I'm Back

I’m back. I let some bad people run up on me and I let them in. At the time, I thought I was cool and had the world beat. Turns out that you can’t ever beat the world but it can sure beat on us; it’s relentless. Bad things happened. I did bad things and bad things were done to me. It’s taken years but I’m back with a resolve to buck up and keep going. 

I went for a nice ride today. It's been too long for that too. It took me out on some of my favorite backroads and it replenished my soul. From the moment I fired up the bike and shifted into first gear that feeling came over me; you know the feeling. I took off and that sweet scent of leather and hot pavement came over me like a familiar blanket from my mother's house, that smell of lost familiarity. The roads were busier than any of us would like until I made a turn and escaped the pack. I twisted the throttle and had nothing but open road ahead as far as I could see. I actually yelled, "Yes! Freedom!" I was blessed with miles of country roads with no obstructions, no other vehicles. I was able to take in the scenery of rolling green pastures with so many centurions: large live oaks with their canopies draped in gray skirts of Spanish moss. They loom over a billion tall viridescent blades of grass and rangy stalks of shrubs. Cattle grazed, some brown, some white, some black, most a mix of all three. 

The ride released the residual negativity that accumulates on all of us like dust from a gravel road. It's unintentional but settles on us and as we think nothing of washing road grime off our bikes we never think about what's on us. Pardon the gross discriptor but it's spiritual human dander. The negativity others put off floats through the air like dust, fine particles that lilt aimlessly in the ether. As the tiny particles gather on us they eventually cause our arua to grow dim and our spirits to smother and gasp for air. We feel negative and sometimes depressed and we don't know why; it creeps up on us. But is there anything better than a ride to blow away the black specks of negativity? With the weight lifted I could feel my spirit rise. The light blue skies were a brilliant backdrop to the scenery as the miles rolled on. 

I realized that I was taking a trip back to doing something that I love. What I thought was lost was never gone, I was. 

Ace's Dichotomy

Ace took a morning ride on a beautiful early Fall day. As he ripped along the country side he passed a horse farm with a robust old farmer riding a red lawn mower in the roadside ditch. In a thrashing green fog he was cutting a path through the weeds. The ebullient aroma of the horses and the fresh cut weeds was scintillating on the wind. He approached and it drifted in and then just as swiftly he had left it behind. The fresh cut weeds, the horses, the wind, the sun, the blue sky, the white clouds, the grey asphalt, yellow striped, the joy, the pity. It's the dichotomy of Ace's experiences. The beauty in and of nature, alive in his senses while astride the saddle of his iron machine. His machine, the one that he tends to with soap and water, polish and wax. He fills it with refined raw materials, extracts of crude oil, petroleum, gasoline. The machine, whose combustion expels noxious fumes into the air, and not quietly. The roar of his loud pipes could certainly be considered noise pollution. Yet this machine transports him physically and spiritually. It connects him to nature and all it's wonder.

This ride, like most others was one taken alone; thus the Brotherhood of One. Ace knows that the experience of every ride would be markedly better if shared with another like-minded person. But for Ace, folks like that are few and far between. Regardless, he pities anyone that may never experience or appreciate the ride; yet he has the club to share as much as he can to whomever takes an interest. The reliving of the experience brings Ace great pleasure, like regaling the tales of a great party night; and it serves as a filler until the next ride. But man, how about that next ride. It can't come soon enough. And with it, the wind, the sun, the blue sky, the white clouds, the grey asphalt, yellow striped, the joyous vexing duality.

