A 20 Year Journey, The Final Chapter

For reference, please read A 20 Year Journey, Part 1

June 16,  2014
          After breakfast with Angie, Blake and I were on the road by 9am.  412 to Dyersburg.  Saw a bald eagle between Dburg and the river.  Rode to Sikeston and 60 across MO.  Hot and windy.  Blake is getting used to his Limited and riding on my schedule!  His ass isn't as tough as it used to be!  Road lunch in Mt View, MO.  Bologna and hot sauce.  I love road lunch.  The only way to go.  Getting GoPro dialed in.  Tried to make it to Pittsburg Kansas but closed roads and fatigue had their way with us.  Made it to Joplin MO.  Still lots of tornado damage.  Rode Rt 66 for a while.  Still want to ride the whole thing.  Steaks and whiskey for Blake's birthday.  Big tornadoes in Nebraska today.  We'll stay south.  Total day=494 miles.

     Blake Stabenow, Eric Jones and I were the best of friends in college.  We were brothers, riders, playmates.  We ran together, played together, talked together, traveled together, dreamed together.  After Eric's death and graduation, Blake and I went our separate ways.  I went on to marriage, the family motorcycle business and fatherhood and Blake on to his successful career in commercial construction in New Orleans eventually marrying and becoming a father himself.  We would still talk on the phone from time to time and enjoy an occasional dinner and drinks whenever Angie and I would travel to NOLA.  Other than a small refugee stint Blake pulled at my house after hurricane Katrina, we really haven't been able to spend that much time together.  But then, a few weeks ago, after reading the above linked blog, Blake called me.  He'd been up to Redfield many years back, but wanted to go again.  I'd planned for this journey to be a solo trip, but Blake would be a natural addition and I was excited to have him along.

June 17, 2014
          I just thought yesterday was hot and windy.....  Perfect morning.  On the road at 7:30.  We got to Fort Scott and turned west.  That's where the wind kicked in.  Blew like hell.  The sun is really baking the hell out of us too.  Kansas is a lot bigger than it looks on the map.  Went to the Harley Store in Junction City for Blake to get gloves.  His hands look like lobsters.  We turned west on 24 at Ft Riley Kansas.  Crossing the lake, the wind nearly blew us off the road.  West=suck.  North=Good!  Once on 24, the temp started to climb.  That little piece of shade I was looking for to have road lunch was elusive.  Had big plans early today to make North Platte.  Nope.  Made it to Kearney Neb.  Pop and I stayed here on our 1990 trip.  Whiskey in the pool and more great conversation with Blake.  We truly "embraced the suck" today!  Good Mexican food at the Irish-Mexican joint next door...  Total miles today= 575  1069 total trip.

     As I've said before, this trip has been on my radar for years.  I had no idea what I wanted to do, yet I knew exactly how I wanted to do it.  I wanted to be fluid.  I didn't want stringent plans and GPS processed routes.  I didn't want to have hotel reservations made in advance (though my sweet wife was a godsend back in civilization for handling my travel agent legwork once I knew where we'd end up).  I wanted to ride, and reflect, and think.  Blake was turning out to be a great travel companion.  Road trips are complex things and can be stressful, but Blake was so agreeable to all of my "lack of plans".  We talked and talked.  Mostly about Eric.  And about our lives when he was still here.  We talked about what we'd missed over the years without him.  We talked about how much he'd have loved to sit there and be bullshitting right along with us.  The next morning, before departure, I stuck Jones's pic in my windshield. 

June 18, 2014
          Out of Kearney at 7am.  Nebraska is so much better than Kansas.  Up through the Sand Hills.  I do not know where all the coal trains are coming from but the coal business must be good!  Made great time.  Decided to skip Wyoming today and go to Deadwood.  Rode Needles Highway.  Road lunch at Sylvan.  Left a couple of pictures of Jones along the way.  

Stayed at the Hickok Hotel.  Steaks and conversation with Blake were great.  Made a few bucks off of Kevin Costner at his casino...  Miles today=502, total=1572

     I'd brought along about a dozen pictures of Eric.  When I printed them, I had no idea what I wanted to do with them, but on this third day, it became obvious.  I planted the first one up on the Needles, and the second by the beautiful lake Sylvan.  The trip was starting to take shape.  Meanings were coming out of the fog.


