Passes & Canyons Blog

Riding into town with a group this size and expecting to find rooms can be a very foolish thing to do.

There is a reason that in later years the OFMC planned out the year’s trip well in advance: try having 10 guys roll into town expecting to find enough rooms. Many times you’ll find them; sometimes you won’t. Make advance reservations.

In the early days of the group we didn’t even dream of such concerns. There were just the three of us–John, Bill, and me–and we carried camping gear. Good thing, because there were times we had to use it.

The earliest–and most famous and most clueless–time was 1991. We were headed for the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. There was a campground there. Not a problem. Right.

My bike was overdue from the shop so I did not leave with John and Bill. They got to the campground and told the person at the gate they wanted a campsite. What a joke! Do you not understand you need to make reservations a year in advance? Oh gosh, who do we do? And how do we get word to Ken, who was coming to meet them there. Then through a stroke of luck, someone called to cancel. The ranger called them over with the good news and all was fine. But in the days before cellphones, what would they have done to connect with me?

Then there was 1992. We decided to head north and got to Laramie. John and I had been there on an overnight the year before and had had a great time. What we didn’t factor in on this occasion was that Frontier Days was going on in Cheyenne and every motel room within any reasonable distance was booked. For the first and only time ever we rolled out our sleeping bags at a KOA. Not ideal but hey, it was late at night and all we did was sleep and roll out of there.

The next year Bill was unable to come so it was just John and me. At one point we rolled in to Pinedale, Wyoming, and surprise! The Pinedale Rendezvous was in progress. The place was swarming. Fortunately we found what we believed to be the last room in town.

After awhile we started thinking about festivals going on so we could avoid them. That didn’t help us the year we went up to Glacier National Park. This place is a major attraction at all times and we got into the little town of St. Mary, on the east side of the park, and once again we just lucked into the last room in town. Man, maybe we need to think ahead at least a little.

By 2000 we were thinking ahead. The group was now larger and as we headed out we planned to spend the night in Hot Sulphur Springs. John was supposed to have made a reservation but when he called to do so he had been told they always had plenty of rooms so no need for reservations. Wrong. We got there and the town was booked. There was a bicycle race going on that weekend and we were out of luck. We rode on to Kremmling and even there the motels were all full. The only place we could find was an old-style hotel in the middle of town, with bathrooms down the hall. At least they had beds.

We never went anywhere after that without reservations but sometimes things take an unexpected turn. In 2019 we were just down to three again, Bill, me, and Dennis. We were headed for Missoula but never got there. Dennis made a bone-headed mistake at a gas station and put diesel in his bike by accident. He was on an Indian and the nearest Indian dealer was in Idaho Falls. He got a U-Haul truck and we loaded the bike in. He spoke with the folks at the dealership and they said they would get to him right away the next morning, as long as we were there when they opened.

We got to Idaho Falls and for who knows what crazy reason there were no rooms to be had anywhere. But some local we spoke to suggested one other place we try, which the local Chamber of Commerce had not thought to suggest. We called and they had exactly one room. We got there and walked in and another couple came in right behind us. We got the room and they did not.

And that brings one other instance to mind. This was in 2015. We made reservations for our first night at Oak Creek, a bit south of Steamboat Springs. No problem. Well, we were comfortably ensconced when the skies opened up and the rain pounded down. Our cabin had eaves so we were enjoying sitting outside watching the rain. Then a motorcycle carrying a couple came slowly through the parking area, only to see the “No Vacancy” sign. And off they went through the downpour.

That’s how you learn, I guess. We sure did.

Biker Quote for Today

Been through a lot, my motorcycles and me. Heat, darkness, wind, rain, fences . . .

Taking a break along the road in 2010. That’s Pawnee Buttes off on the horizon.

Chicks dig guys on motorcycles, it has been said. And yeah, there’s some truth to that–we all know it. So it’s natural to wonder what encounters or even escapades have been visited upon the OFMC over the years. Well, there have been a few.

