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Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Epic Rides' started by dogjaw, Apr 29, 2019.
Next: it ends where it began, and almost ended...
Oh heck, again I cannot argue and sound like I have credibility. The I 44 corridor turnpikes are generally smooth as silk. But the rest of the heavily traveled roads... wagon trails! Especially I 40.
And that DOESN'T "It grows on ya!"
What a great ride/life life report......when I first logged on for an update......I saw all the writing and I thought , this is to much to read right now.......nope, gonna read it......reading the story about "the watcher".......heck, I was right there! You have a gift for telling a story!! Been one of the best ride reports out there!! Thank You!
The dog writes better than he does.
^^^ thats fn funny!!
Wait till he chimes in and agrees.
What are you talking about? I'm just the dang chauffeur, the dumb dog is the celebrity author... I caught her interviewing replacement riders after me dropping the bike twice in two days,
the ungrateful hussy.
First they walk on your feet, then they trample on your heart...
Truer than stating the sun will rise in the east tomorrow.
Wow. Not really good with words, but, damn. I read about Trevor a long time ago. So nice to see just how many people there are to lend a hand and support.
Loved your ride report. Seems to me you are one heck of a person. If I was anywhere the states i'd make it a mission to get to where you are and buy you a beer.
Come on in, the water's fine!
Cain’t you just say what you mean without all that flowery stuff?
Good job. I’m glad Charlie taught you how to write.
I use the flowery stuff to confuse Shunka; he then has to get his wife to explain it to him, which results in him getting all touchy-feely, then she, not me, has to deal with the brunt of his advances...
That's another reason I'm content to reside in Arkansas, a full two days of hard driving away from Shunk's "feelings"...
Don't go getting any ideas just cause I grabbed your ass the first minute we met.
I feel left out. You didn't grab my butt when we recently meat up
I tried, I couldn't reach it, sorry.
It's with a strange case of sadness that I'm hearing the end of a journey that started six years ago when I first spotted an SUV in the parking lot of Baptist Hospital where my wife works. Her membership allows me to use the hospital gym for late night workouts, and this gym is on the ground floor, right next to the rehab unit where Trevor was fighting for his mobility.
A Google search to find out who this "Trevor" guy was resulted in finding a Facebook plea by Pam for any supporters to show up in the courtroom for the sentencing hearing of Nathan Ray. This is where I met her and Felicia, and it's been a crazy road ever since.
So last night on the way home from our annual Special Olympics run, Charlie and I took the bike over to I-40 in North Little Rock, exit 153A. This is where Trevor lay after being struck down by Nathan Ray. Even parked well off of the shoulder of the highway, with my emergency flashers activated, the traffic screaming by on my left caused my testicles to surge up into my diaphragm. How someone could have survived even seconds laying alone and vulnerable in the middle lane of the interstate in the darkest hours before dawn is miraculous in the very meaning of the word. For that person to not only dodge death but to endeavour to persevere against odds as daunting today as they were that night in 2012 is, well, I don't even begin to have the words.
You rock, Trevor. And Pam? If there is any truth to the concept of karma, or sowing and reaping and I fully believe there is, you have as great reward coming.
Maybe even Keanu Reeves, although I make no promises.
Trevor's survival truly was/is miraculous. And Pam. After meeting her, I'm speechless. I want to be like her when I grow up, she's my hero.
All kidding aside, and I know you're not kidding, I feel the same way. I gave no idea how I would respond if in the exact situation; I would hope the right way, whatever that might be.
On another note, Pam walked by the garage last night and saw an odd sight: her autistic son, Tyler, sitting quietly in the sidecar, just chillin' like a villain. Just when I think my watch is ended, more cool things happen.
This has been pretty dang awesome.
Muchas gracias: first to the hundreds of ADV riders on this site who have manned up again and again over the last six years with donations, letters, postcards, visits to both Trevor and to the Casa del Whackos...
And to the local ADV crowd, SVrader, goodcleandirt, njoytheride, @NateLePain, iride123arkansas, and many others, who never shirked a chance to move a bike, load a trailer, or move an apartment of furniture.
And most of all my son "thumpstart", the DR650 guru, without whose riding I wouldn't be alive to type this today.
And to Angela, Trevor's physical therapist, and Erin, his representative through MADD; even though their official roles were fulfilled years ago, both have remained steadfast advocates ever since. I am proud to call them family even today.
And Shunka; what a freaking stud muffin of the highest order. Not only the obvious act of selflessly donating his sidecar to Trevor's cause, at the same time allowing me to fulfill two of my bucket list items. One was to someday personally take Trevor for a sidecar ride which did happen back in Washington, albeit just around the cul-de-sac, but a dream fulfilled is a still a dream realized. The other is to ride with Charlie on the salt flats of Bonneville, which would not have happened had I not embarked on this journey. "Hey, Dogjaw, I've got an idea; call me."
But most importantly, my longsuffering wife whose heart of gold has not only tolerated but embraced this obsession of mind when most women would have told me to take a hike a loooong time ago. The numerous trips, the unexpected houseguests, sacrificing her time when I'm sure that she would rather be out ripping it up on her Yamaha R3. Thst fact that she embraces my various "missions" is the sign of a great soul or or a severely disturbed mind, or maybe even both.
And thanks, Trevor and Pam for letting me be part of the tragic yet