So Glad

Ace's uncle used to tell him, "You can get mad or you can get glad boy. What's it gonna be?" Today Ace was glad. He took off on his hawg before the heat of the day got too hot. After a rainy week, the sun was a welcome reprieve and the theme of the day was lawn mowers, and brother there was no shortage of them. The smell of the fresh cut grass made him feel like a kid again as it always does. As he made his way through town to the edge where the buildings get further apart and the fields get longer and wider he poured on the gas. After spending far too many weeks working in the crowded Northeast he appreciated that he lives in a place where he can ride and be the only vehicle on the road for a couple miles. As he hit the two lane highway that rolls over the countryside he cranked the throttle and the roaring beast under his seat came alive; he felt the wind pull hard at his shirt as he leaned forward into it. He thought that there was nothing so great as dropping over a decline and seeing the backs of cattle off in the high grass of a pasture. Then he roared by a corral of chestnut horses near a green slime covered pond. White egrets stood knee deep in the water. Over another rise past some round hay bales and a very old, abandoned, dark brown cracker house buried in a stand of trees; lost in time and the hay field. He sped across the countryside, squinting as the sunshine glinted off of his shimmering chrome. He traveled through the pine forest were the scent felt thick in his nostrils and as the warm pine filtered into his lungs he considered how it felt oddly good and incarnate and yet stifling. Then the road rose and curved and he rode up and down the serpent's back rolling to a stop at an intersection. As he looked for oncoming traffic he sat in the shade of large oaks draped in Spanish moss. A herd of cows were bunched up under the trees beyond the barbwire to escape the sun's heat. They stared at him with gaping eyes and methodically chewed. He popped the clutch and roared on, down along the river under the canopy of trees and felt the temperature drop to a cool refreshing sensation on his skin; ever thankful that he lived in such a wonderful place to ride.

Motorcycle Hall of Fame & Museum

Ace was traveling along Highway 70 near Columbus, OH when a sign on the side of the road caught his eye. It said, "Motorcycle Hall of Fame Museum." He cut across to lanes and shot down the exit ramp to see what it was all about. The area is busy with many lanes and lots of traffic. He didn't see any signs pointing him in the direction of the museum but he figured he'd head the direction towards where he saw the sign and see what he could find. After several dead end U-turns he finally saw the sign for the AMA facility. He wound his way along the scenic driveway and parked in front of the dark brown, unassuming building. He paid the $10 admission and began his tour. The museum is moderately sized so they've selected samples of historic bikes. There are the expected early machines and to Ace's pleasure, there was plenty of Harley representation.

There were beautiful representations of other early innovators like this Henderson and one that Ace had never heard of; a Schickel.

There were some other timeless machines we all know as Indians. Is there any other motorcycle with such fluid styling? Every time Ace sees one of these beauties, it's difficult for him to understand why today's companies don't offer models with a nod to them with more artistic styling. 

There were other samples of mid-century beauties. It's not hard to look at the detail and attention to quality in these machines and know that progress doesn't always mean better. We're living in an era when speed takes precedence over quality. In Ace's opinion we're sacrificing too much in the way of rapid, assembly line production to satiate a consumptive society that is still hungover from being drunk on its own narcism. The bottom line is our favorite motorcycle companies prefer to make money more then enduring, majestic machines. Whether they should be to blame is debatable but we could influence them by being more demanding and discerning in handing them our hard earned dollars. 

Just look at these assets.

 

The museum had a monster machine on display from the Dakar Rally. It's amazing to see how these machines are set up to handle rough terrain at high speeds.

They had the Tenacious II, the fastest motorcycle in Australia holding the record at 297 mph.

How about this innovative bike? It's a hill climber built by Earl Bowlby from a 1967 BSA 650. Who wouldn't want to get on one of these just once and give it a try?

The most enjoyable display to Ace was for the one and only Evel Knievel. Evel embodies the spririt of motorcycling more then any one person. He was the MAN! No, he didn't represent the open road but he had the balls to throw caution to the wind and do what he wanted the way that he wanted. They had one of his bikes, and thought it didn't say so, Ace was sure that it was a replica since it didn't have a scratch on it. LOL! Even so, it was a beauty. Just read the saying on the tank and imagine sitting on the top of the ramp looking down and reading it as he psychs himself up. Then he gases the throttle and dumps the clutch...

In the end, Ace was glad to have stopped by and toured the museum. It wasn't a mega facility that everything seems to be these days, but maybe that's the point. A hall of fame should be about a select few that achieved an uncommon high level of accomplishment.


