“What’s this?” he asked, dangling a handkerchief-size piece of cloth in front of me. I recognized it instantly.

“That’s my black leather halter top.” The expression on his face made it clear I needed to explain further. “From Bike Week. When I went rolling with the Biker Babes.”

 Let me be the first to pass the blame. If it wasn’t for my friend April, I never would have ended up with a leather item of apparel of questionable taste. I also would have missed out on Bike Week altogether, which would have been a shame.

I know April through hang gliding. She has a big laugh, a big heart, and a wild streak wider than Texas. She had this idea that she would get together all the woman motorcycle riders that she could and that we’d boogie up to Daytona for Bike Week, storming into town like a living announcement that it was time to get the party started. Although my experience biking has been limited to racing dirt bikes around the airport, she suggested I go, too, offering to give me a lift on her Suzuki Intruder.

Bike Week has been a tradition in Daytona since 1937, and is heralded as the world’s largest motorcycle event. It sounded just like my cup of adventure. I was in.

We met up with the other Biker Babes at a gas station by Winter Garden. The morning sun filtered through the trees in sharp columns of light, and I had to squint to see them. The girls sported tattoos, leather hairpieces, leather pants, and sunglasses. Their Harleys and Hondas gleamed, rumbling with power as we blasted onto the road.

I’ve never felt so much like a rock star. I clutched the back of the bike and sang along to Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild.” The wind chilled my skin, and my eyes watered behind my glasses. Our trek was mainly on back roads, past palm and pine trees. We drove cautiously around the cars; April explained that you have to assume that the drivers don’t see you. I was grateful for the helmet she insisted I wear and grateful for her respect for the machine we rode.

By the time we arrived in Daytona, my rear end was complaining and I was happy to pile off of the bike. Choppers, hogs, low riders and Harleys clogged the streets and lined them. Over 500,000 bikers and bike lovers had showed up for the event.

Half-clad women and men with bulging biceps shopped, showed off their slick machines and wandered through the booths. The breeze was scented with beer, and I could hear a band playing rock music in the distance. I’ve never been known for my shy nature, and it was a first-time experience for me to be among the most conservatively dressed.

April couldn’t help but recognizing it, too. “We gotta get you some decent clothes,” she said.

We wandered into one of the many booths. The Biker Babes thrust what they generously called clothing towards me. I initially objected to the black leather halter, since it exposed an alarming amount of skin, but the others insisted that there was no such thing at Daytona. I was going to protest further, but I figured if I agreed they might quit trying to get me to wear fur undergarments, too. (No kidding. They actually make them.)

I wouldn’t have missed the day for anything – the demos, the dancing, the people and bike watching. If you get a move-on, you can join in the fun, too. Bike Week 2008 has already started. It runs from February 29 through March 9. This is just a TINY part of the action associated with Bike Week this year. You can:

• Cheer on your favorites at the Sun Trust MOTO-ST Racing at Daytona International Speedway.
• Party with The Purrfect Angelz at the Harley-Davidson Festival Stage.
• Check out H.O.G. Hospitality at the Ocean Center Arena.
• Thrill to the B.O.S.S. –  the Ball of Steel Stunt Show -- at Ocean Center East Plaza.
• Visit the Harley-Davidson® Traveling Museum.
• Take an H-D or Buell Demo Ride at Daytona International Speedway.
• Win something (or just learn something). Women can visit the Harley-Davidson Interactive Women's Area featuring giveaways, prizes, and motorcycle information all week at the Ocean Center.
• Be awed. Visit Sopotnick's Cabbage Patch Bar on Tomoka Road in Samsula, where women wrestle each other in a mass of Cole slaw. Bar owner Ronnie Luznar says, "We have done for Cole slaw what the moon did for rocks." Other events include a Bike Drop, Sky Diving, Wet-Ts and Hot Buns contests, and body air brushing. For details, call: 386-427-8969.

You should definitely go at least once. The coleslaw wrestling alone is mind boggling. I might go again, too. I’ve saved the leather halter top, just in case.