First we need to make clear that in the very early days neither Bill nor I were married, so potential did exist. But the fact is that nothing ever happened in those years and then we both got married. Being married changes the dynamic a bit (he said with considerable understatement).

Way back in 1995 Bill had a problem with the stator on his Honda Shadow so John and I left without him. He jury-rigged a fix and later met us in Thermopolis, Wyoming. Meanwhile, that first day, John and I made it to Wheatland and got a room for the night. Being a couple guys out on a fun trip, we had a bite to eat and then hit a nearby bar.

We were just minding our own business when a quite drunk and not at all attractive local woman approached us. We were happy to make conversation but she quickly brought the conversation around to, would the two of us like to head back to her place? OK, didn’t really expect this. Um, no. No thanks. Gosh, thanks for asking. But by golly, she is not forgotten.

In 2003 we spent our only night ever in Aspen. Aspen is super expensive but John found the one reasonably priced place in town. Cool. It was the three of us, Bill, John, and me, and again, we headed for a bar after dinner.

We ended up sitting at the bar right next to a couple women whose tight, taut facial skin told of “work” to banish lines of age. Clearly the well-to-do sort you expect to find in Aspen. We got to chatting with them and they seemed to have some interest in these biker guys they had met, until . . .

At some point I brought up the subject of Hunter Thompson. Besides being an outlandish gonzo journalist, Thompson, a resident of the area, had run for sheriff of Pitkin County. He didn’t win but as I recall he didn’t exactly get crushed at the polls either. I asked the woman next to me if there had ever been an likelihood that he might win.

Her reaction took us totally by surprise. She immediately grew very hostile and acted insulted at the idea that we would think they were stupid enough to vote for such an idiot. Um, excuse me but I was implying nothing and only asking a question. Guess maybe it’s time we move on to some other watering hole.

Then in 2005 we were in Encampment, Wyoming. This was the first day of the trip and it was a pretty short ride to get there so once again (is there a theme developing here?) we were in the only local establishment when a big crowd of bikers on a poker run engulfed the place. We got to talking and partying with the crowd and then at one point a local woman seemed to take a bit of an interest in Bill.

Bill was still single at this point so when she suggested they go for a ride he was happy to oblige. John and I were thinking, OK, Bill’s going to get lucky. But then it wasn’t long before he was back, without her. Turned out, he told us, along the way they spotted a guy who didn’t look friendly. “Oh, oh, that’s my ex-husband,” she told him. So he dropped her off and made a possibly well-advised exit.

In 2010 we didn’t go to Wyoming, we did a trip around Wyoming. By now it was a much bigger group, with sons and friends of sons joining the older guys on the ride. We stopped one night in Big Timber, Montana, where the only thing going at night was the bowling alley. It was a happening night at the bowling alley, with a lot of drinking going on, and after awhile the old guys headed on back to the hotel, leaving the scene to the young guys.

We were in an old hotel of the sort where there were no private facilities; the restrooms were down the hall. Sometime during the night John pulled on his pants and went down the hall to get rid of some beer and heard some odd thumping going on in one of the shower stalls. The next morning he learned it had been Matt–the brother of a friend of a son, on his only ride with the OFMC–and some lady he met at the bar. So for once something actually happened.

Later on that same trip we were in Broadus, Montana, and just hanging out in the parking lot at our motel in the evening. Some woman also staying there was attracted to all these bikers and came over to chat. Very friendly. Turned out she was working. Why anyone would choose to ply that trade in this little wide spot in the road is beyond me. She didn’t find any business among our crowd, although Matt did show some amount of interest. Young guys and testosterone.

So yeah, that’s the sort of wild and crazy life you lead when you’re a stud biker.

Biker Quote for Today

You know you’re a biker when nothing heals like two wheels.

A rest stop on that trip in 2002, just a bit south of Jackpot.

We of the OFMC have always had a soft spot for one really out of the way spot: Jackpot, Nevada.

