Stuart’s GoldWing Blog

Randy Rodriguez

This Article was written by the Captain of the Central Florida Motorcycle Drill Team for the Community Newspaper which Randy edits in Titusville, Florida, which he has kindly allowed to be reproduced here.

A tale of refusing to grow up

“You don’t stop laughing and enjoying life because you get old. You get old because you stop laughing and enjoying life.”

I first heard that in high school. I don’t know who said it originally, but I thought it was profound then, and now that I’ve attained an age where many have stopped laughing, I find it to be simple truth. Some people cling to their problems so hard, they have nothing left to live and laugh for.

So what does that have to do with England?

In all my spare time, I ride on the Central Florida Motorcycle Drill Team, a group of crazy men at an age where they should be nesting for retirement, but choose to ride large motorcycles too close to other crazy men… for fun. If you’re lost, remember your power bicycle years, around 12. Fearless. Tireless. Sometimes brainless.

We’ve been better at fearless than brainless, possibly an advantage of our current age and hard-earned riding wisdom. Whatever the case, we are currently the reigning International Drill Team Federation World Champions. We get asked to perform A LOT.

Honda kindly loaned us 4 brand new GL1800's!

Earlier this year, we were invited to perform in Blackpool, England. Honda UK stepped up and provided motorcycles for the event. (Apparently they had never seen us ride!) Lancs and Lakes, the group hosting the event, arranged for transportation and lodging. All that was left was passports and a team crazy enough to go. No problem, we excel at crazy.

We arrived in England as most Americans do – most of us went smoothly through Customs, but one left the impression that stuck in their memory. He didn’t take the address we were staying at or the address where we were performing because he knew someone would be waiting to pick him up. He reached Customs. “I don’t know where I’m staying, who I’m staying with, or who is meeting me…”

Instead of working with the Customs rep who was trying to find a way to verify his story, he went on the attack. “I’m an American and I was invited here to perform, so you shouldn’t be giving me a hard time. I’m doing you a favor. You’re lucky I came.” If you ever wonder why we have a bad reputation overseas… I still don’t know why they didn’t just shoot him. Oh, yeah – they’re civilized in England.

Gary, an energetic and friendly gentleman who met us at the airport, managed to talk Customs into letting John into the country without gunfire, but it still took time to get him to let go of the Customs agent. Now he had to explain our performance and invite all the agents to come watch the show. Did I mention that John is really good at stirring up a crowd?

We arrived early so that we would have a few days to practice on their bikes and train on the pad size that we would have to perform. Also, we wanted to adjust to riding in the left lane, not the right. It turns out that it’s not too difficult rolling down the road. The problems are when turning, leaving parking lots, and using the roundabouts. Also, most of their traffic indicators are painted on the ground, not standing signs. It’s a definite learning curve.

Hang on!

Our host, Stuart Ormerod, took the week off work to entertain us. (I think that was a polite way of saying “keep us from killing ourselves and others while causing chaos on the roadways.”) He accomplished both missions. We spent most of our non-practice time for the next several days riding through beautiful rolling hills in 8’ wide lanes, passing 7’ wide lorries (commercial trucks), walkers, bicyclers and assorted random obstacles (like bridges too narrow for two vehicles) while penned between stone fences and 8’ tall hedges. The roads in northern England are not encumbered with the wide setback areas that we are used to here in the States, so fences are frequently less than 18″ from the side of the road. That makes rounding a blind curve a very exciting trip.

Stuart is a very accomplished rider, and was at home on his local roads. We discovered that out in the country, both the speed limit and the centerline of the road were merely suggestions. We spent some time flying through miles-long bobsled runs, or rollercoaster rides if you’re not familiar with bobsleds. The hills rolled, the fences and hedges turned blindly, and we flew, intensely scanning ahead for hikers, cyclers or lorries over the centerline. If you’re a rider who hugs the inside of turns like I do, you have to relearn your lines. If you hug the inside, your head is in the hedge or in the other lane, and either way, there’s no room for it. Put your tires in the outer part of your lane and leave your head in the middle. You’ll live longer.

We were a major attraction for the event, so we spent a lot of time meeting groups and interviewing during the days before the event started. We found the people to be amazingly friendly everywhere we went. We met the local Goldwing Club and the Rotary Club who were assembling the event, visited Preston Harley and bought a shirt (of course), ate true fish and chips, and tried several other local favorites. I make bacon butties at home now. It’s a treat I’ll gladly share.

