Words by Sami Graystone:

Twelve years ago, I came to Born Free as a spectator.

I'd been riding and dreaming of owning a chopper for years, inspired by the American culture surrounding Harley-Davidson. I'd wanted to make the pilgrimage to Born Free ever since the Block Party days, but nothing could have prepared me for the scale of it all.

Builders I'd followed for years. Bikes that looked like the ones I'd stared at in dog-eared copies of Easy Rider. The biggest gathering of Harleys I'd ever seen.

I left completely inspired.

Coming back this year, I realised something had changed.

Somewhere between then and now, I'd stopped being the person looking in from the outside and quietly become part of the community that had inspired me in the first place.

The bikes had changed.

The show had changed.

I had too.

The reason for making the trip back Stateside was to support my partner, Chris Hatton, whose Shovelhead had made the final six in Biltwell's People's Champ competition.

Their motto says everything you need to know about it: Hard Work Pays Off.

These bikes aren't built to sit under bright lights collecting trophies. They have to run. They have to ride. They have to prove themselves on the road.

That means a lot.

Especially when you know what it takes: the late nights, the setbacks, and the thousands of small decisions that go into getting a bike of that calibre to the finish line.

Before any of that, though, came the pilgrimage to Temecula to collect the bike from Biltwell HQ after its flight over from Heathrow.

Seeing it roll out in one piece was a huge relief, and finally meeting the people behind a company we'd admired and worked alongside for years was something else entirely.

Faces became names.

Handshakes replaced emails.

It's the sort of thing this scene still does better than any other.

The same thing happened again and again throughout the week.

Online friendships became real ones.

Builders became mates.

People you'd admired for years greeted you like they'd known you forever.

One of those moments was finally meeting Jenna Stellar, the mastermind behind Stellar Moto Brand. I'd worn her gear for years and admired everything she was building for women in motorcycling. Good-looking women's riding gear that actually fits shouldn't feel revolutionary in 2026, but somehow it still does.

Finding out she'd followed my journey through my accident and recovery felt surreal and grounding all at once.

Those are the moments that stay with you.

Not follower counts.

Not algorithms.

Just real people making genuine connections through motorcycles.

That's what Born Free still gets right.

Thursday morning began with loading Chris's People's Champ Shovelhead into the back of a janky rental Transit before accidentally discovering California's answer to Welsh green lanes.

The sat nav absolutely did us dirty.

What followed was a slalom through cratered dirt roads, sandy climbs, and more than a few sketchy moments.

At one point I climbed into the back of the van and spent half the journey physically bracing the bike as we bounced our way through the hills.

We made it.

I definitely wouldn't recommend the route to anyone else, but it was memorable.

By lunchtime, all of the People's Champ finalists had arrived and, for the first time, everyone was together in one place.

Different stories.

Different accents.

Different bikes.

The same obsession.

Until then, everyone had only known each other through screens. Suddenly they were gathered around one another's bikes with instant camaraderie, sharing stories, geeking out over the details, asking questions with genuine curiosity, and finally seeing all the craftsmanship that photographs never quite capture.

It was a privilege to witness.

Friday was ride day.

Fifty miles through the canyon to prove the bikes could do exactly what they were built to do.

I headed to Cook's Corner to wait for them to arrive.

One rider didn't make it.

Everyone felt it.

That's the brutal honesty of People's Champ, and it's exactly why the competition commands so much respect.

The rest rolled in one by one to cheers, handshakes, pats on the back, and visible relief.

Nine months of energy, stress, and expectation suddenly released in a dusty California car park.

The atmosphere was electric.

By evening, Cook's Corner had become a beautiful kind of chaos beneath the setting sun.

Bikes lined the roads as far as you could see while the wheelie lads put on a show.

Old friends found each other in the crowds.

Otto had everyone crying with laughter during the cosplay awards before Josh from Biltwell announced the eagerly awaited winner: Jack Weid and his killer purple Pan.

The UK and Welsh supporters who'd travelled over to cheer Chris on decided his achievement deserved celebrating too, so his bike got a proper beer shower anyway.

We were all incredibly proud of how far he'd come.

Saturday morning brought more than 25,000 people flooding through the gates to explore over 200 stalls.

Chrome caught the California sun from every direction.

Engines echoed around the hills.

Builds demanded you stop walking, crouch down, and spend time appreciating the fabrication, engineering, and artistry.

My favourite bike of the weekend belonged to Josh Sheehan: a tough 1968 Shovelhead sitting in a 1930s frame that looked genuinely annoyed to be standing still on a show field when it clearly wanted to be ridden.

It was so rad.

The other standout moment was, without question, Danger Dan's kickstart competition.

If you've never seen it, imagine equal parts entertainment, public humiliation, and mechanical sympathy.

Step up and risk getting roasted.

Refuse and definitely get roasted.

Either way, you're probably in for a bad time.

At one point Luke from Party at the Pen needed someone to kick over his 1926 JD.

Knowing I could start an old bike, he pointed straight at me.

Instantly my legs turned into cooked spaghetti and my mouth went dry.

But the second I grabbed the bars and put my foot on the kicker, I knew I had it.

The bike fired.

The crowd cheered.

I walked away trying to look considerably cooler than I actually felt, and massively relieved I hadn't let Luke down.

He went on to win.

Moments like that summed up the entire weekend.

No pretence.

No ego.

Just people encouraging each other.

By Sunday, the pace had slowed.

The crowds had thinned and conversations replaced queues.

Builders finally had time to breathe.

People wandered the swap meet looking for last-minute treasures that might fit into a sissy bar bag or suitcase.

Awards were handed out.

A shout-out to fellow Yorkshireman Lloyd Williams for taking Best Panhead, and to the endlessly positive Brittany Conard for her Shovelhead.

Eventually people began riding home.

As the sun started setting on another Born Free, I realised my favourite part of the entire trip hadn't been a bike, an award, or even the competition itself.

It was the people.

The friendships.

Builders helping builders.