2017 One Motorcycle Show... or Hipsters, More Hipsters and Hipster's Motorcycles

My buddy Andrew invited me to Portland’s One Motorcycle Show this weekend. Now a good writer would explain what the One Show is, but I’m having difficulty finding the words. Maybe I can paint a scene better. You’re in your mid-twenties living in Portland. You work two shifts a week at the hipster coffee shop and two nights a week at the bar themed after a 1980s logging outfit (beards, saw blades on the wall, and you all wear suspenders to serve burgers with ingredients most people have never heard of). On your many days at home you decide you should make something of your life, other than your collection of empty beer cans from small foreign breweries. So you buy an old motorcycle and decide to customize it like a café racer because you’ll get to wear cool clothes and boots when you ride it. When it’s finished, and you’ve bought your cool leathers and had your beard groomed, you head to the local café racer coffee shop and find out that there are fifty other guys just like you in Portland. So you decide to put your bikes together in a show. Then you invite your barber, coffee shop and bar as vendors. That show is the One Motorcycle Show.

Although I suffer from a little “Hipster Hatred” it’s hard to begrudge them when talking about the One. It’s quite a show. And why should I begrudge them all? If they want to spend a lot of money to “look” any certain way, why should I care? If I said that because I wear cheap t-shirts and don’t spend longer than twenty seconds on my hair I have no style, I’d be lying. I have a style, it’s what I just said. It’s like people that claim they have no faith base because they don’t believe in God. No, they have a faith in nothing… good luck with that.

The One show was held in the Industrial area of North Portland (by the railroad tracks and river). They’d found an unused circa 1920’s warehouse that they could fill with bikes, including the second story because it had a lift. A great location except for parking. I chose to bypass their ten dollar event parking. I was quickly questioning my decision as I drove past a number of car dismantlers and tow truck companies with migrants standing outside staring at me as I passed by looking for a street-side parking spot. Given the current political climate you might think I’m exaggerating to make a statement, but I’m not. Finally I found a street where I didn’t think my truck would be dismantled and I walked a mile to the show.

Waiting in line I overheard a number of people mention they were from out-of-town.

Outside the building were a number of Portland's favorite food carts selling food, coffee and alcohol, the Portland trifecta.

Inside bikes lined the corridors, along with vendors and hipster motorcycle art. There was a band with a smoke machine playing Motorhead and everyone was holding a Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Pictures say more than my yapping, so I’ll wrap this up with a ton of pictures but bear with me for a couple of paragraphs. I did yap a lot at the show. I feel a little bad for Andrew. I’ve had eighteen bikes, most of them old, so some of the bikes reminded me of things I’ve owned (I'll post a list of my bikes after the pictures of the show), or my father’s owned. His bike count has to be nearing one hundred (again, not exaggerating).

So while other people looked at the bikes and said things like “whoa man, gorgeous”, I was saying things like, “Why in the hell would you take the plastics off a DR and graft on older metal tanks and fenders? The first time you lay it down you’re going to do a ton of damage!”

There was about four bikes I saw in this style where you take a modern enduro and graft on older tanks and fenders.

And there were the many old Honda’s, and who hasn’t had an old Honda they could reminisce about? I once found a low mile CB350, blue and white, with only 10,000 on the speedo (looked a lot like the 175 in the picture above). I rebuilt the carbs and went to register it only to find out it was stolen. Thankfully it was stolen in 1979 and I wasn’t born yet, so I was off the suspect list (but barely). Surprisingly, the owner was contacted and he said I could have it. At 21 it didn’t register how lucky I was but looking back that was a pretty cool thing for them to do.

My favorite bike was a custom late 1920s Harley that looked like something out of the Rocketeer or one of those circa 1950 pulp hot-rod comics. Probably the first Harley I’ve ever seen that I thought, I’d ride that. Vesties with fringe aren’t my thing (see note on personal style above).

After wandering around we bought a couple t-shirts and took off. Wait, I bought a t-shirt for $10 and Andrew tried to buy one for his wife but nearly fell over when they said $85. There’s a place to fight for gender equality. Anyways, on my way back to the truck a number of people making the hike in from their parking spot asked if it was worth the trek. I answered honestly, “Yeah, definitely”.

Now the pictures: