Riding Home

The date is July 18, 2000 and I am sitting outside of Gasoline Alley H.D. dealership in Red Deer, Alberta waiting for a new tire to be installed on my Classic.

Normally I would try to squeeze another 1000 K off my Dunlop (not even to the steel belts yet, although tread on the center line was gone long ago), today I feel abnormally mortal. I sit here inspired through tragedy and pushed onward by my own fear of mortality.

My baby brother called this morning from across the country so distraught that in my early morning fog I could not grasp the meaning in his words. His feelings, conveyed not by the words but how they spilled forth from him caused immediate fear to grip my whole being although for whom I'd had yet to find out.

Big Al is no longer with us. Sometime during the afternoon or evening on Friday, July 14, 2000, Big Al was coming over a hill with a sloping curve to the left. Near the crest of the hill the smooth pavement gave way to a rough section of road. It was on over this crest that our friend left the road and traveled a distance through the woods where he joined our creator.

Big Al was always the life of the party. He could some how be offensive with out offending. My brother shared one of his cherished stories of Al with me this morning, which was also one of Al's favorite jokes. I am going to insert this story into the following tale and Al's friends will surely recognize it when they reach it.

I'm going to spent the next couple of days on the road and hopefully clear my head and exorcize some personal demons at the same time. The following tale is obviously a work of fiction but they say to write what you know. With that said I would like to dedicate the this story to the memory of Big Al Cavanagh, April 26,1958 - July 14,2000.

Well, I got my money's worth out of that tire. Steel belts exposed in three areas all larger than a silver dollar. Like my wrench Danny said, "You might have made it thru town". Brake pins greased, bearings packed, new tire, I'm ready to hit the road. Fort McMurray and back with my friend Al beside me. Lets see where our story takes us......

It was one of those Friday evenings that we all look forward to. The temperature gauge in the fairing showed just over 80 degrees far. The maple leaves lining the forest road were rustling gently in the breeze singing their song of bliss.

The two-lane blacktop was like so many others in Nova Scotia, between the dips and curves, if you reached the right speeds, the sensation was not unlike that of a roller coaster cresting the peak and plummeting into nothingness. Reality takes a back seat on a road like this and one has the tendency of gradually increasing speed to gain airtime over the small crests in the road.

Al was on his way to the Twin oak's Campground to meet up with his wife and kids for another peaceful weekend nestled in the Nova Scotia wilderness. Al and his family regularly camped at the Twin Oaks not only because of convenience of location,but the boating was excellent and the road to the campsite was a favorite of the local bikers basically because for over twenty miles there wasn't a straight stretch over two hundred yards in length. It was the type of road where you can easily find your limitations and many have over the years. You could push through the corners on 3rd and 4th gears, speed ranging from 40 to 90 MPH depending on how hard you want to brake. Even at 60 miles an hour it is an exhilarating ride.

Al always had that need for speed and today was no exception. At the moment though, his mind was ahead at the campsite. Right about now his wife should be throwing his marinated T-bone on the campfire grill. Another of the reasons they always return there was because of the open fire cooking pits that dotted the campground. Nothing like a good steak grilled on an open fire thought Al as he literally flew off the last of three consecutive dips that headed up a 8-9 degree hill curving to the left as it cut up through the trees.

The road was heading west now as Al landed from the 3rd dip and started up the gradual slope to the left. Through the trees, he watched as the setting sun aligned itself between the cut-line in the forest.

The view was breath taking and Al's thoughts were that Mother Nature was giving him his own private viewing. It gave him the feeling that this beautiful sunset was for his eyes only. It was one of those most gorgeous sights that fill your senses and allows no other thoughts to interfere with the absorption of its splendor.

Al was in that mode as he rolled on the throttle heading up the curving slope much as the fighter pilot pulls his stick back and slightly to the right banking up, into the clouds, and to the sun.

He blinked, the sun was gone, the area black with the outline of a bull moose, the sun's rays giving a halo effect to the huge rack of antlers that seemed to span the entire width of the road.

Oh shit! Al threw his weight to the left and somehow missed the Bull Moose though if he had the time to think about it, he would be hard pressed to figure out how he managed that. At the moment his thoughts were on other matters.

At the speed he was traveling, momentum only allowed one such move as he had made. Al once more became airborne as he and his FLHTC soared off the blacktop and over the ditch into the forest beyond, and… blackness.

