Quondam* HOG Mamma
Volunteering has been an important part of my life since I first rolled up my sleeves at age eleven. Each organization or event has enriched me, and often, there have been unexpected results, rewards and satisfaction. This Father's Day offered an unusual opportunity: hanging out with Harley-Davidson riders at a charity "Poker Run" to benefit the Landstuhl Hospital Care Project, which provides assistance and comfort for American soldiers wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan. When I heard that our young men and women were going without basic quality of life items after being wounded at war, I decided I would do what I could to help. I helped staff registration at the Harley dealership for 2 hours, took a 3 hour break, then on to the VFW checkpoint for 2 hours, and from there right over to the American Legion to help with food service (i.e. slinging hamburgers and hotdogs) for a couple more hours.
It was very hot at the registration table set in the sun, on the asphalt, behind the Harley dealership. So hot that later registrants complained that the table was too hot to touch while filling out paperwork--but they did it anyway. While many of the participants were dressed in ways that a lot of people would find "scary" (lots of denim jackets with the arms ripped off, various patches and feisty sayings, military insignia, images of skulls and scantily-clad women), these were nice folks, out to do a good deed and have fun riding their motorcycles while they were at it. I think we registered about 90 people (the newspaper provided a different number, probably because the reporter left before registration closed), and there were perhaps 60 motorcycles (some had passengers).
The opening ceremony included the presentation of the colors, the Pledge, the usual thanks, and introduction of the woman who started the charity, and a young soldier who was helped by the charity. Founder Karen Grimond was presented with a soldier's gold star given by his mother in recognition of Karen's assistance as the mom dealt with the loss of her son. Every person there choked up, and it was all Karen could do to keep from having a complete breakdown. The young soldier had lost a leg and the infection from that had damaged the motor section of his brain, but he gave a brief and movingly halting speech from his wheelchair.
The heat made me glad that registration ended at noon, after which I went home to catch a short nap, cool down, and eat. Then I headed for the VFW, the last "card stop" and the gathering place before the final leg. I ended up being the person handling most of the card draws, and then headed out a little early to go assist with food service at the American Legion post.
The friendly crowd chowed down on the burgers and dogs, and a friend, a veteran and former Harley owner, used his "blat" to help me get the ride on a HOG! I had never ridden a street bike before, so I was delighted. My host was Vince, a shy young man sporting a newly sprouted beard, as well as all the "scary" clothes and accessories. He suggested I should leave my pack and glasses with my friends who were also volunteering, and was glad that I had brought along a pair of jeans to wear instead of the shorts I had worn all day. Once I had changed, Vince outfitted me with goggles and a helmet, both of which were a little large for me, but he cranked down on the helmet strap until it was tight beneath my chin.
My driver swung himself onto his bike and gave me instructions for climbing into place on the passenger seat: "put your left foot on the peg, and your left hand on my left shoulder. Swing your right leg over the seat and slide in". Vince told me not to lean--he would do all we needed--and to just lean back against my backrest and relax. The well-designed seat made it easy to do as he said; it was like a small armchair perched in the air. Several other Harley owners had deemed Vince's the loudest bike in the club. As we rolled out, the noise it made set off the anti-theft alarms on nearby cars.
Vince took me for about a 10-minute ride, during which he hit 60 for a stretch, which made me very grateful for the goggles. The wind was fierce, and almost as loud as the bike! A few times, Vince slowed his machine down to put distance between us and the car ahead, so he could then speed it up with a roar. I believe I smiled for the entire ride, although I have to admit that I was a little nervous at times.
When we returned, Vince unbuckled the helmet's chin strap so I could remove it. Then I thanked with a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. Back under the pavilion, Mike--who coordinated the event--saw my grin and asked whether I was going to buy a bike. Nope. I tried it, and that was kewl, but, once was enough. I had my stint as a Harley rider. Just call me Quondam HOG Mamma.
-Shay
* Definition of quondam© 2006 Shay Seaborne. All rights reserved.
Back to Shay's Personal Experience Articles