 June 19, 2014
          Last nights Jack Daniel's left my brain cloudy this morning, so an early start was not to be.  Got off slow out of Deadwood and on the road at 10:30 after breakfast at the Bullock Hotel.  Rode Spearfish Canyon.  That has to be one of the most beautiful rides I've ever taken.  Got to bring Angie here.  Quite cold.  In the low 60's.  Almost got run over by a cowboy and his trailer in Belle Fourche.  I was better than he, though.  Up 212 into Montana for pictures and then south towards Devil's Tower.  

Wyoming is spectacular.  Typical western road construction.  They just tear the road up and put you in the dirt.  It was really bad coming back through Custer though.  Muddy switchbacks and crazed dumptrucks.  In for the night at the Adoba "Eco" Hotel in Rapid City.  I don't know what that means either but they have good laundry machines and bison oso buco.... Left some pictures of Jones in some great places today....  Badlands tomorrow!!!  Odometer=294, total =1864.

     At this point of the trip, it seems that we'd been on the road for months.  Not that I was tiring of it, hell no, but it was almost like I could hardly remember us not being out there.  I don't know how someone can own a motorcycle and not ride it in the western United States.  WHY would someone have one and not ride it in the western US?  Blake and I hadn't missed a beat.  We were now older and wiser, but at heart, we were still the same 20 year old kids that we'd once been.  We laughed at the same things, tried to remember old times and made up fabulous fabrications when gaps found their way into our recollections.  We cut up and laughed and opened our mouths and souls and let the last 20 years of long distance camaraderie find their way out and into the open air of the Black Hills and Great Plains.  In the coming days, we'd need that wisdom and insight into the world that those two 20 year olds couldn't have mustered.


June 20, 2014
          Today might be my favorite day so far.  The Badlands were simply spectacular.  Rode up from Interior.  Got some really good stuff on the GoPro.  Took a hike up on one of the mesas and left Jones in a perfect spot overlooking the kind of canyon that he'd spend hours in.  (Jones's Canyon)   I'd sure like to think that the pictures I'm leaving will last.  Got some rear facing shots of Blake with the suction cup mount.  BUT, while riding with the camera mounted on the fairing, it flew off!!  Running!!!  The footage was awesome though.... (Suction Cup Failure...)  Couldn't have scripted it better!  Out of the Badlands and into Wall.  Wall sucks.  Tourist hell.  Good Buffalo burger and a cold beer at the Red Rock.  Rode up north through the Cheyenne River Reservation.....

     Websters defines the word "epiphany" as: a moment in which you suddenly see or understand something in a new or very clear way.  I don't know what the catalyst was, but there on that highway through the land of the Oglala........ mine arrived.  That night, in my little Gettysburg SD motel room, I would continue to write...

.....Spent the better part of the last of today's leg thinking on Eric and the real reasons for this ride.  When I left home, I really had little idea of what I was going to do with it.  I've started to get it though.  My conversations with Blake have revealed to me that he too has very little recollection of Eric's funeral.  We were so young and so ill prepared to deal with what was going on around us.  It all happened so fast.  He was there and then he was gone.  Just like that.  Eric died.  I hate that.  I'm pissed about it.  Parents should never have to bury their children, but also, children should never have to bury their playmates.  Though our birth dates made us adults, the truth is, We were CHILDREN!!

I hate that he died.  I hate that his parents lost their son and his siblings lost their brother.  I hate that he never got to meet my children.  I hate that he never knew Angie.  I hate that I was never able to meet the beautiful girl that would've become his wife, nor his sweet children.  I hate that I never got to witness his surely remarkable career unfold and regale in his stories of being a Marine Pilot.  And what a Marine he'd have turned out to be...  I hate that we missed all of these trips.  I hate all of it and I've realized that hate is all I've had for 20 years.  I never got to say goodbye and experience the closure that a funeral is supposed to bring.  I couldn't.  I was there, but only in body.  

So here is this ride.  My LIFE CELEBRATION for Eric Jones.  An 8 day funeral and wake.  I've drug that kid all over the country and delivered eulogy after eulogy all over God's creation.  I've no ashes to spread, as they were placed in that Redfield SD grave, but I've spread his life, memory and photo likeness....  Tomorrow, we go to Redfield.  Tomorrow, Blake and I will bury the dead Eric Jones.  I'm leaving the dead one there.  I'm leaving the darkness there.  I'm leaving the visions of March 3 there.  I'm leaving all that hate there too.

I'm thankful for this level of clarity, as I didn't know what in the hell I was going to do when I got there.  I feel better.  It's amazing what a 10 mile cry can do...  Odometer=331, total=2195.

     Sleep that night would be sparse, at best.

June 21, 2014
          The wind is howling outside as a storm is starting to roll in.  The bikes are secure, however, and we are safely out of the weather an one of my favorite places on Earth for the healing of the mind and soul.  I'm in the Greatroom of the Southfork Lodge in Dallas, SD.  I'm so thankful for my friendship with Tommy Walsh and Rick Lutt and I'm grateful for them allowing us to stay here tonight.  It's quite different today than during the pheasant season!

Well.... We made it to Redfield today at about 10am and spent a few hours at the grave of our old and greatest pal.  Spent a lot of time talking to Blake about the same thoughts I'd written on previous pages last night.  The day was more beneficial than I could've planned for in my wildest dreams.  Unbeknownst to me really, Blake was dealing with the same demons as I.  He too had made the Redfield trek in years past but, like me, it hadn't changed a thing for him.  As I'd said, we were both too young and didn't deal with it.  Eric died while we were in school, in the house I was calling 'home'.  It happened, and the multitude of families swooped in, planned and executed a funeral, packed him and his things and they were off.  We were left there with nothing.  We'd spent the last 20 years as characters in God's tragic Theater of the Absurd-The Death of a Child....  And we didn't even know it.  

But now, it is done.  The 20 year old funeral for our old dear friend is done.  I finally buried Eric Jones today.  With him, I buried the legacy of sorrow and death.  Of sadness, anger, tragedy, and hatred.  All that remains is life and smiles.

Tomorrow, we ride hard... Southward, hoping to get deep into and perhaps even out of Kansas.

But tonight, we shall drink and laugh, and remember our friend.

Odometer= 287
Total=2483

     Eric's parents were native South Dakotan's that found themselves living on opposite ends of the country at the time of his passing.  They laid his remains to rest in a cemetery in their hometown, surrounded by family.  I find it amusing and not ironic that Eric is in the farthest plot in the farthest northwest corner of the cemetery.  Off to himself one last time.  Blake and I came.  We cried, and walked, and laughed, and drank, and reminisced, and held each other.  I sang, played guitar, yelled, and rested.  We left a picture of a young man in his prime, a copy of an unrealized 5-Year Plan, pierced and held to the ground by a small USMC flag.

     And when I left, I left with plans to never return.  If I feel the need to 'visit' Eric again, I'll visit him in all those other places I left him.... The Black Hills, Devil's Tower, The Badlands, Frank Day's, and the 3,576 miles of highway across this beautiful country where he now rests.  It's where he'd rather me meet him anyway.

     Thank you Angie Bumpus for the understanding and support you showed by letting me jet out into the unknown with very little regard to your worries.  Thank you Blake Stabenow for being with me, and for Lacy Stabenow for making sure you were aware of my plans.

     Healing is sweet.  Release is sweet.  It didn't require anything but time.  My therapist was a blacktop highway and a machine.  My doctors office was the great expanse of our beautiful nation.

     I love you, Eric Scott Jones.  This was the trip we didn't get to take.  It was a celebration of you and "us" and all things that we loved.  Rest in Peace, my brother.  I'll see you again.

1971-1994

Ride Safe, and With Purpose.

SMB

The Ride and The Gift

I've been spending the last day or so in preparation for my upcoming road trip.  I'm doing my best to not "over-plan" as far as my route goes, as I want to remain as fluid as possible, only planning basic directions and rough areas I intend to be in on a given day.  I am securing all of the "things" I'll want to have with me.  Riding gear, Go-Pro Camera (this will be a new one for me, hopefully letting me capture some great images), guitar (of course), cooler and cutting board (road meals are the best meals), journal, Mad-Maps, etc.

