A Leader Is Always a Leader...... Unless....

It started as an innocent need, born out of an act of kindness, and like many Bavorak activities, snowballed from there.  Wild man Kim, in one of his continuous efforts to avoid spending too much time with his in-laws, had declared that he was riding his motorcycle to Maryland for Thanksgiving instead of driving or flying, thus reducing the amount of time available to spend with those who were planning on going to New York for Christmas shopping or hiking to the Antietam battlefield.  But there was a problem.  Kim had just sold his beloved RTP police bike, his Goldwing emergency bike was torn down, in the process of being converted into a custom, and his new acquisition, the lovely little redhead Ducati would only convey him to Maryland by extracting a price on his body that he could not pay.  In steps the hero of our story, Mike Muensterman.  Mike generously volunteered the use of his LT to Kim for the trip, but acknowledged that a new front tire was needed, and in short order.  A suitable tire was found at Grassroots and our friend John Simmons offered to put the tire on while we waited on Saturday.  Mike, knowing that Kim's wife was off to New York, asked if he would like to join him for the ride over.  While not formally announced, word of the trip spread and eventually involved five riders for what some thought would be a leisurely trip to obtain the tire and try on the Grass Roots inventory for size and fit.  

Although Mike had mentioned to Kim that they might switch bikes for the day, none of us was prepared for the sight that awaited us upon departure.  In the shell that was once our beloved leader stood a Valentino Rossi clone, encased in a beautiful black Italian leather jacket with matching skin tight leather pants, black leather riding boots and helmet with blacked out face shield.  This was no longer our leader, but rather a famous semi-retired World Superbike champion that was about to give us all a lesson.

The ride started out normally with Kim leading the way on the LT followed by John on his 2003 Honda ST1300 with ABS and Mike on the Ducati protecting our rear.  Fellow riders Big Dave Edwards and Dan on his Valkyrie were to join up in Omaha IL.  A brisk but comfortable pace was maintained across town and through Mt. Vernon when the Valentino clone could take no more.  Without warning, the low, throaty growl of the Ducati's Two Brothers racing canisters exploded as Mike sailed past his fellow riders at a velocity that would make Steve Shoemaker wet his pants.  Kim, being the analytical individual that he is, quickly took an appraisal of the situation.  Current velocity, about 70 miles per hour.  Action needed, two downshifts into 3rd gear.  And thus it was that the pursuit began.  Seventy-five, eighty, eighty-five, ninety, the speed grew with alarming quickness.  Ninety-five, one-hundred, where would this end.  Leaning into the curve, footpegs perilously close to the asphalt, but not prepared for what was to meet us around the bend.  Although I saw it for only a fraction of a second, the look of surprise and dismay was evident on the face of the Indiana State Police officer as we passed in opposing directions.  A quick check of the mirror showed the dreaded brake lights on his cruiser all aglow and we knew that playtime was over.  The three of us immediately pulled over and awaited his return in a feeble attempt to show our good citizenship.  We were met with the surprise of the riding season, a good natured, friendly officer, with a full head of gray hair who had seen it all in his years on the force and obviously performed his duties with a smile rather than the scowl that often accompanies a younger officer.  As we removed our helmets the stern look reserved for 16 year old riders with a death wish turned into a broad smile that seemed to say, "Gee, they're a bunch of old guys."  Whether he had just started his shift and not yet activated radar, or perhaps was trying to juggle a coffee and donut at the same time, no hard numbers were mentioned for our velocity.  His comment was merely that he had one of us "flying low", (Valentino of course), and the other two in close pursuit.  To our amazement, he announced that he was only giving us a warning.  Then just as we were prepared to repeat the words, "Yes Sir", over and over as he chewed us out for our frivolity, he let us have it with both barrels.  "You know, you really have to watch out for deer around here this time of the morning," he said.  That was it.  End of lecture.  His biggest concern, as I've found with most mature officers, is that he didn't want to have to scrape our mangled bodies off the pavement, thus ruining his constitution for breakfast.  The smile, the friendliness, the casual  banter, they didn't fool me for a minute.  Here was an officer that wished he was the fourth member of our little group, enjoying the sunshine and the exhilaration of the ride instead of working his shift on such a beautiful November day.  With a "Thank you", followed by a relaxing of our sphincter muscles, we were again on our way.

Big Dave and Dan joined up for a thoroughly delightful day which included a breakfast fit for king, an hour or two spent at Grass Roots where we always seem so welcome, a test ride for Valentino on a K1200RS since he was now permanently bent forward, and of course, Kim mumbling to himself about just how much actual net loss would be involved in draining his 503 retirement account.  A new destination was discovered for the club members.  On the return trip we found the 17th Street BBQ in Murpheesboro IL and can attest that they deserve their four World Champion BBQ trophies. 

Well, time to start packing the LT for the 1,300 mile round trip to Maryland.  Gee, I wonder if anything will happen that deserves another story.

Kim