Jackpot is a wide spot in the road, right on the state line with Idaho, about 50 miles south of Twin Falls. By right on the state line I mean that coming south you cross into Nevada and you’re in the middle of town. I once, back in the days before we always wore helmets, came across the state line figuring I would be fine without a helmet the short distance (100 yards?) to our hotel. (Nevada is a bucket state.) Wrong. A cop flagged me down immediately and said no, I needed to stop short of the state line and put the helmet on. OK, lesson learned.

The OFMC favors Jackpot for a couple reasons. First, it’s a gambling stop, which is mandatory on any trip. Second, it has a surprisingly nice golf course, which is also an OFMC must.

But it can also be a fun place. As with any big casino, Cactus Pete’s has an auditorium where they have shows. It’s not like way out here in this podunk place you’re going to get top headliners but on the other hand, ticket prices are nothing like what they are in Las Vegas.

We were there one time and the show that night was Bowser, the lead singer from the group Sha Na Na. OK, that sounds like fun, let’s do it. Besides, the longer you spend sitting and watching a show the less money you lose at the slots or the tables.

So Bowser was good and we enjoyed his part of the show but I don’t now remember much about it. What we all remember was what they did during intermission: a hula-hoop contest.

By this time the OFMC was a mixed group of the original guys and others of our generation, plus the sons and friends of sons of the older guys. Everyone was egging on anyone who might be willing to get up there on stage and potentially make a fool of themselves and I got up there and so did Johnathon, John’s son.

They started out with three categories: men, women, and kids. Yes, there were kids allowed because it was a show and they just weren’t allowed to drink, of course.

Johnathon was a hot shot and he figured of course he would take the men’s competition and he was dumbstruck when I emerged the winner. Not the first or last time Johnathon has underestimated me. Then the winners of each group faced off.

I don’t remember anything about the winner of the women’s group but there was a young girl who won the kids’ group. And oh my gosh, she skunked us totally.

We got up there and I’m gyrating and trying to keep that hoop up above my waist, struggling mightily, and unsuccessfully and the girl was just very easily, casually, sedately, swinging that puppy around and around. Just to rub it in, she kept going for a good while after the other two of us had lost. And Johnathon was pleased to see me lose so decisively after he had lost to me so badly.

I’ve thought about the whole thing since then and I think I understand how it worked out. This little girl had hips wider than her stomach, whereas we older folks had more belly and less hip. I think it’s just easier to keep the hoop above your hips when you’re shaped that way. I mean it couldn’t just be that she was better at hula hoop than me, could it? No, no. couldn’t be.

Anyway–we always had a good time at Jackpot. Always a favorite stop.

Biker Quote for Today

You might be a Yuppie biker if your saddlebags have a special pocket for your cell phone.

That’s Johnathon’s Virago before it fell. That’s Johnathon on the left, next to his dad.

Have you ever parked your motorcycle and come back to it later to find it laying on the ground? If you ride a Harley, probably not. Those broad, sweeping kickstands hold things really solidly. Not so much with a lot of other bikes. But sometimes even Harleys can fall.

On the second ever OFMC trip we were headed back into Colorado from New Mexico when we got caught in a cloudburst. We just rode through it and we dried off quickly enough but by the time we reached Alamosa that moisture and subsequent evaporation combined to bring us hypothermia. We headed for the nearest coffee shop and sat there for two hours drinking pot after pot of coffee, trying to stop shaking.

As an aside, coffee is not the best thing to drink in this situation. You’ll get a lot better results if you drink something like hot chocolate. Just FYI.

When we finally got warmed up we figured it was time to find a motel, so we walked on out to the bikes. Well, guess what. This coffee shop’s parking lot was newly repaved and the day was a really hot one. John’s kickstand, which was pretty vertical with a small foot, had sunk right into that asphalt and his bike had toppled over onto Bill’s, with both of them going down.

OK, lesson learned. From then on when it was hot and we were on asphalt we knew to find a flattened aluminum can or a broad rock or something to put under the stand. Later we all acquired pucks to carry with us. We do learn.