As I plan, I can't help bet let my mind hearken back to my first real distance road trip.  24 years ago this month, my Dad rewarded me with the best High School gift a kid could ever receive, a bike trip out west with his Dad.  I'd been riding a couple years and had cut my road trip teeth on a Springfield Mile trip the autumn before on an old 4-speed, chain drive, '87 model 1100cc Sportster.  This time, I'd be getting my first big bike distance experience.  My ride would be on an '88 model FLHS Electra Glide Sport, the predecessor to the Road King.  The trip was epic, 16 states, mountains, plains, deserts....  More memories than I can count.

That trip also instilled something else in me.  The value of the written record.  I saw him doing it, but it would be years before its importance would really effect me.  My Dad kept a journal of that trip.

Nothing fancy, just a small spiral notebook of words describing things he wanted me to remember written with my Father's beautiful calligraphy-like handwriting, a style like no other I've ever seen.  He'd done this on his trip with my brother Dan back in '84 on what would have been, unbeknownst to us, Dan's last bike trip out west.  I remember the two of them reading it in later years, recalling the experiences they shared.  These moments of having the power to travel through time and reminisce.....those are what make me write.  This blog is just a little part of that, but my dogeared  journal holds mountains of past experiences, roads long since traveled, smiles and tears, and moments that I can revisit anytime I wish. And thank you Jeremy and Josh McCormick for the beautiful journal you gave me.

Basic words, capturing images of many years ago, making them come alive to me once again.  Precious few pages, with a wealth of memories.  While they may come off as a "you had to be there to know what I'm talking about", I hope you are able to see an 18 year old boy about to move away from home.  I hope you can see his dad, wondering if he's truly ready for a ride as grueling as what the American West has to offer.  I hope you can see the anticipation, wonder, and fear in both of their eyes.  I hope you can choke on the dust, and swelter in the heat.  I hope you can see the lines in the skin of wind dried and sun baked faces.   I hope you can feel the love and witness the majesty.  I hope you enjoy.

Wed June 20, 1990
     Left Memphis at 6:10 am, mileage 00030.  North to Chicago.  Rain from Cairo.  Arrived 5:00 pm.  530 miles.  Dinner with Dennis, Linda, Katie, and Scott's friend Matt.

Thurs June 21, 1990
Odometer 00560-860=300
     Got check-up on the bike.  Rode route 80.  Rain drove us in at Grinnell, Iowa.  We'll leave early in the morning.

     PS.... Don't eat the turkey at the Country Inn.

Friday June 22, 1990
Odometer 860-1269=409
     Left in rain at 8:00am, over within 60 miles but cold.  Visited SAC Museum at Omaha and my old base at Lincoln.  The base, and I, have both changed drastically.  So much for nostalgia.  We had a good time.  Spent the night at Kearney, Budget Inn.  Pizza in the room.  Tomorrow the Sand Hills and Rapid City.

Saturday June 23
Odometer 1269-1696=427
     Slept late 8:00am, beautiful day.  Up through the Sand Hills, to Valentine, Neb.  When we crossed into S Dakota, suddenly the radio had only Indian music.  Very eerie.  Only, the chanting was "Happy Birthday".  These are the people who killed Custer?  West toward Wounded Knee, ran into 14 miles of dirt and gravel.  Scott rode great.  Then through The Badlands.  Found Rattler in the middle of the road.  We each left the other alone.  Stopped for the night in Rapid City.  Holiday Inn.  Nice.

Sunday June 24th
Odometer 1696-1893=197
     Rode to Mt Rushmore, Crazy Horse, Sylvan, & now everything has happened, hail as big as marbles.  Didn't last long luckily.  Visited Deadwood, Ft Meade, Sturgis, Belle Fourche.  Motel full, stayed at Myers Motel.  Not good, but dry.

Monday June 25th
Odometer 1893-2375=482
     On the road at 7:00am, had breakfast at Broadus, Montana.  Their menu said lunch would be Chicken Gorilla. Fortunately we won't be staying.  Rode through Cheyenne and Crow Reservations en route to Custer Battlefield.  Scott rides better each day.
      Strange, when we arrived at Battlefield, there was no charge.  Then I realized it was the anniversary of the Battle.  Something brought us here on this day, we had no plan.  Strange!
     Later we rode south to Douglas, Wyo. for the night.  Long ride very windy.  Scott did fine.