"AL…AL…Can you hear me? It's Dogman, AL!" Al picked his head off the soft carpet of moss, so cool, his thoughts returned to…flying. "Where's Marina?" he asked, looking around him. "She's OK Al, she's back at the campsite. Your steak is cold and she sent us after you. Can you sit up now? You flew off the road back there. My man, Tiny got your bike back up on the road. You think you can ride, or do you want to double up with me?" That statement made Al shake his head, still a little foggy but, all in all, not feeling nearly the pain he had expected. The moss that was cooling his face must have cushioned his landing.

"Well, like they say"' he mused, "Any landing you walk away from was a good landing." Dogman steadied his arm as he raised himself off the cool forest floor. "You ready Big Al? Let's ride."

The two friends made their way through the trees up to the road where Tiny awaited them with the bikes. Being close to 330 lbs. made it easy for Tiny to get the Classic back up on the road again. Al stared at his pride and joy; the tour pak was gone along with the attached antenna.

"I can live without the tour pak," Al joked, "but it's going to be a bitch getting some music happening." He turned the ignition to Acc. And hit the power button. Led Zeppelin bellowed out the speakers, "And she's building a stairway…"

"I might miss the rear speakers too," Al roared over the music. As Led Zeppelin blared over the speakers it was joined by the chorus of the three Harleys as the trio of friends started through the gears heading down that winding road.

Not so far down the road sat a small gas station/ bar combo. Al started down shifting as soon as the place came into sight. Leading the group Al pulled up beside a few other Harleys and backed his in next to an old shovel head that stood there, marking its spot, even as Al looked it over.

"Don't remember this place but I sure could use a drink right about now. Come on guys, I'll buy you a drink for pulling my bike and me out of the woods. Lord, I feel good, must be that natural rush you get flying solo like that. You know, that landing must have put my hip back in place cause it isn't even hurting to walk." The three sauntered into the bar and chose a round table near a window where they could keep their eyes on the bikes outside. Old habits tie hard," ventured Tiny as they sat.

After a few minutes of good-natured idle conversation a twenty something cutie-patootie came over to take their orders. Al waited until the other two had ordered and piped up, loudly asking the young thing if they had any apple cider? When she replied that she didn't think they carried any, Al went into his favorite monologue. "What, no cider. No apple cider. You know, my favorite is Dickens's. My old lady loves it too. There's nothing better after a long ride she says than some Dickens's Cider." You could hear the laughter start around the room and then as if on cue (and I might add completely unaware of what was going on) she said she would go out back and see if she could find some Dickens's Cider. Well, that did it; total uncontrolled laughter erupted throughout tiny bar. As the young thing slipped behind the bar, the bartender managed to add before losing control himself. "There might be some top shelf in the back corner Stacie."

Well, that was the end of conversation for a little while as everyone continued spastic convulsions of laughter and giggles only to start again when young Stacie emerged to announce to all that unfortunately they had no Dickens's Cider but she would make sure it was on the next order list.

"God love you dear" Al exclaimed to her in his ever-friendly tone. Hmm, déjà vu, thought Al. They all shared another drink before heading out.

As the three men were straddling their machines and each bike roared to life, rumbling in the peaceful country air Al looked up at the bar and total insight just swept over him like a warm blanket being pulled over your head on a cold winter's morning. He looked over to Tiny who replied to his unanswered question. "That's why there's no pain man, I hadn't rode in years, now I ride every day. I'm here to ride home with you."

Al looked over to Dogman but his face had blurred. The voice that came through still belonged to his friend. ''This was one of Dogman's favorite memories of you", he said, "Tiny is a recent arrival and he will ride home with you. Nobody rides home alone".

Al knew then that it wasn't Dogman talking, it was God, man, and he was taking him home.

To the memories of Al Cavanagh, April 26, 1958 - July 14, 2000 And Melvin (Tiny) Jordan, Nov. 1948- June 7, 2000

After note- The Dickens's Cider story is based on how my brother, Dogman relayed it to me. Of course, being a story- teller I added details of my own but the core is based on truth. Al was a character and will be missed as will Tiny. I rode a thousand miles with their spirits as comfort and I hope this story, fiction as it is, will help us remember our fallen brothers and help ease their departure.

JD Boyd

aka

CC Ryder,

Calgary, Alberta

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