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harley homecoming

The Beattie Files: Homecoming heart-stoppers

Back in 2003, young Mr Beattie tackled organising a giant crew of Aussies and Kiwis to fly across the Pacific for the Harley Homecoming Tour, celebrating a century of the marque.

So, 350-odd riders (some very odd) being shipped across the planet with their bikes, determined to have a good time.

And the result? Heaps of generosity, a few arrests plus lots of great memories

(Ed's note: These are excerpts from young Beattie's book on some of the more colourful incidents in an action-packed life. See the end of the piece for more info.)

(January 2025, Chris Beattie)  

 
“What about drugs in the crates? Is that going to be an issue?”
 
As far as conversation stoppers go, in my experience at least, I can’t recall a better one. Particularly since the question was being posed to a very senior US Customs officer who had various weapons attached to his belt, including a very big handgun. And I was sitting directly opposite him at the time.

The question came from my good buddy Mark as we were just about to wrap up our meeting with US Customs to discuss how we might be able to fast-track our group’s 348 Harleys into the country.

harley homecoming tour
 
Above: Doc Mark (left) checks Beattie for signs of life. We're still waiting for results...

To put it in perspective, across the table from us were three very highly decorated and uniformed US Customs officers – the sort of people who specialized in detecting and seizing illicit drugs, not to mention taking great pleasure in locking up anyone they even suspected of trafficking. And we had just managed to convince them that our group should be given special treatment based on the fact that there would be no reason whatsoever to search our motorcycle crates, which I guaranteed would be free of any contraband – including drugs.
 
“So what did you have in mind Mark?” quizzed the boss Customs guy, eyebrows now raised. Mark was very definitely now in the spotlight. I could hardly wait for his explanation.
 
“Well, I was just thinking that some of our members might be on medication, say diabetes, and they might want to pack their meds into the crates,” he explained, straight-faced. Up until that moment, I thought the meeting had gone really well and that we had secured the confidence and trust of our US Customs mates. Now, suddenly, I was wondering how I could reach across the table and strangle Mark without attracting their attention.
 
There was a moment’s silence. You could have heard a feather bounce…
 
“Well, Mark, glad you brought that up,” said the boss. “We’ll get you some forms so you can get them out to your group. If anyone needs to bring in medication, I’m sure there won’t be a problem.
 
“Thanks for coming and good luck with your tour, fellas,” he said, reaching out to shake hands.
 
It wasn’t our last discussion with US authorities as the tour departure approached, but it was definitely one of the more memorable.
 
A few weeks later we had another meeting, this one to sort out logistics for our first day on the road in San Francisco.
 
“Well, all I can say is that if we cut loose nearly 500 Australian Harley riders on the streets of San Francisco on a busy week day, and without an escort on their first day on the road in America after three days of partying, I don’t want to be held responsible for the consequences,” I said finally, looking across the table at the high-ranking officers of the California Highway Patrol.
 
We had spent the past hour trying to come up with a plan that would send the 498 riders and passengers of the 100th Anniversary Harley Homecoming Tour safely on their way for what they all considered to be their motorcycle trip of a lifetime.
 
The tour had been four years in the making and our contingent from Down Under would be the largest single foreign group to ride to Milwaukee for Harley-Davidson’s 100th birthday party in August, 2003.

harley homecoming tour

Above: as usual, when you have an impossibly complex task that needs to be done right, you give it to a woman. Meet Mistress Alicia, who threaded the tour into a working fabric.
 
Logistically, it had been a huge project, coordinating the crating of the bikes around Australia and New Zealand and having them delivered to our shipping departure point of Sydney. I was very fortunate in having the assistance of Mistress Alicia, or simply “The Mistress” as she was known. Alicia handled all of the bookings and myriad other admin details needed to ensure safe passage for the bikes and their riders and passengers.

No one else had ever shipped this many bikes halfway across the planet in one lot before – in peacetime at least. It was almost like an invasion, but without the bullets and bombs. Then again, there was one group that came close … (more on Glynn and his mates a little later). Everything had to run to a tight schedule to ensure the bikes were in the US and uncrated ready for the road before the group jetted in.

harley homecoming tour
 
Above: the herioc crating crew, with Beattie at second from right.