Tuesday June 26th
Odometer 2375-2779=405
     Rode to Ft Laramie.  Beautiful old restored Fort.  Bought gifts for Lee.  Planned to ride to Alamosa Colo for the night but wind and Denver traffic and finally rain forced us in at Pueblo.  We donned our rain gear 10 miles from Pueblo but successfully avoided the storm.  Our luck holding, we were wet down by the sprinkler system as we were getting off the expressway.

 Wed June 27th
Odometer 2779-3379=600
     Out early with ambitious plans to ride to Monument Valley.  Over the mountains to Alamosa was beautiful.  Visited the Harley shop there.  Disappointment!  No wonder we sell bikes.  Took pictures at Continental Divide, through Durango, out on the desert.  Hottest day in history.  121 in Phoenix.  More at Monument Valley.  We rode through small "dust devil" sand storm.  Hot, had to turn back at Kayenta.  Rode through "Many Farms".  Beautiful ride.  At Chinle, we rode into a huge dust storm.  We put handkerchiefs over our noses and kept riding.  Sheep were in the street, in the middle of town.  We rode through them trying to get out of the "Dust Devil"/  My hat was ripped from my head and blown away. I mean AWAY!  When we were clear you could look back and see the entire storm.  Camera wouldn't work.  Awesome sight.  Arrived Gallup at 10:00pm, dirty, tired, pizza in the room.  No beer.  Oh yes, we visited 4 Corners and bought gifts.

Thurs June 28th
Odometer 3379-3903=524
     We're in the home stretch to get back by Sat.  Left Gallup around 8:00am, Hot.  We can only go 50 or 60 miles without stopping.  We're using more Gatorade than gas.  We wet down our shirts, packed ice in our pockets, and made it to Shamrock Tex.  Windy difficult ride.  Dangerously hot, Scott handled it well.

Friday June 29th
Odometer 3903-
     On the road at 7:30am, nice morning, much cooler.  Breakfast at Cherokee Trading Post.  I was as much Cherokee as anyone else.  Arrived Okeemah at 1:00pm.  Marie drove us to Grandpa Renfro's grave.  It is at Okfuskee in a free Cemetery given to the community by Marie's father, Bud Collins.  It is on the corner of the property where Marie was raised.  Interesting to hear her talk of him.  We only know him by the stories.  It made me feel closer.  He chewed "tobacky" as he called it, and smoked a pipe.  He was in good health until 2 years before he died.  He had "Dropsy".  
     Stayed in Russelville Ark for the night.  Our last night.  It has been a good trip.  I enjoyed his company.
     It started as a gift to him, but instead turned into a gift for me.

     Thanks!

     Dad

Pop, the trip might've turned into a gift for you, but your short notes that you took the time to lay on an empty page and then give to me years later..... well, I think the gift has become mine again.

Memories die in your brain.  Put them on paper and they'll live. 

The road truly will go on forever.

Ride Safe and with Purpose.

SMB

He Was a Trooper.... In So Many Ways

  
This is my cousin Jackie Lynn Miller and I, the right photograph taken just about a year ago. Jackie was an Army man, Troop A, 9th Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division. Between 1969 and 1975, Jackie participated in over 200 missions in Vietnam and Cambodia. He was the recipient of two Purple Hearts, three Bronze Stars, eight Air Medals, three Army Commendation Medals, Vietnam Service Medal, Vietnam Campaign Medal, US Defense Medal, and Combat Infantry Badge. 

Jackie came home to a job with International Harvester and a country largely indifferent to his service. He also brought back a body that had been liberally sprayed time after time with Agent Orange. It took a long time for the US Government and the VA to recognize that fact, far longer than it took the cancer to take its hold. 

Jackie spent his recent days in his quiet den on my Aunts place along side Horseshoe Lake in Olive Branch Illinois with his television, his DVD's, his "Big Dog" and his memories. He also carried that wound that didn't heal. Jackie's fight and the war ended late Saturday night, surrounded by his loving family. 

I'll be making my way up to Tamms, IL to accompany my mother to Jackie's funeral.  He will be interred with full military honors alongside his father Jack at the Mound City National Cemetery. 

