Leafing through Easyriders, while Nan prepared tea, how cool would it be, I pondered, to thunder through Down Town in blazing sunshine, helmetless and bare armed? Astride a chopped Harley, of course, a near nude bitching biker chick perched on the pillion and then pulling into some sandy lot and swaggering into some or other badass biker bar? Very cool.

Very cool I thought then.

Didn't you? And, truthfully mind - nobody else is listening - don't you now?

Because I do - and I've been a biker long enough and I'm easily old enough to truthfully not give a damn whether you think that's grown up or not.

Daydreams have a power all their own. Twenty-two years later, in 1999, I finally got to go, but I was a lot older. I should have been a lot wiser than that clumsy, gawky, spotty virgin and much more jaded: after all, for the last fifteen of those years I'd been working for motorcycle magazines, and had sorted through plenty of Daytona pictures, laid out enough Daytona articles - and read them … but those images and words - no matter what those words actually said - did nothing more than reinforce my desire to go and see for myself some day. Damn, I am so, so glad I did because some dreams actually do come true. I deserved to go, I'd stayed true to the faith and I got more than I expected. Daytona, like life, really is what you make it.

Walking out of Daytona International Airport at night, the very first thing that hits you is the heat, a wall of sticky welcoming warmth; then it's the noise: you're a good quarter of a mile from the International Speedway Boulevard, but the roar of hundreds, thousands of unsilenced Harley-Davidsons on the move rumbles exactly like endless nearby thunder. Get to the strip and that thunder is sometimes deafening but now you can hear distinct motorcycles against the booming backdrop … and see them: singularly, in pairs and in packs - chrome and lacquer, leather and alloy reflecting neon, halogen and sodium flare. Helmet-less riders: male, female, black, white, rich, poor, young, old; all here, as you are, for Bike Week.

So yeah, Florida, USA. Disneyworld. Bikerworld. Palm trees and sunshine, ocean beaches and bikinis, wild parties and thousands upon thousands of custom motorcycles. It can sound a little bit too good to be true but Daytona really does exist, and Bike Week really does happen. It isn't some mythical fairy tale to send good bikers to bed: I've been and seen it. I've been a part of it and so have millions of others. And you? You can go too. Yes, really - and you don't even need to close your eyes and click a pair of red ruby shoes together. Daytona isn't pretend like Oz: it isn't full of smiling airheads wearing ridiculous clothes for starters - ah, right, yeah, sorry, perhaps I'll need to rephrase that!

But you need to see for yourself because you can't experience things this awesome second-hand. Daytona Bike Week really isn't all hideously rich born again yuppies on hideously expensive Harleys dressed in hideously expensive and rather ridiculous looking leather chaps, who can't even ride properly … that's just a part of it ...

True enough, all the above does exist. They're there alright: immaculately groomed men and women thruppenny-bitting $45,000 choppers in and out of expensive hotels, to and from expensive waterside restaurants and exclusive events via Daytona Beach's Main Street. True too, they will have had their motorcycles air-con trailered to the hotels behind massive, aggressive, spotlessly clean 4x4 pick ups, before flying out to join them for a few days. Yep, they are there and if you do want to see them you will find them in droves slipping their clutches and paddling their motorcycles in the huge queues waiting to turn both ways down Main Street.

But, so what! Meet these people in a bar and guess what, they're actually okay. They like bikes and are almost guaranteed to take to a guttural-voiced, strawberry-skinned, exotic import like you! And besides, Daytona Beach is one hell of a lot bigger than the short, cramped little thoroughfare on a narrow off-shore island that actually is Main Street.

And so is Bike Week. But mankind is split into four distinct groups: those people who see good in everything, those who see bad, those - the vast majority - who see a bit of both, and finally second-rate motorcycle journalists looking for some easy copy and a quiet, uncomplicated life back home.

The absolute truth of the matter is, if you love motorcycles and really get off being surrounded by partying bikers 24/7 you're going to love Daytona Bike Week … start saving now, sell the dog, see you in 2003. But also if you sometimes do bikes on the weekend, or used to do bikes bigstyle but actually find your average bikers pretty noxious nowadays, or even if you secretly prefer cars and are only doing Bike Week 'cos you think you ought - well, even though I'm personally tempted to say 'F**k you and good riddance!' but funnily enough it really is still worth coming: there will still be plenty to interest you too; you'll just have to pick and choose a little bit more carefully that's all. Meanwhile, the rest of us will be having a ball wherever we are.

