It’s hard to say what drew me deep out into the Great Smokey Mountains for my first Smokey Mountain Chopper Fest.
Was it my fascination with the cultural dichotomy that makes up this particular brand of chopper culture spanning from redneck to skate rat? Or was it the promise of bearing witness to a type of belligerent, primal Sendakian rumpus the likes of which I’d only heard about in story books?
After catching glimpses of last year’s mayhem via Instagram, I had to see the fire jumping, chopper chugging, face down shenanigans myself.
The way to Chopper Fest was marked by broken down motorcycles along the side of the road. Read more…