A couple years later, on a trip where John’s son Johnathon was with us, we were up in Idaho, heading north from Arco. At some point we spotted a nice, shady spot to pull over and take a break. We weren’t on pavement or rock but no big deal. Until, as we lounged there taking it easy, there came a crash. Johnathon’s bike–the one that had been John’s and knocked Bill’s bike over previously, had sunk into the soft dirt and gone down. At least no other bikes were involved and Johnathon, too, now learned the lesson.

A couple years after that, with Dennis now part of the group, we were up in Wyoming in the Bighorn Mountains. We stayed at a lodge where the people were so creepy it gave us thoughts of the Stephen King novel and movie, “The Shining,” but that’s a whole other story.

It rained hard that night. No problem, the parking lot was gravel. Well, maybe gravel and sand. And Dennis came out in the morning to find his Gold Wing laying on its side, with the kickstand sunk deeply into the more sand than gravel spot where he left it. Dang.

Now, those are the kinds of falls that even a Harley would be vulnerable to, because when the ground is soft even something broad and flat will sink. But it’s especially likely with a very vertical stand with a small foot. Such as on my Honda CB750. Or my old Kawasaki Concours. Or my Suzuki V-Strom. Are you catching my drift?

It was not long at all after I first bought the CB750 that I rode over to meet John and his wife Cheryl at a park where they were watching Johnathon playing soccer. When I parked the bike the ground was sloped such that it was standing up pretty straight but I figured it would be fine. Wrong. We came back to the bike and there it was on the ground. Apparently just the wind was enough to tip it too far.

Then there was the day I was out on the Connie and parked along a street with a pretty good crown to it. Which is to say, with the kickstand on the left and a slope to the right, that bike was quite upright. And yeah, I came back to it and it was down.

And then later I got the V-Strom and on one of my first rides with it I was with a group down along the Platte River up in the hills and we pulled off by the river. I jockeyed that thing a good bit to be sure I had it somewhere where it would be OK but I misjudged. I got off, walked away, and had only gotten about 10 feet when there was this big crash behind me. Dang. Dang. Dang.

There have been others. And there’s always something that breaks. I guess it’s all just part of the expense of riding motorcycles. It sure has been for me.

Biker Quote for Today

100 reasons not to date a biker: 30. Yes, the bike gets a Christmas gift.

After our stupid joke Bill and I bought a round for the group in a bar in Medicine Bow.

If you ride in a group it’s the generally accepted practice that you are responsible for making sure the guy behind you is still there. And if he’s not you slow down to let him catch up, and if he still doesn’t show maybe you stop and wait. And if he still doesn’t show you go back.

My friend Jungle always says that if you stop you should wait five minutes before going back. If the guy behind is OK, five minutes won’t matter. If he’s dead it won’t matter either.

Now, that’s not to say that the OFMC has always followed this rule. I was heading west on I-70 behind Brett and Randy one time when I had a flat just east of Rifle. I pulled over but I couldn’t get off the bike because the road sloped away and if I put out my kickstand the bike was going to fall to the right. Fine, I’ll just wait here until they come back for me.

Well, they didn’t. After awhile I started waving at any bikers passing on the highway, hoping someone would stop to give me a hand. Several did pass, and seemed like they wanted to stop, but they were going fast and by the time they could have stopped they would have been a quarter mile down the road. But finally a couple did stop, and they started hoofing it back to where I was.

Just at that time a guy in a pick-up came along and he stopped. Do you need help? You bet I do. He helped me hoist the bike up onto the center stand, which is amazingly hard to do when you have a flat tire–not sure why. So by the time the biker couple got there all I could say was thanks a whole lot but I don’t need you any more. But thank you so much.

It turns out that Brett and Randy noticed I was not behind them so they pulled off at Rifle. But the exit goes downhill, to where you can’t see the vehicles passing by above on the highway. After sitting there a few minutes they decided I must have just gone on past them on the highway so they took off again. Wrong. Once I was finally able to rejoin the whole group the next day neither of them said one word, like “Oops” or “Sorry” or anything. Jungle told me, “You need new friends.”