I was fortunate to have the support of a highly dedicated and professional crew to help crate and prepare the bikes for shipment from all points of the compass. The crew was headed by Sydney Harley enthusiasts Bill Bryce and Charlie Palmer, and all went well and truly above and beyond the call of duty as far as making sure all the bikes were secured properly and packed into the containers prior to shipment. In addition, Charlie and Bill, together with a few mates, were on hand in the US to uncrate all the bikes and ensure they were ready for the motorcycle adventure of a lifetime when the tour members flew in to begin their ride across the US.
 
Our motto from the start was ‘Failure is NOT an option’. But with only a couple of months to go, one of the most critical aspects of the tour was looking increasingly in jeopardy.

One of the world’s most famous motorcycle customisers, and a personal friend, Arlen Ness, had generously offered to host a special ‘Welcome to the USA’ party at his huge new shop at Dublin, on the outskirts of San Francisco. Our plan had been to bus the group to our motorcycle storage facility near San Francisco airport early on the morning of departure.

The bikes would be ready to go, having been uncrated, refuelled and checked to make sure they were road-worthy. Then we would ride en-masse through downtown San Francisco and across the iconic Golden Gate bridge and then on to Arlen’s shop. After that, we would all head south for a big party at a campground in Big Sur at the end of the day. It was crucial that the ride would need to be tightly coordinated and carefully choreographed to avoid any incidents along the way.

harley homecoming tour
 
Above: the tour crew tackles a foggy day on the Golden Gate bridge.

Tour members would have already been in town for three days, most of which was spent developing tastes for American beer and liquor. Which meant that a lot of our riders would not be at their sharpest by the time the ride was due to head off. So, we had a dilemma, which is why I had reached out to the CHP two months in advance.
 
“So, Chris, we have no problem helping you guys out at all,” said the senior officer at the CHP’s San Francisco headquarters, before quoting a considerable five-figure sum for providing an escort for the tour. It was the first I’d heard of an actual fee and the amount was definitely something I hadn’t budgeted for. But getting our members safely on their way was critical. It would be their first day riding on the right side of the road, which would be a huge challenge for a lot of our members in a large and busy city like San Francisco.
 
“Guys, I really appreciate your time,” I said, “but there’s just no way we can afford the fee. We’ll just have to take our chances and hope we don’t have any dramas on the day.”
 
We all shook hands and I left the meeting already trying to figure out how we’d pull off our first day on the road without an official escort. And without losing people along the way. Over the following few days, we pawed over maps and tried to find a route that worked, but no matter what we came up with it looked like our mass ride couldn’t happen. At least not without causing chaos for both the group and locals.
 
A week or so later I got a call from one of the CHP officers.
 
“Chris, I think we might have a way to do this,” he said, gaining my undivided attention.
 
“The CHP has a kid’s charity we support. We’ve been talking about your tour and what we’d like to propose is that instead of a fee for the escort, how about you just ask the group to make donations to our charity on the day?”
 
“You got it mate!” I said, relieved that the CHP was finally going to come to the party, or at least get us through the city and over the Golden Gate, hopefully unscathed.
 
Meanwhile, word of our tour had reached a local radio station. With a couple of days to go until we headed off, I did a live interview with one of their hosts. Unknown to me, they began putting out regular reminders to their listeners to look at for the convoy of Aussie bikers riding through town.
 
The scene at the freight depot where our bikes were stored was a combination of chaos and revelry on the morning of our departure. A real festive atmosphere prevailed as a line of buses stretched up the road with tour members disembarking in waves and making their way to their bikes, strapping on all their luggage and getting ready for the start of an incredible adventure. Many also reached into their pockets to donate money to the CHP kid’s charity and I’m proud to report that several thousand dollars was raised that morning.
 
True to their word, the CHP had a small fleet of motorcycle-mounted officers on hand, and they addressed tour members on how the ride would work as we made our way through the city and over the bridge. They’d obviously put a fair bit of work into the ride planning because it worked almost flawlessly, even down to having their riders pull up at intersections ahead of us to halt traffic so we could ride through downtown San Francisco without stopping for red lights.
 
It was obvious that the radio station’s efforts had had an impact as everywhere we rode locals waved to us and cheered, some even sporting Australian flags. Tour members reciprocated, waving from their bikes, which were decked out appropriately for the occasion with inflatable kangaroos and flags. It was an incredible experience which many tour members still treasure, I’m sure.
 