Motorcycle Hall of Fame
13515 Yarmouth Dr.
Pickerington, Ohio
www.motorcyclemuseum.org

Funky Feet

Ace went out for a cruise on a hot summer day. He cranked the throttle and headed north up the west coast of Florida. There are many miles of righteous riding in these parts. He was on US 19, which when it's not going thru a town is a divided 4-lane. He was rolling in his own vibe, passing cages and getting passed. He noticed something on this ride; an abundance of women riding on the passenger's side had their bare feet up on dashboard; you know, kicked back for a long haul. There were so many of them in fact that he started to notice a trend. First of all, every one of them was caucasian and most of them were fat. None of the fat feet had any nail polish or evidence of a pedicure. Gross! The women with slender feet had the appearance being pedicured, which to Ace says something about the advantages of having a higher maintenance woman. He's down for beautiful feet that belong to hot women. Yessir, you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their feet. You see the strangest things sometimes; some good, some bad. Maybe next time it will be boobs!

The Ultimate Payoff

In the previous post we learned that Ace has paid off his bike. It's now, financially, all his; no ties to the bank. What a great feeling. He thought that the taste of that would be much sweeter once the transaction was done, but as we found out it wasn't, it was just business as usual. Well today was much different. Today he hopped on his hawg and went for a ride. As the miles passed by and he rolled over the hot summer asphalt it began to sink in that his pride and joy, his hawg was all his; bought and paid for. Ace felt a wave of joyous pride rise up in him as he looked down at the bike and felt it's power under his seat. It was similar to the day that he rode it off the showroom floor of the dealership. He thought about how it was the same bike and the same rider, but now it felt different, better. He seemed to sit a little differently in the saddle, a little more comfortable. It is the ultimate payoff for hanging in there and making the monthly payment. It is the ultimate payoff for working year after year at his job that he dislikes so much. It is the ultimate payoff of owning his Harley outright; that it's equity is now all his. He rode on with a new confidence, with a feeling that from now on, when he's riding his Harley he is truly free.

The Payoff

Ace has been anxiously waiting for this day to come. After checking the mailbox every day with expectancy, today he pulled the door down and slid the white envelopes and junk flyers out and it was there, the final bill to pay off his Harley. "All right," he thought, "let's see what the final amount is." He pulled the statement from the crisp envelope and unfolded the paper. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was nearly $50 cheaper than the usual monthly payment. Bonus! But true to everything in life today it wasn't that simple; upon reading the rest of the statement he found the due date and it was tomorrow. What the...? So he called Harley Davidson to make the payment over the phone. This naturally soured the sweet taste of paying the bike off and making it all his. He was told that he couldn't make the payment over the phone to Harley Davidson, that he could do it online through the Harley Davidson website and by the way, interest is compounded daily. Ace hung up the phone and headed to his computer thinking that Harley Davidson must have modeled their financing on the mafia's. After going thru the headache of registering on the Harley Davidson finance website to complete the transaction it redirects Ace from Harley Davidson over to JP Morgan Chase's website, the most evil MF'ers on earth!

It seemed sadly logical that JP Morgan Chase is involved, after all, they are corporate America's favorite bank; heck they're the Feds bank of choice... what's that tell ya? After completing the information contained in the website it says that there is a $6.00 charge to make a credit card payment! So this is JP Morgan Chase's version of pay me now or pay me later. If you mail it in with a check, the interest is compounded daily so by the time the check arrives it is for the wrong amount and another payment is then needed. It's that or pay the six dollar fee now. This is considered freedom now in America, since it's our choice of which manner we'd like to get screwed. To add insult to injury, the website also states that there is a $12.00 fee if you make a payment over the phone, which they may just state it to make you feel like you're getting a deal by being forced to pay $6.00! Wait a minute... didn't Harley Davidson say that he couldn't make a payment over the phone? Oh, that was to Harley Davidson not JP Morgan Chase, so I guess they weren't technically lying... or were they? A disgusted Ace did it, he paid the bill with the added fee and even with the extra six bucks it was less than a normal payment and he was free. Free! Once again we see how Harley Davidson markets themselves as a humble, all American, grass roots company, yet they operate so much like every other global corporation. They aren't the rebels that they are always selling to us. They make a great product, but their priority always seems to center around grabbing great gobs of money; ours.