Which brings me back to Bill and Ken’s really bad practical joke.

We were up in Wyoming one time coming down a highway in the middle of nowhere, me riding sweep and Bill just in front of me. We got to a fork and I don’t know how we knew this but we knew that if we took the fork to the right it would rejoin this same road a little further along. The other guys were going to the left. Presumably, considering when this was, Bill must have pulled over at the fork and when I pulled up next to him he suggested that we take this other road and ride fast and be waiting for them up ahead. A fun surprise.

So we peeled off and we got to where the roads rejoined and we sat and waited. And waited. And waited. Oops, you don’t suppose they noticed we weren’t there and are looking for us? Bill headed back on the road they were coming on while I sat at the intersection in case someone came the other way. And of course that’s what it was. They were looking all over for us, riding back the way we had all come and getting very concerned.

Considering how unorganized we were back then, the ploy might have worked except that just a quarter mile past the fork there was a rest area and the group pulled off. It was not hard to realize we were not there. Where are those guys? When did you see them last? They found out when Bill got all the way back to that spot.

They were not happy. They wouldn’t let us live that one down for a long time. What in the world made us think this would be a clever trick?

I do think that after my flat by Rifle everyone in the group really came to understand that you are responsible for keeping an eye on the guy behind you, so we’re not unteachable.

Biker Quote for Today

100 reasons not to date a biker: 20. We smell like leather and gasoline.

Those scuff marks show you exactly where Friggs’s face would have been ripped open.

The OFMC has never been as thoroughly safety-minded as the RMMRC but we’re human, we’re interested in preserving our own skins. So for 35 years we have ridden safely, with the worst crash being the one Friggs had in 2018 down in New Mexico. Very uncharacteristically, he had chosen that day to ride without his jacket but after going down his jeans were torn, his shirt was torn, and otherwise he was barely bruised. Amazingly.

The one thing that was badly damaged was his helmet. If you ever think a helmet is unneeded, just take a look at a helmet that has been through a serious crash. Then think about what that head underneath would have been like without it.

Now sure, everyone has dropped their bike in a parking lot or that sort of thing. Nobody’s gotten hurt. In all these years no one other than Friggs has ever gone down, which probably makes us one heck of a fortunate bunch. But we have had some close calls.

Probably the closest, the one that most likely could have led to death, was Dennis up in the Black Hills in 2014. We were staying several days in Hill City, doing day rides, and we were out on one of the many great roads up there and stopped at an intersection of two highways. We did whatever needed doing and were getting geared up and back on the bikes.

We were on one side of the road but needed to go the other way so I pulled out across the road onto the shoulder on the other side, facing the other direction. Dennis was the next to get ready. Now, you have to understand, Dennis is short. He had all the other guys between him and the road so he couldn’t really see up the road. There were also all these Harleys making a heck of a racket so he couldn’t hear anything either. He started across the road to join me.

What Dennis could not see, but all the rest of us did, was the semi coming right toward him. I know I was screaming but what good does that do? He couldn’t hear me. The others were screaming, too, and then there was the screeching of the brakes on that big truck. Did I mention that Dennis is also hard of hearing?

He got about halfway across the road and looked to his left and saw this truck screeching up toward him. His heart must have stopped for a moment. Fortunately the trucker was able to stop in time but for a moment it looked like the worst was about to happen. We didn’t ever want to see something like that again.

But then apparently it happened again, and this time it was me. I say “apparently” because I was totally oblivious to it all. I knew nothing until the guys told me later.

This was in 2023 up in the far northwest corner of Wyoming. I was leading and we were looking for a place for lunch. We came up on a restaurant but I couldn’t tell if it was open until I was past it. The other guys pulled over. I pulled over to turn around and go back. What they tell me is that as I pulled back onto the highway there was a car coming fast that I pulled right in front of. And that guy braked really hard. Yikes! I don’t see how that could have happened. It’s not like I don’t look both ways before pulling out, you know. But I got to the parking lot and Bill and Dennis both started yelling wildly and I had to ask what they were so excited about. Really? That happened? Big oops.