Best local guesses for numbers this year - from the guys who'll know, notably cab drivers and officers of the law - reckoned they were down this year. What with the economic downturn and September 11th, only 450,000 bikers were able to turn up.

Four hundred and fifty thousand bikers.

Nearly half a million bikers: all different and all up to hundreds of different bikery things every day for over a week. That's why they come, and that's why Daytona can be whatever you make it. Think about what you'd like to do and then do it. If you come with your thumb up your ass, a bad attitude and determined to have a crap time, then I'm fairly sure that's possible too - but you'd honestly have to try really hard.

Having been before, I prepared for 2002 by logging on to collate lists of happenings (events to you and me) during the week. Harley-Davidson USA alone had a very full A4 sheet of info on their daily events and that didn't include the local Harley dealerships. Daytona Beach and New Smyrna Beach Harley-Davidson both offered their own full schedules of events. Daytona H-D for instance, put Diddley on a stage in a park opposite the dealership ... for nothing. Impressed? Most concerts are for nothing.

All around town, in shops, gas stations, bars and restaurants, you'll find free event booklets, and it really worth picking up at least two of them. The 'Bike Week Pocket Guide', published by the Daytona Beach/Halifax area Chamber of Commerce, is the official calendar of events and is literally packed full of events put on specifically for the visiting biker - from racing at the tracks to the stripping and drinking competitions. Alternatively, 'See Daytona Beach' is an A5 magazine, published by SEE Florida magazines, and is more 'touristy' and lists great restaurants, parks, shops, museums, theme parks and night clubs, has loads of money off vouchers and sports much better maps … oh yes, and the Bike Week events too. With these and the other guides tucked in your pockets, grab a beer and a burger and start choosing what your personal Daytona is going to be.

The choice is seemingly endless with truly gigantic swap meets outside town, where the 'real' bikers camp out. Here you can wander through giant beer tents and food barns with live bands all day. Lining the grassy 'roads' of these temporary villages are vans, RVs, covered stalls or just tarps on the ground offering rare and cheap bits; whole motorcycles or leather or jewellery and much more reasonably than Main Street offers, then watch insane mono-wheeled motorcycle dirt drags. Back in town you can grab stunning seafood and steak deals in dozens of quite fabulously posh waterside restaurants. And then, perhaps a biker bar afterwards: all will offer free entertainment from coleslaw wrestling, bikini and tattoo contests - if you like that sort of thing - but usually at the same time, in the same place, how about seriously kicking rock or country music and leaping about like a damn fool - if you like that sort of thing? Perhaps you just want to chill and swap some road stories perched at the bar, let your new mates tell you how different things are where they come from. And ultimately, how much the same they are. Meanwhile the girl who has been baring her breasts all evening two tables away ups the deal and downs her panties. Nobody really gives a damn, one way or the other. But then again how about laid back reggae bands on the beach, sipping midday Margaritas under a sunshade, while flawless blondes ride their own two-litre chops along the tide line? Reggae too predictable? How about House: Trance and Techno 'til ten the next day? Whatever you like, you're a biker, you're welcome.

But whatever you end up doing Daytona is, above all, about bikes. Believe it. Jumping on a go-as-far-as-you-like-for-a-dollar bus, I made a bee-line to the International Speedway. There you can watch venerable old beasties getting thraped in a whole series of classic races at the beginning of the week before those contests give way to the modern stuff: Buells and Dukes head to head - serious, full-on AMA and CCS rounds battling for your pleasure. The Speedway also hosts the major manufacturers' demo fleets. Bring a helmet and your licence and ride a Harley, a Honda, a Ducati, or a Boss Hoss on the "wrong" side of the road under palms, beneath a ceiling of flawless blue. Or ride all four. I took out a Victory V92TC one day and went back for a go on a Harley V-Rod the next.

Nip out to Bikers Paradise and watch the USA DRAG "run-what-you-brung" street drags. Cool enough, but they also run Top Fuel and Pro Gas up that same street for goodness sake!

Stroll along Beach Street, on the western shore of the fascinating continent-long inland waterway called the Halifax river, where every car lot becomes a market with a big difference, for it is here that the major custom boys pull up their trucks and RVs, set out awnings and display their latest creations. Marvel at truly fantastic custom machinery made by Arlen Ness, Rick Doss or Dave Perowitz - and chat to the lads themselves because they'll be here, still competing just like everyone else for the same trophies they so desired 20 years ago. Much of what you see is for sale - usually at astronomical prices - but some people go to Daytona with the express desire to buy themselves a new custom and cough up the money. Unbelievable!