Sneaky Things

Ace checked his daily email messages and happily noticed one that he gets regularly from his best friend from childhood. They have been corresponding for years which keeps their friendship close though they live 1200 miles apart. They share the events of the day, usually sprinkled with a reference to their childhood or inside jokes that they once had. In today's email, his friend was telling him the tale of his work day and some funny things that had happened. He mentioned waiting for the boss to leave before getting some work done in an unorthodox way and added, "I love doing sneaky things sometimes." Ace laughed in agreement. He finished reading and then headed out the door to take a ride. The sun was bright and the summer air was still cool after the night rains. He threw his leg over the saddle of the bike and fired it up. He rolled away.

Has he rode in and out of the shadows of the tree lined country roads he felt the temps change on his skin. He smiled with the thought of his friend's email and that old familiar feeling of enjoying some sneaky things. It was fun as a kid and it's still fun today. To Ace, it is a childlike quality that makes him feel alive. Then it occurred to him; this is why he likes riding his hawg so much. It's that feeling that you're getting away with something in a world of tight-asses and laws. It's riding in the wind while the cagers travel enveloped in their so-called safety engineered vehicles with their mandatory seat belts strapping them down. Sure, it's the feeling of freedom like a bird in flight, but it's also freedom from a tyrannical government. In this "land of the free, home of the brave", think of one thing you'd really like to do and then tell me how you would do it if there wasn't a law impeding you. For example, you want to go for a ride? Think of all of the laws that one must follow just to legally sit on a bike and twist the throttle and putt done a backroad. Helmets? Licenses? Where you can display the tag? Mirrors? Turn signals? Safety inspections? Exhaust emissions? Loud pipes? Speed limits? Get the idea? There is a law for everything to obstruct us from having the freedom to do the simplest things. Want to walk to the store? Better not J-walk. Want to listen to music? Not too loud! How do we not do sneaky things? We cannot function without continually crossing a myriad of invisible, government imposed lines and risk suffering the consequences. We are not a nation that honors civil liberties, we are a nation of laws. We believe politicians when they tell us that they will make changes for the better though we know in our hearts that they are all liars. That is doing a sneaky thing to yourself; how screwed up is that? So Ace will continue on enjoying the feeling of freedom that comes with riding. He will fight the daily fight to retain his independence and smile as, once in a while, he decides to do a sneaky thing.

Elitists

Ace spends a lot of time traveling for work and enjoys killing time by reading cycle mags. He is a huge fan of custom bikes and admires the dudes that wrench them. Ace dreams of building a bike of his own one day. But one tired theme runs through every article, and that's how they do it old skool. It is always the only way and they are not just factory bolt on rigs. No shit Sherlock. Every time that Ace reads about some egotistical gear head talking this way he wants to scream, "Fuck You!" OK, we get it, you're a custom bike builder. Here's the thing, not everyone has the tools, workspace, or ability to custom build a bike. That's why we appreciate and buy the bikes they build. Some of us only have the means to buy bolt on accessories and it is just as satisfying to customize our own personal ride that way as any. That's also the reason Ace started the Brotherhood of One, because of the elitist attitudes some many bikers have. Did y'all watch the build off between the Teutuls and Jesse James? Jesse James is a good example of what Ace is talking about. He wants to be a me-against-the-world, I-can-blacksmith-my-own-bike-in-my-million-dollar-mansion-hideout rebel but sold out for the money. Ya can't have it both ways dude. Your either a part of our society or you're out. If you're building bikes to show off in magazines and contests and putting them up for sale them you're in. All of y'all, your talk is cheap. Let's get off of the badass ego trip and enjoy custom bikes. Peace out.

