Rick Long's Stories
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September 18,
2004
Fire in the Hole         4/25/2004
It's All Happening      6/25/2004
For a Printable
Version
The Power and theResponsibility
8/15/2004
                                             Uncle Rick… I’m All Right
By Rick Long

In the classic movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,� there is a scene where Jimmy Stewart’s Uncle Billy
is walking home from a party after a bit too much to drink. As he walks out of the frame, you hear a
tremendous clamor when he stumbles into several trashcans. In what I think is one of the funniest lines of the
movie, Uncle Billy simply calls out, “I’m all right.â€� My nephew called me the other day to say, “Iâ
€™m all right.â€� Please allow me to explain.

Josh, my 17 year-old nephew, has been living with me the past three years while his parents team-drive an 18-
wheeler. When he came to me and asked me to help him learn to ride a motorcycle, I had to say, “OK.�
I ride, his aunt rides, his father rides, and his mom is a frequent bike passenger. Yes, it’s a family tradition
and he wants dearly to help carry the torch. I used this opportunity to start a new tradition for this family, which
is the Motorcycle Safety Foundation class. He went, he did well, and he got licensed. Now what?

Got to have a bike. His dad and mom were home for a weekend and spied a “side of the road� bike
just right for Josh. For those that may not know the term, a “side of the road bike� means that the
machine was parked along the shoulder of a main road or side street with a “For Saleâ€� sign taped to itâ
€™s windshield. $500.00 bought a running 1981 Yamaha Midnight Maxim. About $300.00 more made it run
some better.

It wasn’t long before the old bike was breathing a bit weak and Josh felt ready for his first upgrade. When
17 year-olds want something, you know it. They don’t hint mildly. They don’t ask politely. They shout
to the rafters, “I need a new bike.� Not that this makes his aunt and I rush any faster to look for one,
mind you. It’s just his favored way of communicating.

Two days after high school graduation, I handed him the keys to my 1985 BMW K100RT. That might seem
like a lot of bike for a 17 year-old but hey, he’s six foot-six, weights 250, and wears a size 14 shoe. Oops.
His aunt says he just went to size 15. The day before Josh got the keys, I laid my hands on the tank and I
called upon the spirit of the machine to watch over Josh and keep him safe. I, in-turn, promised the machine
that I would make sure Josh took care of her. I would make sure he kept her well oiled and took her for tune-
ups now and again. I vowed to make sure he respected her power and wouldn’t abuse the privilege of
owning his first BMW.

With his gray Joe Rocket jacket and pants blending effortlessly with the gray-green hues of the K100, he was
truly a young man coming of age. My gift to Josh had nothing to do with the fact that I might like to have a new
bike. Honest! Really! Well, at least it wasn’t entirely about that but I suppose I could admit to myself that
the thought was in the back of my mind. “But the bike fits him so well� I kept saying.

About two weeks passed before I got the call. It’s that call that all parents, or in my case substitute parent,
hates to get. The message on my cell phone started out with, “Uncle Rick, I just want you to know up front
that I’m all right. But boy are you going to be mad when you see the BMW.�

The guy in the four-wheeler that witnessed the crash claims it didn’t look like Josh was coming into the
corner all that fast. But it felt to Josh like he indeed was going too fast. A quick roll-off of the throttle didn’t
reduce speed enough and he stood the bike up to apply the brakes. Further experience might teach him that
increasing the lean angle of the bike might have helped keep a safe line through the curve. He was acting on the
Motorcycle Safety Foundation teaching about obstacles in corners and knew that to hit the binders hard while
leaned over could mean problems. He stood the bike up and hit the brakes knowing he had better traction
when straight up. Unfortunately, by the time the bike slowed to a comfortable speed, he had run out of corner.
Into the soft shoulder he went, high-siding the bike onto its right side. Thankfully, he walked away with a
slightly sore shoulder and a scratch on his shin.

Word travels fast in our family and before long, everyone was weighing in on the subject of Josh’s wreck.
His dad said, “Now he’s going to understand why you make him wear that riding suit all the time.�
His mom said, “I’m just glad he’s alright.� His aunt told me privately, “You better be glad he
wasn’t hurt!� And I told him right from the start, “I’ll never be mad about the BMW. I’m
just glad you are OK.� Maybe I should have looked at the bike first.

After the accident, I stood beside her broken and twisted faring with fiberglass and plastic parts crunching
beneath my feet. Her right-rear bag lay on the ground with its attachment clamp missing and the shell cracked
wide-open. The windshield, gone. I laid my hands on the tank and called upon the spirit of the machine once
gain, as I had done just days before. The spirit seemed to speak to me and say, “I KNEW THIS WAS
GOING TO HAPPEN!!�

I calmly reassured her that she would see the road again. The keys came back to me the night of the accident
and a search for parts began. J&P Cycles to the rescue. A headlight meant for a Harley-Davidson and a
couple of generic turn signals and mirrors and she’ll be back in the wind. The faring? To (almost) quote
another favorite movie line, “We don’t need no stinking faring!� The K100RT will soon re-emerge
as the K100NB (Naked Bike).

As for Josh, he still wants to ride. Undaunted by the crash, he and I went bike shopping several times over the
next few weeks. When he came home a month later and announced that he had enlisted in the US Army, we
decided that he should wait and purchase a bike from a local dealer when he reaches his first duty station.
Everyone seems comfortable with that plan. I just hope that when I’m watching CNN about whatever
unrest is to come in the world that I keep getting those calls that start out with, “Uncle Rick, I’m all right.
�
The Best of Times or the Worst
of Times             8/27/2004