“Damn, dude, I thought I saw a doppleganger.”
The randomness of this comment directed at me fit the randomness of Willie’s Tropical Tattoo Chopper Show. Because there’s no rhyme or reason, no sense of order or conformity at Willie’s, it’s just a good old fashioned bro-fest. Come chill out, wedge your bike in the parking lot, and spend the afternoon bumping into everybody and their mother as you make slow circles around the building. Eat some Q, drink some beer, share a story or two. Willie’s is an institution, a Bike Week tradition, it’s the one show in Daytona that nobody wants to miss.
“I remind you of somebody?” I asked in return.
“Yeah, for a second there, I swore I saw my buddy. He died a few months back when he got hit on his bike down in Costa Rica.”
“Wow. Sorry to hear about your bro. Maybe this is his way of letting you know he’s here.”
“Oh yeah, I have no doubt he’s here today. No doubt.”
See, just about everybody was at Willie’s. Even ghosts and dopplegangers.