
Motorcycle Investor
mag
Subscribe
to our free email news

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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
Travels with Guido columns here
More features here
See the bikes in our shed
-------------------------------------------------
Produced by AllMoto abn 61 400 694 722
Privacy: we do not collect cookies or any other data.

|
Try our books...


YouTube

Instagram

Facebook
Email newsletter
Archives
News archive
Features
Our Bikes stories
Travels with Guido
columns
Contact
About AllMoto
Email me
|