You won't always see all the top contending customs off Beach Street. You'd be better off visiting the Harley Ride-In show on Wednesday, the Board Walk show on Thursday or the justifiably famous Rats Hole Custom Show, traditionally held on the last Saturday of Bike Week. The Rats Hole is held in a picturesque water park looking less like a hole for a rat than almost anything I've seen. While there I saw famous names, but were they sipping champers and yip yapping like royalty? Were they hell! No, they were down on their knees like everyone else, nervously polishing the last paw prints off of their bikes before the judging started.

Ready to challenge some more stereotypes? Good. Americans, whether bikers or otherwise, are on the whole, gracious, friendly and generous. The beer is not all crap, and it certainly isn't all Bud or Miller Lite: try an ice-cold Mexican Corona lager with sliced lime or a rich golden Michelob Honey. And it isn't expensive when you get there. Oh no: how about a big bowl of salad with dressing of your choice, followed by a huge steak - cooked anyway you like - with chips, baked taters or mash, swilled down with - are you ready for this? - a couple of pints of Dog. That's right, Newkie Brown. On tap. Cost? The whole lot for less than $10.

There is one widely held perception that is undoubtedly true, and that is that most of the thousands of bikers who have a bike in Daytona, and that is thousands and thousands and thousands of them, trailer those bikes in. I used to bridle at that.

The European, and in particular the British hard-core bike philosophy decrees that one should always ride one's motorcycle to an event. Furthermore many a Euro-biker's dream is to ride a motorcycle across, down or through the USA and the fact that many American bikers choose not to seems, at first sight, not only incomprehensible but down-right shameful to us over on the Eastern shores of the Atlantic.

At first hand, with time to work it out, I began to empathise with the Americans: it's a matter of scale Most importantly, it is all too easy to not actually comprehend just how gob-smackingly enormous the USA is. In Britain we think Lands End to John O'Groats is a long trip - well we would: we can travel no further without doubling back - but just Florida from end-to-end easily matches that distance. How about the continent then? We often travel abroad on our motorcycles - long runs to the Algarve in Portugal, or Italy perhaps: not so unusual, needing between three and five 600 mile days in the saddle. Long way, huh? You certainly do know you've been riding your bike! But now peruse a world map or a handy globe.

See Europe? The whole of it? It isn't isn't actually all that big is it? Quite compact, in fact, on the global scale. Now look at the 'States.

I met guys who had travelled from Wisconsin, Canada and California. Sure, it is physically possible to ride a motorcycle those distances, but be honest: would you really want to start out in a several feet of snow in a North American winter; could you afford to take five weeks off work, four of which would be solid riding? Unsurprisingly, these guys wanted their bikes down in Florida and managed to get them there 'cos they could, but realistically only by trailer. It is a means to an end, it gets your motorcycle where you want it. We're not talking about trailering a bike for twenty miles - that is desperately sad - but two thousand? Give them a fucking break.

To be honest, I only wish I could've trailered a bike from the UK, because short term loans apart, I would have preferred having wheels at this celebration of motorcycling - and the same will be true of most Europeans.

Wish you were here?

Although many people fly to Orlando, 50 miles and an hours drive away, I flew right into Daytona Beach: the airport is actually in the middle of the city, right next to the International Speedway. I flew out of Manchester UK, swapping planes and doing the immigration thing in Atlanta, Georgia. I'd shopped around a bit, bartering high street travel shops and managing to drop £50 each off the original quote off of the very same flights, but in the end I paid £330 apiece for our Manchester/Daytona International tickets through Trailfinders. I had no credit card at the time so couldn't book anything through the internet but rumour has it you can get even better deals through that medium.

Accommodation-wise, I had a choice. I'd previously rented a luxury condo in New Smyrna, 20 miles to the south and much quieter. It had been an oasis of calm and allowed chance to chill from possible sensory overload, but it wasn't too far from any action and the infamous Gilly's Pub 44 was only 4 miles away. On the downside, a car was essential: last time we'd pre-rented and subsequently up-graded at Daytona airport, but many other people just turned up and rented from one of the three or four agencies near the airport exit.

