Rally stories get better with time By Ron McCoy #200567


ADVENTURE MOTORCYCLE RID- ing is like shopping for groceries. The motorcycle rally is where all of the food comes together in the kitchen. For some, the rally is an annual cook- off like the mountain man’s rendez- vous. For others, the rally is the single pilgrimage of a lifetime served on a hot plate. Regardless, the intensity and rea- son for being there is always the same. It is a place for riding, danc- ing, shouting, trading, practicing, and per- fecting stories. It is always about the sto- ries. The names of places are the soup’s beef stock like Lolo, Beartooth, and Hell’s Canyon. Weather and road are spices and seasonings like fog, wind, rain, gravel, and the perennial sleepy semi-truck driver. Folks are the meat and potatoes, with names like Shorty, Big Frank, Too Tall, and Skids. It was on the way back from the 43rd BMW MOA International Rally in Billings where I met Big Frank Reese who dipped me a hot steaming bowl from his own cache and recipe: “It was a couple of years ago; I was


heading up to Sturgis when I came through this area. Man, you think it is windy today, you should have seen it back then! There was junk blowing all over the road, with boxes, paper, dirt, old cups, and the biggest tumble weeds you ever did see. You would just get used to cutting things down.


12 BMW OWNERS NEWS October 2015


At first I tried to evade, but after a while I hit stuff on purpose, you know, just for the fun of it. Well, anyway, I was headed into the canyon, Stinkingwater, and was behind this old tourist. He seemed nervous for some reason, driving slow with dust and dirt blowing all over the place, when out of nowhere a big gust catches me up and


much came of it. Anyway, I couldn’t get back into my own lane because I was now neck to neck with the car, so I decided at the last second to go left of the truck into the shoulder. I squeezed the clutch, closed my eyes, and waited for the bright white light tunnel, but it never came. Well, after a second or two, I figured I wasn’t dead, so opened my eyes to see I just missed the truck but was gliding along the edge of the canyon in loose gravel with a 60 foot drop just inches to the left of me. Somehow I came to my senses, caught myself a gear, and gave a quick burp and squirt back into my own lane. By the time I looked in my mirror I saw the semi had pulled over along with several other cars. Folks were looking over the edge of the can- yon, all sad and con- cerned, like hoping for a picture or a body part souvenir. What a ride. I did everything wrong, and yet it worked out per- fectly. Goes to show you, don’t it? Yeah, that’s rid- ing. You can’t plan for it, but things just sort of


blows me into oncoming traffic. Well, I wanted to pass anyway so took it as a sign to give it a go. I rolled the throttle of my VTX 1800 thinking I wouldn’t have any problem, but my timing was off. “I never will forget the deep-sea blue-


green color of the semi-truck coming straight at me. It was such a beautiful green. I never did see another one like it. You know, come to think of it, there was this girl I took out a few times that had eyes with the same color. Man, what a looker, but she didn’t like my bike, so nothing


work themselves out. I ended up clearing out all the traffic and had smooth sailing clear to Idaho Falls, where my brother-in- law lives.” Well, Frank, I am not sure that is the


kind of riding I want to do, but I am sure I would have never heard your story had I not been to the 43rd BMW MOA Interna- tional Rally. Thanks for the offer to put me up the next time I cruise through southern Oregon. I will be sure to bring the road kill. I can’t wait to see your old lady bake a cake from it as you promised.


the club


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