A Good Cowboy

Ace lit out on a ride; it was a cool but sunny day. He rambled the country roads, stopped for gas, and then rode on. Miles later, he rolled up on a little country store and feeling thirsty he turned into the parking lot and rolled to a stop. There were several folks sitting and talking on the front porch; one of them an ol' biker. He asked Ace the year of his hawg to which he replied, "'05."
"I got an '07, same model," the ol' biker said, "but that's a nice bike."
"Thanks," said Ace as he pushed on the wooden front door of the store.
He bought a drink and walked back outside. He cracked the top and took a cooling sip and looked around. The other patrons were engrossed in their conversations as Ace passed by. He made his way to a bench on the end of the porch within earshot of the ol' biker and a man that he was visiting with. Only a few feet from the two men, he couldn't help but hear their conversation, but his interest was in tuning them out as he gazed out at the countryside. He sipped his drink as an occasional vehicle drove by.
Then the man said, "Oh my God, look at that; it's a scooter with training wheels!"
Ace looked over and saw an old man and women, sure enough, riding on a scooter with training wheels.
"I wouldn't be caught dead riding one of those," said the man.
"Hey," the ol' biker snapped back, "just remember; a good cowboy never knocks another cowboys horse." He looked over at Ace who gave him a knowing smirk and a nod. Ace heard enough. He saddled up to his ride, fired it up and rode off. The ol' biker's saying was still on his mind. There's no doubt that Ace agreed with the it, it's the premise that he founded the Brotherhood of One on. And true, a scooter with training wheels may be the choice of only a select few; but at least they were out with their face in the wind. Ace caught up to the scooter a few miles down a country highway and being a good cowboy, gave them a thumbs-up as he passed.

Know Thyself

Last night Ace was sitting on the porch enjoying a cold beer and righteous conversation with one of his best bros, Big Rog. Rog was elucidating on how fucked-up the world's system is and how it can grind you down, eat you up and spit you out. They agreed on the significance of keeping a good perspective and playing hard when the chance arrives to keep a balance in life.

This morning Ace climbed aboard his hawg. It was all ready a hot, humid, and sunny day as he fired up the V-twin, popped the clutch and rode on. He dodged traffic out to the two lane country highways that traverse the hilly pastures. As is usually the case, the miles rolled by and the world fell away. At 60 MPH Ace was as relaxed as it was comfortably safe to be. His conversation with Big Rog from the night before was rolling around in his mind when he was reminded of Socrates' guiding rule, "Know Thyself." The night before Ace and Rog agreed that getting out on a long ride will also get you out of the world, so to speak, and clear your mind. Have you've ever noticed that clearing your mind is like cleaning out your garage? You don't just wipe it all out, you have to pick up each thing and inspect it and decide its value. Should I retain it or discard it? All of the crap in your brain, the drama, the lies, the disappointments, the confusion and mislaid plans needs to be sifted through. Then, behind that pile of junk, the dreams are found. As the miles roll on, good memories and good ideas fall into place. This is where one begins to know thyself; where the light shines bright behind all of the bullshit. Man, today is one less rat running in the race. Ride on!

A Summer Ride

Ace took a ride on a typical summer day. It's the Fourth of July weekend and he was expecting a lot of traffic but it wasn't the case; it seemed like just another Saturday. The sunny blue sky was filled with billowy white clouds and even at 60 miles per hour the air was warm on his skin. Every ride has a different reason; some are just to get to a destination, some are to enjoy the scenery, or a cruise with your bros. Ace's ride this day was to enjoy the machine. He wanted to forget about work and the plethora of a-holes that complicate his life and enjoy the fascination of his youth; sitting somewhat motionless on a two wheeled machine made of multi-shaped metal that is powered by the fiery, repetitive ignition of gasoline fumes. A machine filled with tanks and tubes of combustible fluids that drive the oily pistons up and and spit hot noxious fumes from its barreled exhaust pipe. Its almost magical to twist the throttle on the handlebars and feel the instant response of rolling energy. Its a bedeviling thought that as the energy rolls you forward and your feet come off of the ground to find the foot pegs, that you stay balanced on two wheels. Yea, that's what Ace was after; and he found it.

After riding down some familiar two lane country highways, Ace approached an intersection in which he's ridden through many times, but this day he turned right to take a road he'd never traveled before. He was pleasantly surprised to pass a beautiful farm on the side of a hill.

The pasture fell away steeply off of the edge of the byway, exposing a vista view seldom seen in Florida. He stopped and took several pictures to add to his ride collection and would have liked to hangout there for a while but for the pickup trucks that sped closely by.