Then later on this same trip Bill had his moment but it was not of his doing. We were now in Idaho cruising down this highway with me in the lead, then Bill, then Dennis. A car passed me going the other way and then turned left right in front of Bill. You know the story. Fortunately, Bill avoided crashing into the guy. I’m convinced that it had to do with Dennis’s lights.

Dennis wants to be seen, so he has super bright lights that I say can be seen from space. Well, Bill’s stock headlight is really not very bright at all. I ride in front of him a lot and I know this. My suspicion is that the guy in the car absolutely saw Dennis’s lights but did not see Bill’s weak beam at all. He had plenty of time to turn in front of Dennis. Only problem is that Bill was there. I told Bill he needs brighter lights but he pooh-poohed that. Fine, it’s your life.

Other than that we’ve had the usual close calls. Like this year when we were heading into Buena Vista and a car going the other way decided to pass someone on a blind curve–just as I was coming around the curve from the other direction. Bill and I both pulled onto the shoulder to get out of that idiot’s way.

That kind of stuff is routine, unfortunately. But all in all it’s pretty amazing how well we’ve done over the years. We do care about our own skin.

Biker Quote for Today

You might be a Yuppie biker if you wear a full-face helmet; you wear a helmet; you wear earplugs. (Who the heck compiled this list? I’m sorry I have to take exception.)

We made it to the Pacific.

Probably the most ambitious trip the OFMC ever made was in 1999 when we decided it was time to head for the ocean. The Pacific, to be exact. California here we come.

Normally we would leave on these trips on Friday and return on Saturday but for this we left all of one day earlier, and not even early in the day. We hit the road at 2 p.m., heading west on I-70. Where we were promptly hit at about Silver Plume by what may still be the biggest deluge we ever encountered. But by now, this being our eleventh year, we were prepared, had good rain suits, and we just rode right through it. I do recall vehicles going the other direction sending huge walls of water over the median barrier onto us.

Despite our late start we got to Green River, Utah, that evening. The next–very hot–day was just blasting on I-70 to Ely, Nevada. These are the days when you appreciate the pool at the motel.

We were a little wary of crossing Nevada on US 50, the Loneliest Road in America, but it was actually pretty nice. Clouds were appreciated. But we had to pay the incredibly high price of $2 a gallon for gas! Outrage! We made it to Lake Tahoe that day, staying in South Tahoe, in California, where it was cheaper, and we walked into Nevada to gamble.

The next day we looped around Lake Tahoe and crossed Donner Pass on I-80. A short while later we got off the superslab onto CA 20 through Yuba City and on to Calistoga. This was the day when we first experienced some of the tight, twisty, up-and-down roads that California is famous for. Calistoga was a good stop: good food, a decent motel, and alcoholic beverages, of course.

Then we crossed into the Napa Valley, but we didn’t stop for wine tasting, we kept going until we crossed over into the Alexander Valley, also wine country. We stopped at Alexander Valley Vineyards and tasted a few wines and I just had no choice. I bought a case and had it shipped home. With the shipping, I calculated later that I only paid about double what I would have paid buying the same wine at home. But to this day I continue to buy Alexander Valley Vineyards wines.

After a night in Healdsburg we headed to Lake Sonoma Recreation Area where I knew one of the sweetest roads in California. The Stewart’s Point Skaggs Springs Road is so out of the way and sparsely used that a lot of it is one lane. It loops through the forest with so many curves that Bill said later it made him a little sick to his stomach. But then it comes out onto Highway 1 right at the coast. We had made it to the Pacific.

We turned north and headed up to Mendocino. Then we got a real taste of what Mark Twain was talking about when he remarked something to the effect of, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a week in San Francisco.” Fortunately for me, by that time I had my electric vest and had brought it along. Bill and John have never acquired heated gear. I don’t understand why not. I love my vest and my heated gloves.

