One thing that continually amazes me about the motorcycling community is the number of really good folks involved. I absolutely know that there are plenty of good folks outside of motorcycling and even run into them on occasion but it seems like the percentages are a little higher within the community. Some would say that it is the danger that is inherent in our sport and there is probably something to that. There is also something to the argument that says that it is because we are a minority that is often times, especially on the roads in the Houston area, discriminated against or at least targeted; whether intentionally or not. Well, there is probably something to that theory as well. My own little theory says that it is because motorcycling attracts the same sort of frontier minded folks that built the best aspects of this country; people who are independent but with a strong sense of community. These are the folks that in times gone by would build a new life in the wilderness to keep from living under someone else’s thumb but also pitch in to raise a barn for a neighbor. Call it pioneer spirit or frontier mentality it is what I like to believe this country was built upon, the best aspects of our country anyway. I had the privilege of encountering a good number of these folks this weekend who, in my mind, exemplify this spirit.
I have been hoping to join one of the rides organized by the
NE Houston Road Runners. This is a group of riders on
meetup.com that organize various events such as rides, meet and greets and the occasional poker party. From their site they looked like a good bunch of folks to go riding with which in my rather simplistic point of view means folks like to ride and have fun but be safe. They also seem to come up with some really interesting routes and destinations. Various things have gotten in the way over the last few months but my riding buddy Red had to back out on a planned trip to the hill country (stupid work, stupid college exams) which left me free to join a ride that looked really cool.
Starting out in Crosby, northeast of Houston, the ride was scheduled to head east to Winnie and then south to High Island and then across the Bolivar Peninsula. Taking the ferry from Bolivar to Galveston where there would be a lunch stop, a couple of photo opportunities and then back north on 146 passing through Kemah. For anyone who is unfamiliar with the names or who has been living in the wilderness for a while these are the areas that were hit the hardest by a nasty bit of tropical weather called Hurricane Ike a little over six months ago. I have seen the damage and recovery efforts around Houston as well as the west end of Galveston Island but I had not had the opportunity to visit these areas, some of which have only recently reopened for non-residents. So, as disappointed as I was about missing out on a party in the hill country, this was a pretty good substitute and I was looking forward to it. As is always the case, for me anyway, I was a little nervous about meeting new people and riding with them but overall I was pretty excited and even went to bed early the night before to make sure I was well rested and would be in top form for the ride. I also scouted the starting location the day before to make sure there were no issues finding it early in the morning. I was prepared, no mishaps this time. Well, what’s a ride without some sort of mishap? More on that later.
To make sure I was on time, I skipped breakfast before heading out to the rendezvous location (I always wanted to say that) and decided I would get a bite close to there. On arriving, I noticed quite a few folks were already there so I gassed up and rolled over to meet the people who would be my riding companions for the next few hours. I must admit this was a nice bunch of folks with some interesting bikes and before you know it is was KU (kickstands up, not Kansas University) and time to head out, no breakfast. We made one more stop to pick up a few more riders, still too distracted to grab a bite, and headed out for Winnie and then High Island.
Things were pretty good from the start although I did learn a couple of things right off. It has been a few years since I rode in a group and I was not as good at it as I thought I would be and maintaing position was a little tough. I found myself dropping back and then having to accelerate in order to catch up with the riders in front of me. I am sure the folks behind me were a bit irritated with me turning the formation into an accordion but I did the best I could. I will also take just a moment to pass the blame on to others as well. One fellow was riding a beautiful custom chopper, we’re talking a full blown West Coast, OCC, BigDog type of bike complete with the largest rear tire I have ever seen actually turning on the road and not sitting in a show. This thing was huge, bigger than the tires on any car I have ever owned, or likely will ever own! Seeing this thing going through the curves was more than a bit distracting. We also had a very nice lady riding a trike in the group which was also somewhat distracting. So you can see that some of my challenges staying in formation were actually the fault of a couple of folks who own bikes that are just too cool and distracting! That’s my first rationalization of the day so it should be at least two paragraphs before the next one.