So he rode off and looped around to head back home. He found a favorite backroad and peeled off of the highway and glided onto it. It is a smoothly paved road that runs adjacent to a rock quarry. It gently rolls through a grassy thicket with bushy scrub trees. There aren't any lines on the pavement and Ace can swerve and slalom across the entire solitary artery and feel the weighty bike wondrously surrender to the sway of centrifugal force. The road then cascades down through a woods and you can feel the summer temperature instantly drop by at least 10 degrees in the shadowy tunnel. You can smell the murky cool dampness that transcends time as if it could be prehistoric, the same smell that originated with the earth. The road then proceeds out to an area of small gentlemen farms and bends roundly to the left splitting an old pine plantation. The 30 foot, sun baked slash pines are fragrant in their sentinel straight rows. The road narrows to nearly a single lane along the pastures of the Starlight Ranch. An oncoming white pickup truck slows and navigates to a stop, edging the passenger side tires into the grass to let Ace safely pass. They wave in acknowledged respect in passing. Ace rolls on along the fenced property canopied with Spanish Moss draped live oak trees as corralled horses graze on this summers day. The road ends back onto a two lane country highway. Ace checks for oncoming traffic before pulling back up onto the highway and twisting hard on the throttle. His Harley roars loudly to life and with the wind blowing through his hair he shifts wildly through the gears. Though his ride on this summers day would soon end, Ace has spent these moments of his life doing what he wanted, the way that he wanted. What's more American than that?

An Early Spring Ride

It's one of those Saturdays where the sun is out beyond the patch of white clouds, warm enough for a t-shirt. There is a nice steady breeze wiggling the plants as they stretch their early Spring extremities. Ace straddles his rumbling hawg, kicks it into gear and rolls off. The air is cool on his bare arms as he slices through the shadows of the trees. A few degrees less and he'd wished he had a long sleeve shirt on, but for now it's comfortably tolerable. He knows that the day will warm as his attention turns to the traffic. There are lines of bikes headed towards town; he figures that most are aimed at hitting several of the barroom events, but not Ace, he's headed out of town. He is looking forward to jumping on the nearest 2 lane byway and get the hell out of Dodge. Within moments he's rolling out where the houses get more and more sparse and the cow population takes the lead. Mile after mile he covers countless acres as his tires cut a thin slice on the tarmac. It's a spring day that smells of new plant life and pollen. Warm pockets of air spring his mind forward to thoughts of summer. Nature is timeless and if one can look past mankind's scars and piles of crap on the earth it can be seen. It's there, right around the next bend in the road and over the next hill and it's Ace's aim to find it.

Long Way Round

If you haven't been turned onto the TV show / documentary titled "Long Way Round", then you need to find it. It's the story of Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman as they ride motorcycles literally around the world. Their challenge is to bike 20,000-miles, cross 12 countries and 19 time zones in just 115 days. Riding their BMW GS R1200s, they crossed Europe, Ukraine, Russia, Kazakhstan and Mongolia to ride the Road of Bones through Siberia, over to Alaska, through Canada, North America and finished in New York. This experience is the quintessential essence of the Brotherhood of One--to ride, to experience.

In looking up the show on the web, http://longwayround.com/ I discovered that there is another journey that I must see. To quote the site, "After the epic Long Way Round journey, Ewan and Charley decided to ride 15,000 - miles the Long Way Down from John O'Groats, Scotland to the Southern most tip of Africa, Cape Agulhas and then on to Cape Town."

Hats off to this team for doing what we all wish we could do.

60 Seconds

It's a beautiful sunny day, almost 80 with a slight breeze. Ace backs his hawg out of the garage and fires it up. Blat, Blat, Blat! The motor sings it's beautiful bass song. Ace straddles the seat, hits first gear and he's gone. Isn't that first 60 seconds or so just the best feeling in the world? Even after all these years when that 2 wheeled machine starts rolling, carrying my body so effortlessly and I smell the air as it sweeps across my face, its like being a young buck lost to his own fantastic universe.