North of Mendocino, Highway 1 goes inland and we were not unhappy to say good-bye to the coast and coastal weather. We spent the night in Redding at a motel that turned out to be a long-term stay place for what looked like some families just scraping by. No problem; nice folks. Just not what we expected.

The next day we passed through Lassen Volcano National Park and turned south on a series of roads that eventually brought us to Reno. Stayed the night in Reno and then it was back across the Loneliest Road in America for another night in Ely. Bill had fun this day. His Shadow had a very low center of gravity so just like a bicycle, he could ride with no hands. He tested to see how far he could go without touching the handlebars and his best shot was about 35 miles.

The next day was just a hard day of riding, back to Green River. Then Bill went all the way home while John and I stopped for the night in Grand Junction with a friend living there, and home the next.

This was a trip full of hard days of riding. I rode my 1980 Honda CB750 Custom with its stock seat and my butt was really sore by the time we got home. Shortly afterward I bought my 1999 Kawasaki Concours and I rode it out to coffee one day with the guys. Hey, when we leave, I told them, you have to see the new seat I got. I walked them out to the Connie telling them, yeah, the seat cost me one heck of a lot but they threw in the whole rest of the bike at no extra charge.

Biker Quote for Today

No therapy in the world can do what burning a tank of gas, chasing the setting sun can do for you.

We had a big group for a while.

When the OFMC got going–before we even came up with the OFMC name–there were three of us: John, Bill, and Ken (me). John had bought a bike, so I bought one, so Bill bought one. Soon enough we decided we needed to go somewhere on these fine machines. That was 1989.

Things took a new twist in 1998 when John’s son Johnathon joined us for the first time, riding the old Yamaha Virago his father had given him when he moved up to his Honda Shadow. That started a chain reaction.

In 2000 Bill’s brother Friggs joined the group. The funny thing is, he didn’t even own a bike at that time. Instead, he rented a Harley. The rental had an “unlimited miles” note in the paperwork but when Friggs took the bike back after the trip the rental guy grumbled that unlimited miles didn’t mean that many miles. Oh yeah? Friggs bought a Virago shortly after the trip.

Then in 2004 things exploded. Bills’ son Jason now joined us and he brought along a friend, Todd. Johnathon also brought his friend Randy. It was also the first trip for Bill and Friggs’s brother-in-law Dennis. Now it was getting too big a group to just be showing up in some random town expecting to find enough motel rooms, but that was a lesson we learned on this trip, not beforehand.

In 2006 Johnathon brought another friend, Brett, and we had the biggest group yet. So we’ve got three original guys, one brother, two sons, one brother-in-law, and a fluctuating line-up of sons’ friends. In 2010 Matt, a brother of one of the friends (see how it spreads!) came along. Finally, in 2015, John’s wife’s cousin Frank joined us and we had the biggest group ever. From there the OFMC began to shrink.

Johnathon and Jason were the first to drop out. They were both young married guys with families and they made the decision that they needed to put their families first and not risk getting hurt badly or killed. Several of the friends fell away then, too. By 2017 we were down to John, Dennis, Bill, Friggs, Brett, and me.

In 2018 John, one of the three founders, did not come. His health issues had gotten too serious and he had sold his motorcycle. The end of an era. Then in 2018, on a clean, smooth road, for no knowable reason, Friggs went down. He escaped serious injury–thank goodness for his helmet–but after finishing the trip he sold his bike and has never ridden again.

Then in 2019 it was just three of us again, Bill, Dennis, and me. That continued until 2022 when we were joined by Bruce but Bruce didn’t make it in 2023 or 2024 so at the end it was just us three. Same number as we started with, two of the same guys. Can’t say for sure yet but it looks like that’s the end. At a poker game recently John asked if there would be a ride next year and I listened keenly to the replies Bill and Dennis gave. Dennis was non-committal, probably waiting for Bill to answer, and Bill said he was not inclined to. But he didn’t say a positive no. We’ll wait and see.

Biker Quote for Today

Motorcycling is like talking; the road speaks, and my heart understands.