, and I was getting tired. As I got closer to home, I started to see the telltale signs... A tragic hipster on the side of the freeway frantically trying to kick-start a dead chopper with a Mexican blanket seat and overdone patina on the tank. Groups of black leather-vested riders on the other side of the freeway, looking back, waiting for their slower riding buddies to catch up. As I got a few miles from home and just wanted to gas up the Beemer, park and kick my boots off, I came up behind a few slower riding newly-hatched Harlistas, still sporting paper temporary tags on the backs of their bikes, nervously navigating The 5 during rush hour. I don't have time for Amateur Hour... I hit my strobes and they half-panic thinking I'm a cop and move over for me to pass.
Stopping at my usual 7-11 gas station and convenience store on Chapman Ave, I pull up to the only pump that isn't surrounded by a bunch of Harleys. I get a glance from these guys as I dismount and pull out my credit card, but they don't know what to make of a bright yellow BMW that clearly isn't part of their world, and they do not engage. I fill up, slide down a dead-end side street, go around a barricade and into my condo complex. Taking off my helmet in the garage, I can hear a chorus of loud V-twin pipes thundering in the distance.
It's Born Free Weekend! I live off of Chapman, which heads East a few miles from my place into Santiago Canyon, the destination "twisty" canyon road in Orange County. It's not that twisty, but does offer sweeping turns through a somewhat hilly canyon, and at the other end is Cooks Corner, the O.C. equivalent of Malibu's The Rock Store. In the middle of the canyon is a vast event space in a somewhat wooded area, used year-long for company retreats, boy scout jamborees and all manner of things. This weekend it hosts Born Free, a biker festival second to none. Thousands of bikers decend into the area to commune, show off their bikes, stroll row after row of vendors ranging from mom-and-pop t-shirt shops selling gear with logos your Mom would not approve of, to major companies like Motul and Bell.
The canyon road becomes an endless stream of screaming freedom, with bikes hurtling in both directions in and out of the canyon. O.C. Sheriff and CHP bikes, stationed in the turn-outs along the road are tag-teaming each other as they pull out to nab unsafe riders. Bikers tap the tops of their helmets in warning as they pass each other.
Born Free is my annual guilty pleasure, combined with a long hike. It's 98.7 percent Harley, but I love to people-watch, and Harley or otherwise, communing with other motorcycle lovers is always a good time. However, it's the last place I want to be riding one of my motorcycles. Plus, the vast parking area for the show is a huge dirt field. You all know how I feel about dirty bikes, and at the end of the day the constant dust cloud raised by bikes and bro-dozers coming and going does its damage.
So, I hike in. At the end of the day, coming and going, it's a little over 20 miles, including the steps to mill around and check the show out. I have to admit I love it. Much of it is one Harley after another, and if they're not of the spectacular variety they sort of blend together. There are other makes, and some of them are stunning. Here are a few. The one notable Honda was a custom CBX, with a candy grey tank sporting a Honda car logo on the tank - the newer lower-case script, which I've only seen on the Prologue electric car, an interesting choice.
You know what? I actually would like a pickle.