The Perfect Ride

If you ride, you have most assuredly found yourself at least once, in the throes of ecstasy. At some point you realize how perfect it is to be riding the bike you love along a smooth rode on a glorious day. You realize that you are free and yet at one with the universe. No matter how miserable the rest of your life, for those few wondrous moments you could feel no better. If you dare let your self consider the source you'd have to admit that God exists and he loves you; there could be no other explanation.

Lead With Your Nose

If you ride, you know that your feet and your hands are often the first part of your anatomy that is out in the wind. But quite often and quite unexpectedly, you find that you lead with your nose. How many times have you been watching the road, feeling the wind, and thinking about whatever, when some scent wafts up your nose? Sometimes is a subtle fragrance, like orange blossoms, fresh cut grass or onions being grilled at a greasy diner. Other times it slaps you up side the head! You ain't sure what it is... but you're sure its dead!

Often, when riding and these odors arise, it takes me back to others times in my life and I can vividly remember so many things. Today, for instance, I ran down a long, long black patch of new asphalt. That smell; the tar and oil rising up like a ghost from my childhood. To Ace, new asphalt is just a little bit of heaven on earth; so smooth, so new, so black, and that smell! Instantly so many childhood hot summer days are remembered. Speeding along on my bicycle with the ape hangers, banana seat and sissy bar. I'd tear up the neighborhoods dreaming of winning every imaginary race in dramatic and heroic fashion. Dreaming of the day when the cards on my spokes would be replaced by a real motor; one that was big and bad with loud exhaust pipes. Every so often as kids we'd get lucky to find a newly paved road and we'd marvel at how smoothly our tires would glide across the inky gravel surface.

It seems that one of the side effects from riding is this eternal connection to the past and present. One needs to stay in the moment to stay upright and out of the ditch, yet in spirit be connected to the history, the mysteries and the brotherhood of one.

A Winter's Ride

I went for a nice ride today... heck, it’s January 17th, how could it not be great to be able to ride. The sky was blue and with a ton of rain overnight, the air had a distinctive flavor to it. It was windy with some rather strong gusts. Every so often  a gust would knock me in the head and it’s like; “Hey! where did that come from?” But it was fun.

I was cruising down a long stretch of a two lane highway. I glanced down and noticed that I was rolling at 65 and then looked up at a white car heading my way in the left lane. As it quickly approached I could see the large black body of a dog standing in the passenger’s seat. His head was poked through a partially rolled down window. They passed and that dogs tongue was hangin’ out and his ears were pinned back by the wind and I laughed! “I feel ya dog!” I yelled as I blew by the driver’s side door. The rest of the way home I smiled thinking about that dog and our kinship of stickin’ our noses out in the wind, tongue hangin’ out, ears pinned back, and joy in our hearts. Ride on!

Destination Daytona or Bust

Ace is here in Ormond Beach, which happens to be during the time of Bruce Rossmeyer’s funeral. It’s a sad thing when one loses a brother. Bruce was a lot of things to a lot of people and, good or bad, probably interacted with the lives of as many people in a year that most people do in a lifetime. The Brotherhood of One respects him for his accomplishments and mourns for his family in their loss.

An aside to Mr. Rossmeyer’s story is that six motorcycle officers were involved in a crash while escorting Bruce Rossmeyer's family to his funeral. They had a chain reaction incident and none of the officers involved were physically injured, but their egos are permanently scarred. They picked themselves up and continued to the funeral. The Florida Highway Patrol is investigating exactly who was at fault in the crash. We here at the Brotherhood are sure that NO tickets will be issued, and the screwup will be deemed righteous.

You Never Know

I ride and I ride and I ride and I wonder when I should turn around... cause I really don’t wanna. The reason being, I want to see what’s over that next rise, just beyond the horizon. And every time I get there I see it’s a part of America that we take for granted, that may not be there some day. Some times I stop and take pictures before riding on, on and on. I want to see what’s just beyond the horizon. And every time I get there I see it’s a part of America that may not be there forever. Things change, people change, society changes, climates change, morals change, values change, ethics change, laws change... you never know.