How many times has an opportunity presented itself, and although you basked in the thought or concept for a brief moment, you relegated it to another part of your mind and continued forward without altering life's typical routine? Then after several days or even possibly many years, you pause, reflect, look back and with regret, take another moment to contemplate.......what if?
I, as most others, have allowed this to happen many more times than I would choose to admit. But recently, I allowed the seed of an opportunistic, once in a lifetime cognitive idea to germinate, stretch delicately in seemingly infertile soil, take root, and yes, blossom into reality!
Please roll the film back to the spring of this year. Under the unimaginable weight of severe depression, created from living as the reluctant participant in an ugly divorce proceeding, I filtered through a small garage collection of material possessions, knowing that most must be sold to satisfy a sundry of court orders. Knowing somewhere deep down in my spirit, that life defines itself not by the toys one possesses but rather the time and the people you spend it with, I felt little sentiment toward things until I removed the cover and dusted off my 1961 Harley-Davidson panhead FLH. For those not in the know, "Panhead" was a moniker bestowed upon the Harley engine, by it's loyal customer base, manufactured from 1948 until 1965, basically because the heads very much resemble upside down kitchen pans. Kick starting reigned as the only way to turn over these beautiful beasts until the first Electra Glide in 1965.
As I carefully detailed the relic, my mind slowly wandered. This incredibly engineered steel sculpture left the assembly line in 1961, the same year that I was conceived in Atlantic City and then subsequently delivered in October to two wonderful, yet incredibly scared parents standing by in an undisclosed semi-rural village in West Virgina. (I do see identity theft as a real threat!)
And then my mind started to drift .......what if I rode my 50 year old bike.......... to Daytona for Biketoberfest........... on my 50th birthday............., the same year that my 50 year old wife had decided to dump me? Normally a thought of this type would enter my mind, dance around for a short song or two, and then quickly exit through the frontal lobe. But no ...... this time it grabbed a seat, shot out a root and planted itself undeservedly at the top of a very long "to do" list.
I immediately activated this thought by not only planning the ride but also exploiting the opportunity to bring family and friends together for a party of sorts. I arranged for a rental in Ormond Beach large enough to accommodate the kids and grandkids, and sent Facebook invitations to close friends, and made phone calls to my technologically challenged loved ones.
The months flew past and the special day approached quickly. I performed minor maintenance on the faithful panhead to ensure the smoothest possible journey. I loaded my 2007 Patriot Edition Harley Ultra Classic, as well as a week's worth of gear into my enclosed single bike trailer and connected it to my 2004 Chevy Suburban, the only cage that I own.
The 11th fell on a Tuesday so my other riding partners were unable to accompany me and had to join the party during the weekend. My favorite riding partner, Randy, fell victim to stroke the prior week and spent the week in a hospital bed at Lee Memorial's Rehabilitation Hospital rather than astride his Road Glide. I will write more of this in a separate story devoted exclusively to Randy. My dear friend Beverly, having never driven a trailer, deftly piloted the chase vehicle and ensured that my modern bike made it to Daytona and that I encountered no serious mishaps along the way.
After a late start due to additional packing and mechanical checks, I kicked the beast, Beverly cranked the ignition on the Suburban and we headed north. We travelled I-75 to SR-80, then north on SR-31 to Arcadia. We caught US-17 in Arcadia after stopping for fuel and headed toward I-4 in Orlando. The Orlando traffic on I-4 proved the most tenuous portion of the journey. Navigating a 50 year old motorcycle through the Disney madness and continual rush hour insanity wore a little on the nerves but never wiped the huge smile from my face. Once through Orlando, we stopped close to Sanford for more fuel and a short rest. I also repaired the left mirror which had rattled completely off but I was fortunate enough to catch.
I mounted the iron horse once more for the final leg to Daytona/Ormond Beach. Unsure as to whether it was the cylinders heating up or my leg wearing out but each time I stopped the bike, it became increasingly more difficult to kick over to start.
I felt an incredible rush and felt like my smile would rip my face in two, as I roared past the International Speedway, then over the bridge into Daytona Beach. I've ridden this exact ride too many times to count but this time I felt a real sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.
