This weekend, I was invited for a long ride on a 1984 HD low ride, shovel head by a gentleman biker I met quite accidentally. He offered to take me for a spin on the other side of "the lake"... Lake Champlain, the NY neighborhood. It was a spectacular day so we made a plan of sorts to pick me up and then head for the islands, catch the ferry and then follow the other west coast down to the southern point ferry and back home. I've lived in VT for 24 years and never made such an outing. So"yes, seems like a grand idea" was my sincere reply. The weather was exceptional as he arrived on time and ready to load and go. His bike seemed smallish compared to the Ultra Classic I had been treated to in earlier outings. It lacked any kind of storage for coat or water so I strapped on my shoulder pack with all that I needed for a day trip. I was not expecting a smooth ride, but when I settled in, I found it was a good fit. The passenger seat is soft and very close to the driver so we were both in the center of the bike and that made for very comfortable 2 up travel, much to my delight. Off we went, stopping to fuel up at the local gas station. The bike refused to restart electrically, so being a vintage ride, he pushed it away from the pump and used the kick starter. Kewl, it fired up and off we went, loud pipes rumbling... We followed the black top through Lamoille and then Franklin counties, up to his childhood family fishing camp taking a break and stretching our legs. We covered all the single parent topics around the special sensitivities that children of divorce must contend with in their childhoods. He shared many tender family values and revealed his kindness in those stories... it was a pleasure to listen and to confirm those complex challenges that we try to balance for our kids. A family man with a passion for wind and loud pipes. This culture of biking harbors so many interesting and passionate people. I felt very privileged to be invited. Once fed and refreshed, we readied to mount the trusty pony... it resisted the electric start once again and I stood aside while he coaxed it with the kick starter into its rhythmic roar. He was a bit concerned as to the bike's contrary behavior... after all, he put in new plugs, new battery, detailed the block... but the iron horse rolled out and he was confident enough to go for the bridge over the lake. We cleared the span easily and I wished that I hadn't buried my camera under our jackets lashed to the back of the little sissy bar. Over on the NY shore now, we puttered through Plattsburg and recognized the bike was very ill indeed. We just wanted a gas station to refuel and evaluate the cause of the misfires, the gasping engine... I'm no expert, but it sounded as if it were starving for fuel, but there was plenty in the tank... a few more miles south, no gas station in sight. It gave up and stopped all efforts in its silence. My driver power walked it off the traveled lane, past the fog line. Where were we? A 360 degree scan revealed we were very near a golf course: Bluff Point. As he pushed the bike into an access road, I pulled the helmets, and water bottle off the bike and watched him check list the situation hoping he would have some idea and maybe he could "McGiver" a solution. He revealed that he volunteered on a pit crew for stock car racing once upon a time and knew a little bit but couldn't see the real problem. S
ome how, the engine was not getting fuel; gas in the tank, the fuel valve was releasing petrol, yet there was air in the line... not good, not normal, not working.... I wandered over to a foursome teeing off. They in their golfing wardrobe, I in my leather chaps and sleeveless blouse, mirror sun glasses... "excuse me, is this a public course or a private club?" my query as spoke my best etiquette (I remembered my last encounter in a family place when attired in leathers and a wet shirt... we needed some help, and I didn't want to scare them off). "No, its public; why?" his Montreal accent replied. "we're broke down and need a place to sit and wait for our rescue ride. Is there a club house near by?" I sheepishly answered. "yeah, somewhere, maybe up that road by the sign" as he pointed south about a quarter mile. I returned to my frustrated biker friend and shared the news. He looked across the way, and began pushing his bike along the flat road, all 660 lbs of it. At least it was flat on this side of the lake and he was a fit tradesman... if it had been me, I could not have done that and in VT, there would have been hills to fight. We found the golf club entrance and began to enter, spotting a gazebo in the shaded median just ahead. We stopped and saw that it was a good climb, a heafty push to the 
club house and neither one of us wished to try farther. We have shade, a place to sit, a good spot for the bike. In silent agreement, we parked and ciphered the situation. He called his best friend, who by God's grace was there and began the trip to rescue us; a two hour drive for him and his truck with ramps for the bike...I'm thinking that its not all bad, as we are comfortable, safe and help is coming... I'm good with it. We talked and joked and watched the golfers. They would stop and ask of our situation: "bummer man, have a beer..." was the theme. Seems like every golf cart that went by, had a stock of Labatt's beer. A sweet relief in the 90+ heat of afternoon. After two beers, I was dizzy, drunk and hungry but too wary of walking to the club house in the heat and my driver was not going to leave his bike alone with golf club wielding strangers. I retreated to the grass and lay down for a nap and idled away the time swapping stories. It was to our mutual surprise discovering how much we had in common... it had become a great afternoon, with good company and free beer. I began smiling, beaming when he asked, "what are you so happy about?" "I was just thinking about why I took up motorcycle riding as a passenger. Today, I have met every objective of my pursuit. I have made a new friend, ridden a bike new to me, gone down a new road..." He was puzzled, "but we broke down..." "yeah, but what a place to get stuck, nice seat in the shade, free beer and good stories. This is awesome... I love adventures and this is a good one..." now he was smiling too as he kept a sharp eye for his buddy's white truck. I felt no worries as it was all taken care of and I felt at ease with the current situation. His calm concern was all I needed to enjoy myself in the company of this 
new friend; the gifts of cold beer from sympathetic golfers was a bonus... It was a grand day out as we watched the sun dropping and the dew rising. The white pick-up arrived and I stood in awe as the two buddies pushed the heavy bike into the back of the truck. We all piled into the cab and thanked our humble rescuer for abandoning his life these hours and making the trek out. As we pointed for home, it was agreed: all's well that ends well and new friends are always worth the detour in the journey...peace ~ ell
this one is for the immeasurable value of friendship