I'd certainly rent again and spent a bit of time quizzing locals: decent houses in Daytona can apparently be rented for less than $1000, and depending on size, quality and location it can be considerably lower - or higher - than that. Get on the net, check out local realtors and hit the grapevine too. If, say, between four and six of you all wanted to go, a two or three bedroomed house, rather than a hotel does make an awful lot of sense … If you reckon you can live with everyone for that long.

This year, I was fairly certain of some time on a V-Rod, but no idea how long, so I elected to stay in the centre of Daytona and forget the hassles, and expense of a car, figuring if I didn't have a bike I could always walk, take a taxi or the bus. In retrospect, I missed having personal transport all the time: a car would have been useful, even in the centre of town, and I would recommend you hire one. While the buses and the trams are cheap - a dollar everywhere and you get to see other parts of town - they are not plentiful, averaging one every half hour until midnight, when they stop. I did look into Harley hire as a possible option which was, unsurprisingly, pretty expensive, but some horse-trading was possible: I argued serious money off of the original asking price with one guy on International Speedway Boulevard before I got the feeling back in my feet and decided to forget it. Another transport option I looked at as a fun possibility was scooter and beach buggy hire, which looked decidedly cheaper - but Mandie was having none of it.

I chose a mid-priced hotel on South Atlantic called the Beaches Oceanfront, booked in advance through an agency in California called TravelCraft BTI. I had the security of a room when I arrived, but paid the serious price of full Bike Week premium rates: well over £900 for eight days. Had I known that the numbers would be down this year, perhaps I'd have been tempted to arrive without a booking, as many Americans did, and take full advantage of the number of 'Vacancies' signs lit up at the beginning of Bike Week: cost? $60 to $80 per night (£45 to £65). Before you get all excited, those lights rapidly dimmed towards the end of the week as more and more people flooded in to catch hold of the last few mad days.

I took the option of an "Ocean View" room, which offered full on-suite, a balcony overlooking palm trees, the residents swimming pool, the beach and the Atlantic Ocean. It also offered a kitchen. This was the clincher as my girlfriend, Mandie, is a chef and fancied doing our own breakfasts and snacks to save a bit of money - it also makes life easier when you're rising at 6.30 to get jobs done. Other residents - like the lads with spikey hair on fur-covered Japanese sports bikes who seemed to spend all their time, all week, sitting on their bikes drinking beer - went for the cheaper rooms, sans kitchen and overlooking the car park.

The luxury hotels don't actually come out much more expensive than other seafront hotels, during (a full) Bike Week at least, and they have the advantage of hosting many events and parties, concerts and happenings: it is at these showcase hotels that the Hamsters and the like hold their parties. The Adams Mark Hotel, dominating the top of Main Street and across from the Ocean Centre is paramount among these hotels: right in the centre of everything, the Adams Mark is close to, and possibly hosts the Board Walk Custom Show, but I don't know and no-one I spoke to could tell me. What I do know though, is that when Mandie and I went for a walk along the beach, Molly Hatchet's singer and his new band were doing a full-on turn in front of a good thousand people in the garden: again, for free. Other luxury options would include either the airport or ocean-front Hiltons, but both are fairly remote from the real action - which could be seen as either a good or bad thing, depending on what you want.

At the other end of the scale, for those on a tight budget, there's always camping. Primitive camping - which means no electric hook-up to the Americans - is another option, and bringing a tent as luggage is not out of the way, but it's worth noting that some form of transport would be absolutely essential as most campsites are well out of town. While your campsite might also host a big swap meet, or something, and feature a damn cool bar on the main drag, it would be very limiting I'd guess after a week of it.

In the middle range, between the two extremes are the budget motels. These are fairly close to the Interstate, as you would expect, so therefore not particularly close to the action around Main Street but most are on International Speedway Boulevard, the main route into town and this is where buses run, vehicles can be hired, feet can walk and if you've grabbed one of those booklets I mentioned earlier, you will be surprised what can be happening around the corner. Another way of getting around town by the way is be cute - it worked for Mandie more than once when she was on her own. I failed miserably.

Right, well there's me! And there's my Daytona. I'm not going to do some big well-thought out closing paragraph because while my head's still buzzing, I'm knackered. I would say, however, that all Daytona write-ups are going to be biased - even this one I suppose. Why? Because nobody can fully comprehend and synthesise down the absolutely everything that Bike Week is. It really is too big. So all I can really offer in closing is repeat that you really do have to go yourself.

Sometimes you can believe the hype.