Motorcyclist Down.Condition Permanent
(published Motorcycle Tour and Travel, Mar. '97) 

	It's the end of the riding season up here in Maine.  Yeah, there may be a
day when there's no snow on the road and some of us unplug  the battery from the
charger  and have a go at the road, but for the most part, its over.  
	I have a picture above my computer here at my desk. I stuck  it on the wall
over a year ago.  There are several of my good friends in it.  Three of us are
standing right next to each other.  Paul Yakovenko died on May 24th this past
spring.  He had just turned 72.  He rode motorcycles right to the end.  Paul was
a true individual.  He wrote his own obituary a couple of years ago when he was
still healthy, just in case.  "Here lies Paul Yakavenko. After a shakey start he
became a man, a loving husband, a wonderful father, an artist.  His focus was
Quality."  If you want to follow that thread further, pick up a copy of Zen and
the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance  by Robert Pirsig.  Paul had a mid-sized red
Kawasaki that he kept in fine tune and top shape.   One of my best memories of
him was the time he made it to the Loudon Classic motorcycle races.   I found
him over by turn one pressed against  the screen, eyes closed with a huge grin
on his face as the roar of the machines at the start of the race deafened any
attempt at speech.  I truly miss him.
	Standing next to Paul in that picture is Pat Hurley.  This past summer I
promised my wife I'd put in a bathroom, a hallway and remodel a set of stairs. 
But a professional would definitely finish the job before the summer was over. 
I hired Pat.   But motorcycles got in the way.  
	One day in July another friend, Steve Horton, came by to talk about a
motorcycle trip to Canada that he and I would be taking in a couple of weeks.  "
Hey Pat, how about coming on the road with me and Tom for a week or so?  I know
this job will be here when you get back."   And so it came to be that we
initiated Pat to the world of motorcycle camping and touring.  I  gave Pat an
empty saddlebag from my R1100 GS BMW  for his gear, extra helmet for his head,
and booked him for a space on my rear seat .  Pat got the 10 minute crash course
on being a passenger.  We told him to look over my inside shoulder when the bike
leans, keep his feet on the pegs, and to try and keep awake back there. Every
pillion rider is a potential motorcyclist.  That week did it for Pat.  Pat has
his pilot's license and it didn't take too many kilometers into Quebec when he
realized that "Its a lot like flying".  We told him we'd be flying on two wheels
for the next  week or so.
	Yesterday I spent the day with ten local motorcyclists, nine I had never met
before.  By midmorning we were charging up Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National
Park on Mount Desert Island, shaking off the cold.  It was 28 degrees when I
left the house that day.  We spent time at the top kicking tires, swapping
motorcycle stories, and exchanging addresses and promises to let each other
borrow manuals and help put old engines together.  Someone said it was  time for
lunch and off we went in search of a diner.  There were too many slow moving
cars and vans to do the ride down the mountain justice, and nowhere near enough
spaces to pass.  But I thought that the motorcyclist in front  of the pack was
doing a good job of keeping his head in the right place.  It was Pat, on an  an
old BMW  that he found in the want ads.  He's part of the motorcycle world
around town now, and I think I've found a riding buddy to help fill an empty
place inside that opened up last May.