Strangely, while it was a typical clear and sunny California day, as Arlen Ness and his son Corey led the convoy onto the Golden Gate, it was cloaked in a thick layer of fog. It was a weird experience to cross the iconic American structure and only be able to see a few metres in any direction.

Once clear of the bridge, and with Mistress Alicia enthroned on the back of my Wide Glide, we followed the freeway south and waved goodbye to our CHP’s escort. One tour member also bid farewell to a large sum of cash as the paper bag he’d stashed his US dollars in on the back of his bike burst open. The resulting cloud of currency proved a distraction for freeway traffic and he was very lucky that other tour members alerted him to the situation before he lost the lot.

harley homecoming tour
 
Above: Beattie, Arlen (RIP) and Corey.

Arlen and Corey laid on a fantastic reception and party, with hundreds of their biker mates waving small Aussie flags and cheering us as we pulled up at his flash new shop. They even laid on a banquet lunch and a band to keep everyone entertained.
 
Our first day on the road in the US ended further down the coast at the campground in Big Sur, where group members unwound at the bar to the beat of an enthusiastic rock band. It was a fantastic start to what would be many thousands of kilometres of memories for our tour members.
 
One of my favourite stories from the tour revolved around a particularly hardcore group of riders from Queensland, who were absolutely committed to making the most of their time in the US – and Mexico as it turned out.
 
One – Glynn – was actually an old partner in crime from back in the day in NZ, where he was a prominent outlaw club member who had a very tidy BSA chopper that he used to terrorise the Auckland police with at every opportunity.
 
After our party in Big Sur, Glynn and his tour buddies immediately headed south for the Mexican border where they planned to catch up with an old buddy from Australia who had made a life and name for himself south of Tijuana. In particular, he had his own bar and brothel, which turned out to be very much to the taste of Glynn and his mates, so much so that they almost missed the big party in Milwaukee.
 
It didn’t help that their mate also owned a ranch on the US side of the border, high in the hills east of San Diego, where he used to indulge his hobby in collecting military grade weaponry. Things were pretty basic on the ranch, with just a couple of rundown shacks, a bit of scrub and not much else.
 
After a few days of debauchery and mayhem in Mexico, the group crossed back into the US and headed for the ranch, where they spent a couple of days blazing away with assault rifles, high explosives and even a couple of anti-tank grenade launchers. A fair amount of alcohol was also consumed.
 
While the ranch was fairly remote, it wasn’t far enough off the beaten track to avoid official attention – remembering this was only just over a year since the 9/11 attacks. America was still very much on a war footing so lighting up the night sky with tracer rounds and rockets wasn’t the smartest move at the time.
 
Things came to a head when the group, sleeping off another big session, were awoken by a loudspeaker ordering them to come out of the shack with their hands up. Spotlights lit up the area and a chopper was hovering overhead. As they made their way out onto the old shack’s porch they were confronted by a veritable army of law enforcement, who moved in with guns raised.
 
All were made to lie down in the dust so they could be handcuffed and secured by the large force of deputies and military police, who had apparently been alerted to the fact that a group of suspicious males appeared to be indulging in military-style training and activities and were possibly planning an attack on US soil.
 
A search of the premises didn’t improve things as an entire arsenal of weaponry was discovered, along with enough ammunition to conduct a small-scale war.
 
But once passports and other documents had been produced, the cops were satisfied that they weren’t dealing with a rogue Al-Qaeda cell. It was also fortunate that Glynn’s mate and owner of the guns and other hardware also had a legitimate collector’s licence.
 
Eventually all were freed and after a stern talking to were allowed to go on their merry way. By the time they all actually made it to Milwaukee they’d already done their share of partying, but that didn’t stop Glynn and his mates from making the most of their time at the world’s biggest biker party.

harley homecoming tour
 
Above: Beattie somehow snuck his HSV GTO across the docks...they would have loved it at Pebble Beach.

There are hundreds of other stories about our once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Like how we snuck my HSV GTO Monaro coupe into the US for the tour, including ‘accidentally’ displaying it at the world famous Pebble Beach Concours in Monterey. Maybe I’ll find a few more once various statutes of limitation expire…


More at The Beattie Files home page


beattie book

The excerpt is from Beattie's wild and woolly book. So far as we know it's had one brief print run and he's threatening to do another. Watch this space.

In the meantime he can be contacted by email.

More at The Beattie Files home page



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