We maneuvered through the typical Daytona mix of bikes, trucks, and cars - my 50 year old ass upon the seat of the 50 year old Harley FLH, followed by my closest friend, who many times I think is actually my guardian angel! We hung a left on Atlantic Ave., passed Main Street, to the southern border of Ormond Beach, and on to the 4 bedroom vacation rental that we would call home for the next week.
I posed for a couple of quick photos but craved water due to dehydration and a restful nap. Although the classic lines of Harley-Davidsons has changed little over the past 50-75 years, I can certainly attest to the fact that there have been many features added to increase rider comfort. The 250 mile trek on the antique beauty took it's toll on my old bones. A ride of that length on my 2007 Ultra Classic is like a "blink of an eye" but on the old panhead I felt like I'd "been ridden hard and put away wet".
After a short nap and shower, We showered, dressed and met my father and step-mother, who had arrived the previous day at T.G.I.Fridays for a quiet little birthday dinner.
My brother Tom arrived later that evening from southern Illinois, piloting his monstrous full ton GMC pick-up with his 2002 Heritage Softail tethered comfortably in the back. We sat up and talked for a short while but headed off to sleep since we had both encountered quite an exhausting day of travel.
The next morning we awoke, downed some coffee, unloaded the bikes and headed to some of Daytona's most notorious places since neither Tom or Beverly had been to Biketoberfest before. We paraded down Main Street with the rest of the exhibitionists, stopped by the Speedway only to watch them setting up for the upcoming events, then out Tomoka Farms Road to the infamous Cabbage Patch, home of cole slaw wrestling and some of biking's greatest debauchery.
It was an incredible pleasure riding side by side with my brother Tom, the first time as adults that we had an opportunity to do so. I only wished that Dad could have joined us but he has yet to take on the hobby that eventually becomes a lifestyle.
We rode back to the house to grab the Suburban to pick up my friend Ronna, who travelled all of the way from Maple Falls, Washington, from the airport. After getting her settled at the house, we allowed Ronna an opportunity to nap and continued with the riding around Volusia County, Florida. Ronna joined us after resting and we continued our layed back meandering day enjoying family, friends, and Florida sunshine as well as an occasional beer or two.
My best friend, Ric, from Fort Myers and my sister, Mary Beth from North Carolina, both arrived the following day so it became increasingly difficult to maintain activities as one group so at times were all together and other times splintered but all enjoyed the Biketoberfest activities.
The actual "birthday party" occurred on Saturday. We were joined by two daughters, Chelsea and Arielle, two grandsons, Ryley and Landon, and Arielle's beau Paul. I felt completely overwhelmed surrounded by family and friends, those who genuinely love me and expect nothing in return. I wished that my two other children as well as the other seven grandchildren could have attended but they were prevented by extenuating circumstances. The highlight of the night involved my sister, Mary Beth, who created a movie highlighting the events of my life. When the lights were turned back on, both Chelsea and I had tears running down our faces.
.
Everyone departed for home the next day except for Beverly, Ronna, and I. We spent one more quiet day in Daytona, dined at Bubba Gump's Shrimp House, cleaned the rental, and left the next day, I astride my 2007 Harley with the antiques in the trailer, and Beverly, who dropped Ronna off at the airport, in the Suburban.
Thanks very much to all that helped make my 50th birthday such a memorable experience, those that attended physically and those that were only there in spirit. God Bless you all!
In this time of vast global conflict, many original and fitting Veterans Day celebrations occurred but few touched me as deeply as the NCAA Carrier Classic basketball game upon the USS Carl Vinson in which number 1 North Carolina beat Michigan State 67-55.
I remember vividly, the bitter winter day that I left Whidbey Island, Washington, and my bride of less than two years, as part of VAQ-134 to board the ship at Norfolk Naval Base in Virginia. We departed the west coast late on Christmas Day and arrived in Virginia on December 26th. As we attempted to check in to our work station on the ship, we were informed that most crew members were on leave for Christmas and that there was no one available to check us in or no where for us to report for duty. We were ordered to report back on January 2nd. Apparently the east coast and west coast naval commands fell victim to their own lack of proper communication. I always enjoy making lemonade from lemons so I found a ride to the nearest Greyhound station and boarded a bus to Hagerstown, Maryland, a small town in western Maryland where I had spent the majority of my life until that point and where I still had plenty of friends and family.
