Riding together for a long time, you’d think you know how tight your relationships are. There are times when you find how deep and humorous, they are. This was one of those times.
Few bonding experiences are like group motorcycle adventures. Unique personalities are on stage in a two wheeled ballet both on and off the bike. You get to know each other’s moves by sharper senses required to stay upright and make it through the tight bends in the road. As trust and experience builds, the ballet gets smoother in the same way the Blue Angels fly wing tip to wing tip. It’s a beautiful thing that turns into coded hand signals and unspoken understanding. That’s part of what we call The Fellowship.
Big Bend National Park on the Texas and Mexico border is a world of towering mesas, scenic roads and desert expanse. When you crest the last rise on Highway 118 headed south out of Alpine to the Park, it’s a road into the distant mountains as far as you can see. Naturally, this fires the urge to crank up the speed, not because you’re in a hurry, but because you can. By can, I mean finding the limits of your bike that becomes a speed adrenaline for the rest of the roads to come. At full gallop with music in the background, it’s a transcendant feeling.
The fun stops though when entering the National Park. Across the 1,252 square mile park area is a maximum 45 mph speed limit patrolled by Federal Park Rangers. Beautiful scenery has its price. On this mostly annual trip I was following Dennis, the new rider to the group out respect for the safety of the group. You don’t throw a new violinist into the orchestra without an audition, but the cool thing is that their excitement reminds veterans that riding is really kids having fun. Turning off the main Park road we head into the Chisos Basin, one of our usual stops. The Basin is a naturally formed bowl shaped canyon surrounded by mountains with a twisty road where the speed limit drops. Dead ending into the Basin Lodge parking lot, it’s the only way in or out.
Out front, Dennis is taking in all the scenery while I notice that the speed limit drops to 35 mph. He keeps going while two of our buddies are hanging further back behind us and another is right behind me. Over the hill ahead, a Park Ranger’s truck pops up out of nowhere passing us on the narrow two lane road. A lot of riding experience is informed instinct, some with scar tissue. And my gut was telling me that the Ranger’s truck would turn around. Thinking it better to meet our fates with humble hats (helmets) in hand, I passed Dennis and pulled the three of us over to the side of the Chisos Basin parking lot entrance where the road ends.
Waiting like the compliant citizens we were, sure enough, the Park Ranger came driving up and parked in front of us. We weren’t going anywhere. The female officer with a short build and crisp attire walked up and reminded us of the purpose of these limits. Bears and other critters are crawling through the park without paying attention to things like roads, cars and motorcycles. Being a reluctant veteran of these encounters, I nod silently and politely in the affirmative. What she didn’t have in physical stature, she made up for by her stern tone and direct eye contact. She was to be taken seriously. Compliance was the way to her heart.
Being a church pastor, Dennis took another approach by chatting her up as if we had crossed her path while lost on a hike (You know, these trail maps are the darnedest things to read…). A charm offensive with an officer like this never works. In her mind, we were the handcuffed perpetrators (perps) you see on video being taken from the back of a police car into the courthouse for sentencing. Hands clasped in crossed formation and lined up in front of the truck, we awaited the verdict.
While discretely signaling Dennis to assume the perp position, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. Again, my gut is telling me that something is amiss in what I’m seeing. There were our two buddies who lagged behind (let’s call them John and Randy) slinking into the parking lot keeping their engines as quiet as possible. Hugging the leftmost edge of the parking lot away from us, they motored up the hill to the Lodge and out of sight. It took me a fat minute to realize they didn’t stop near us out of solidarity, mercy or even to put in a good word for our character. Having found the limits of Fellowship, we were on our own.
Returning with our licenses after a search of our driving records since birth, the Park Ranger returned from the truck pronouncing sentence by handing to each of us. To Dennis, she said, “You’re clean.” To me, she said, “You are a speeder.” After that helpful confirmation, I stopped listening so I don’t what she said to Sammy standing to my left. Then she intoned to all of us with authority, “A federal ticket is $500 and stays on your record. I’m going to give you a warning, but you are now in the federal database. If you get stopped again, you will get one.”
Appropriately reprimanded, we headed up to the Lodge, thankfully with money left to buy lunch. This is where we learned that John and Randy had found a high perch on the Lodge balcony to photograph three perps with the Ranger. By capturing these intimate moments with law enforcement, they showed true friendship. Not only that, “speeder” became folklore forever for the joy of others.
I guess I learned that you don’t follow a church pastor on a motorcycle into a canyon. I learned that compliance is some situations is the best policy. Most importantly, your true friends are those who are willing to take the risk of finding ingenious ways to poke fun at you. Fellowship is not about the bike.