First stop was in High Island and I should have grabbed a quick snack but a number of folks were actually admiring
my bike and of course I had to be polite and answer them all (Ok, not even a full sentence before my second rationalization). I did gas up and get a bottle of water before we headed out onto Bolivar Peninsula.
I had seen the pictures and read the news but none of that really prepared me for what I saw on Bolivar. I used to spend a good bit of time there camping and fishing; sometimes with my son and sometimes alone but I knew it pretty well although it had grown a lot in recent years. Almost nothing was recognizable anymore.
The line of dunes twenty or thirty feet tall that separated the highway from the beach was gone and the beach, now clearly visible from the highway, was less than half as wide as it had been. Then we passed over a small bridge. I didn’t remember a bridge on Bolivar other than the one at Rollover Pass. Rollover has always been an excellent fishing spot. As the tide rolls into the bay or out to the Gulf of Mexico lots of food is carried with it and the bigger, stronger fish feed on the ones that can’t resist the tide (yes, there may be a life lesson there). As a result a nice little town had built up there complete with homes, restaurants, shops, a motel, and a hardware store, As we made it across the bridge I saw the foundation and sign from the hardware store. That and the bridge are the only things left of this nice little town...
I must have got a little sand in my eye at that point because they started to water a little. Oh, and one of the bikes in front must have had some carburetion issues because I had a heavy feeling in my chest for the rest of the ride across Bolivar which for the most part was equally devastated.
I have never taken a ferry while on a bike and I must admit I was a little nervous but all went well. Nervous is also the word I would use to describe how I felt trying to make it through the traffic on Seawall Boulevard during a busy Sunday afternoon. Lunch was at The Spot, which is very popular with bikers and I must say that after not eating for about fifteen hours I was ready for some serious food consumption. There were also a ton of two wheeled distractions in front of this place. Did I mention it is very popular with bikers? Which all combined lead to one of those bad choices, well a mistake really. I left the key in the bike and in the on position and in the bright sun I did not notice the lights still on. A couple hours later I am ready to leave and have already let the ride leader know that I would be splitting off to make a family commitment but the bike is not going anywhere. It is about as dead as a jellyfish on the beach.
Fortunately for me one of the guys on the ride notices and lets the ride leader know. We tried AAA, all the people in the parking lot in cars but to no avail. I was ready to call my wife to bring down the jumper cables (a two hour drive) but the ride leader said to wait. He would go to Walmart and pick up a set of jumper cables. The rest of the folks on the ride waited with me and helped me get the various trim bits off so I could reach the battery. Another rider pulled her bike over and get set to provide the electrical charge my poor bike needed. The jumper cables arrived and it did not take much to get the bike started. Leaving it running I started putting the various pieces back on all the while assuring the rest of the riders they could go on, I would be fine. Thankfully, they didn’t listen.
Then came the next bad choice, again, more of a mistake. While laying on the ground close to the side stand (you see it coming don’t you? I Wish I had) I accidently bumped the gear shift lever. Bumped it right into gear! The bike lurched forward on the side stand and, of course died. As it teetered on the side stand just about to fall on me I not only saw my life flashing before my eyes. Well, maybe I was just contemplating the time spent in the hospital that was about to be in my future. Fortunately, I saw three pairs of hands reaching for and steadying my bike.
Whew!
After second round of removing the same pieces and jump starting the bike I decided that riding home without a few trim pieces was better than running the risk of more bad luck. About ninety minutes after we left the restaurant we were actually pulling back out on to Seawall. We rode together until we made it through Galveston just to make sure there were no more issues but once on the freeway I felt safe peeling off and heading home.
These are some really good folks I rode with. I mean how many people would wait around for that long and pitch in to help someone they had never met prior to that day? Especially for someone who had done something that stupid all on their own?
Motorcyclists, thats who.
