When my lovely wife and I booked our honeymoon in Myrtle Beach, SC, we were picturing surf, sand and sun. Quiet afternoons under a beach umbrella, getting skin cancer at a leisurely pace. While we did get most of this, we also got a lot more.

Before our trip, I had no idea Black Bike Week was a thing, but I quickly got the scoop from the local bartenders and waiters. They were already battening down the hatches when we arrived on Monday. I heard horror stories from previous years about people running out on checks, stealing. Stories about the traffic. ‘Forget about going anywhere,’ people told us, ‘You won’t be able to move your car.’





I heard tell of the attempts to shut down the Event in previous years. Hearing all this from people in the service industry, I wondered how much of this Anti-Black Bike Week sentiment was based in the general consensus among servers and bartenders that black people don’t tip. I didn’t have to wonder for long, as I was about to see for myself.

As the bikes started to show up in force on Thursday, I decided to get in the spirit of things by getting myself a nice Black Bike Week T-Shirt. My lady and I filled up some cups with a rum-based concoction we made in the room and called “Death Punch” and hit the strip to take in the sights and sounds of the festive atmosphere. It was true what they said about the traffic. The 4-lane road was moving at a parade pace.

In what could only be called a mating ritual, the men rode their bikes or super-rimmed cars up and down the main drag, and women – done up in their fanciest weaves and booty shorts – casually cruised the sidewalk with the goal of getting a ride on one of these hogs (if you know what i mean). When a biker had interest in a weave or a booty, he would rev his engine as if to say, “heeey gurl.” The completion of the ritual involved her then mounting the bike behind him and twerking/booty clapping as he drives up and down the strip revving his engine.

The loud vrrring-vrrrr-vring of thousands of bikes could be heard all night and all day. A cloud of pot smoke seemed to permeate every crevice of the town. In the elevators, the restaurants, on the street, on the beach – not that I’m complaining.

On Saturday night, there was a shooting about three blocks from our hotel. 3 killed and more injured. Most of the photos in this post are from the area of the shooting earlier in the same day. This brought in Militarized Police onto the beach for the rest of the five-day event.

Traffic and violence aside, my wife and I had a great time. Despite our glaring whiteness, no one seemed to have an issue with us and at no point did I feel in danger. The loud bikes at night and the standstill streets were a bit of a drag, but no more-so than screaming frat boys would have been on another beach during spring break. In fact, all things considered, I think I feel a lot safer with a crowd of black bikers than a crowd of cocked-hat date-rapey white boys with nothing on their mind other than binge-drinking.

Some servers didn’t get tipped, and some white-folk tourists left early and unhappy bound for other beaches. There was a bit of crime and some people got killed. And that all sucks. Some stuff obviously sucks worse than others. But on the overall, I see no reason why Myrtle Beach continues to try to ban black bike week. Perhaps if the city spent a bit more time making adequate provisions (greater police presence, public restrooms, rerouted traffic) for the event it would run more efficiently. The beach town’s official policy seems to be ‘Let’s ban it. Or, if we can’t ban it, let’s pretend it doesn’t exist.’ Which is clearly no answer at all. My suspicion is that, even if the event is banned by the law, it will continue to occur unabated. Can you ban salmon from swimming upstream to spawn?

See All Photos Here

Continue to ‘Candy Crushers: Hide Your Shame’

@ohyesmatt