First taste of Fish & Chips

We tried to stay away from political issues, although Mark had to try to head down the trail that burned the Dixie Chicks. Although we were about to interview on a BBC national radio show, gratefully they were on a commercial when he had his mind fart. On the unfortunate side, our host finished an interview with a woman where she blathered on and barely let him speak until her time was up, then refused to take part in their daily song. He asked her to sing 4 words – Don’t worry, be happy. She spent the next 5 minutes telling him why she didn’t have time – 4 seconds – to participate, and then flatly refused. When she hung up, he asked what we thought. (Where’s that dang robot who shouts “Danger, Will Robinson!” when you need him?) So I said I thought she was very rude, and not too bright to use the argument that she didn’t have time while she rattled on for 10 times the time she needed. The host and his whole crew (picture the Imus gang) just lost it. Stiff upper lip, my fanny, they were rolling. And then they sobered up a bit and very formally stated that they didn’t say it, they were just repeating what the American said. And then they repeated it several times and went back to laughing hysterically. After the commercial to let them all get reorganized, he asked if I knew what an MP was. I was pretty sure it wasn’t military police. International political genius, that’s me. Turns out it’s a Member of Parliament, very much like our US Congress. So apparently I had insulted a high-ranking politician on the national news. I know, how is that different from what I do here, except this is not national? Rude is rude.

Riding on The Prom

No one arrested us after the interview, so we made it safely to the event in Blackpool. Blackpool is a popular seaside (Irish Sea) resort in northwest England, famous for its 3 miles of streetlight decorations. The motorcycle light parade at the event is famous there, and definitely a must-do if you ever go there. Both the streets and the bikes are decorated magnificently, and the city turns out in large numbers to cheer the parade on. In the daytime, our brand new matching GoldWings were very impressive going down the road. When night fell, all the other bikes that the owners had personalized ruled the road. They were beautiful.

The daytime: We did 7 shows over 3 days, and the crowds were so appreciative, we actually did a lot of mini-shows in between. Radio BBC came down again, no doubt hoping I could cause another international incident for them. Or at least give them more ammunition for verbal assaults. At one show, they sent down a very smooth speaking gentleman, Chris, and while they were discussing their plans preshow, asked if I could carry him on the motorcycle to conduct the interview. Not a problem. Fool am I. Chris had never been on a motorcycle in his life. He was a good passenger after the requisite “Don’t wiggle around” discussion, and his equipment was minimal, including a headset so that I could hear the studio as well as him. We were ready. The time arrived, and we started riding. The studio asked if we did everything one bike at a time, like the stunt riders, and I replied no, we usually ride as a team in constantly changing formations. They asked for an example. I called 3 other team riders out to join us. We do this often. We practice religiously so that we’re able to ride very close. No big deal. Except… Chris lost his mind when the 2nd rider pulled up 6″ away from my mirror. His voice went up an octave and he started waving, trying to shoo the other bike away. Smitty, the other rider, started laughing uncontrollably and our lines started wobbling.

Drill team in action

I need to digress here so you can get a proper perspective on this situation. First, Smitty. Think about a hyperactive 10-year old trapped in a 50 year old body. We lean the bikes hard and frequently scuff the footpegs during performance. When the Honda UK rep asked us to “scratch them more quietly,” he stopped scuffing and started driving it down to the crash bars. Good rider, no concern for the world around him. During our shows, we do a spot where we ride together close enough that I can pick his pockets. We do that so we can carry a crazy girl (usually my wife) standing with one foot on each bike. We are used to being VERY close and staying there.

So, back to our rapidly unraveling radio interviewer, sitting in the back seat with another 900 pound motorcycle inches away and wobbling, rider in fits of laughter on both bikes, and his studio host goading us into more adventure. I called the team into a diamond, so now my back seat was surrounded by 900 pound motorcycles on both sides, riders in hysteria, 600 people looking on, much of England listening as his voice went up another octave, describing to them his situation as “surrounded by insane, possibly drunken Americans, 2 inches away and obviously determined to crash with him.” His studio group was howling with laughter and I thought he had done a masterful job of playing it up for the audience until we stopped. That poor man was shaking so bad he couldn’t get off the bike. His hands were locked on the microphone.

Beside the seaside.....

Most of the crowd had found radios and listened to the whole interview, and they were quick to come down to the barricade entry to give him much grief. I know I should be more concerned about the poor man, but all I can think is how bad I want a copy of that interview. He was still sitting in his van an hour later, so he got to see us go around the pad side-by-side with a young lady standing on the footpegs of both bikes. He never came back over to say if he liked that. Hmmm…

And so our days went through the weekend. Performing through the day, interviews on radio and TV, then good English food, good English friends and good English beer at night; repeat. We had a great response from the crowds, and made a lot of new friends. I’m not sure if we’ll ever get the chance again, once Honda gets a close look at their bikes, but for one week we showed a lot of potential customers that a GoldWing is not a slow moving sofa, and we did get them an amazing amount of free advertising. Well, except for the cost of foot pegs and belly pans.
By the way, petrol (gas) worked out to about $8.50 a gallon. And it didn’t slow us down a bit.

Randy