WetLeather Motorcycle Rider Information

[This has been floating around in my head for a few days; figure I better spit it out somewhere.]

July 1, Team Oregon lost an instructor in a motorcycle accident.

His death was a shock to everyone, and has left a hole in many people's lives- not the least of which are his fiance and daughters. One daughter is herself a Team Oregon instructor; the first class I taught with him, one of the students was the woman who would become his fiance. I worked with him several times after that, and saw him numerous times. He always had a smile and you could expect some good natured ribbing, and some good-natured carping about his sore feet. He earned those, having been involved in enough classes to help almost 1000 new riders in a little over five years... twelve at a time. That adds up to a lot of weekends chasing students around a parking lot. He wasn't a person to lament or dwell on the downturns of life. He was one to howl at the moon, or dress up in an Easter bunny costume and ride around the campground on a children's retreat.

The 45 minute ride from the funeral to Willamette National Cemetery was rough, emotionally. Two dozen bikes, most of them instructors, the rest friends of the family, lead the procession. It wasn't the big affair Bronze's was, with the entire freeway blocked off and held back. (For that one, I miraculously timed my ride into Seattle to be immediately behind the rolling blockade bringing up the rear of that procession.) No, we were out there in traffic, with a modest escort, working through rural backroads and then up I-205. In a way, having cars move out of the way was even more profound than having the entire freeway shut down ahead of time.

Last weekend, Lorri was down at the Navy Reserve Center and talked to one of the sailors who was a member of his Honor Guard. He said he sees a fair number of funerals up there. Of course none of them are happy occasions, but a lot of them, he can tell it wasn't unexpected- the deceased was older, or had been ill. The family is sad, but starting to accept the loss and move on.

Last week, he said, it was obvious to him that whoever was in the flag-draped pine box left with things left undone in this realm.

There have been a number (too many, actually) of unfortunate deaths- with too many things left undone- in my world the past couple years. We're coming up on two years for Bronze, was fairly hard- but at the same time, kind of remote, for me. I only talked to him a couple times, and the rest, he was just phosphors on my screen. Witty, insightful phosphors, but still somewhat disembodied. This time, it was someone I'd worked with, and if you've never taught a dozen beginners how to ride a bike in one weekend, trust me- it's work. By the end of the weekend, you've accomplished something.

Every year, at the end of the training season, Team Oregon has a banquet; instructors mingle in the lounge and look back on the past and laugh with the new perspective that distance has given us, on things that weren't funny at the time.

I don't see laughing about this. I suspect the after-banquet party may be a little more somber and introspective this year. I, for one, am not ready to put any more friends in the ground for a while.