Remember my cousin Jackie Miller and the sacrifices he made. Remember my Aunt Lucille as she begins this new chapter of life without her son. Remember his sons, Billy and Richie.  Remember our veterans who never came home, and remember the ones who did, but left so much over there.

Learn more about the effects of Agent Orange at 
Project Agent Orange
Aspen Institute Agent Orange in Vietnam Program
http://www.vietnow.com/agent-orange-veterans-health-issues/

Learn more about the effects of PTSD at  
Effects of PTSD on Vietnam Veterans
National Institutes of Health Study of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

If you know a Vietnam Veteran who needs help, please learn more at
VA Benefits available for Vietnam Veterans

Halfway down the trail to Hell,

In a shady meadow green

Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,

Near a good old-time canteen.

And this eternal resting place

Is known as Fiddlers' Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell

The Infantry are seen.

Accompanied by the Engineers,

Artillery and Marines,

For none but the shades of Cavalrymen

Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail

To seek a warmer scene.

No trooper ever gets to Hell

Ere he's emptied his canteen.

And so rides back to drink again

With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down

Beneath a saber keen,

Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee

You stop a bullet clean,

And the hostiles come to get your scalp,

Just empty your canteen,

And put your pistol to your head

And go to Fiddlers' Green.

 

Ride Safe and With Purpose....

SMB

It's Time!

I don't think I'll sleep too well tonight.  Anticipation makes for light slumber.  Months of cold winter have passed and the pale brown has begun to turn green.  All of the weeks of preparation of my mind and machine... and they are ready.  I can only hope the cobwebs which have found their place on my body soon blow away.

The road trip.  The crown jewel of motorcycle ownership, to me.  The point where excitement, adventure, introspect, spirituality, and solace meet.  Where I lose myself and in turn, find myself.  My recharge.

Tomorrow brings the first road trip of the year.  Nothing epic, but more than a day trip.  The bike is packed, the plans are made, and I'm ready.  Hell, I even put new strings on the Voyage-Air guitar and she's strapped on the backseat of my 2014 Ultra Limited.  Yep, I never travel alone.

Nope.... Doubt I'll get too far off into dreamland tonight.  Not to worry.  I'll have plenty of time to let my mind go tomorrow.

Goodnight all and I'll see you soon!  Should you care to, follow us on Twitter and Instagram at @ScottyBumpus #bumpushdridesin2014 and #dealerride2014

Ride Safe and with Purpose.

SMB

Because I Really Rode My Motorcycle Today

I am a Harley-Davidson Dealer.

It is my profession.  It is how I pay my bills, provide shelter, feed and cloth my children, etc.  The life of a Harley-Davidson Dealer is not extremely different than that of most any small business owner.  I still wake up, shower, dress professionally and come to work every day.  Like other businessmen, my day consists of projections, budget reporting, managing, dealing with vendors, human resource issues, bank negotiations, making sure we are compliant with the government and other legal requirements, etc.  We are salespeople and marketers.  We plan promotions that will help us to maximize sales opportunities.  We seek better and more efficient ways of positioning ourselves and out products in the marketplace.

We do all of these things because we are businessmen.

But there is so much more.

Today is March 20, 2014.  Today is the vernal equinox.  Today is the first day of spring, and it couldn't come too soon.  Our winter has been brutal, and seemingly unending. "First Day of Spring" rides are an essential tool in the toolbox of motorcycle dealer marketing.  Today was ours.  Like any dealer principal who understands the importance of "keeping the wheels spinning", I stepped up to the plate to lead today's ride.  My seat was my office today, and this morning, under a brilliant sun and crisp temperature, I went to work.

That said, work stopped as soon as I hit second gear.  Today, I rode my motorcycle.  Really rode it.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I didn't just get to lead a group of customers, I got to ride with my friends.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I got to remove the excel, peachtree, CONNECT, Talon, HDNet and other digital pieces of the Harley business from my hands and replace it with what really matters, handlebars.  Throttles and clutches instead of budgets and percentages.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I was able to reconnect with the reason I do what it is that I do.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, my eyes are again opened wide to the beauty of being outside.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I got to spend some alone time with Him.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I took time to eat at a great greasy spoon restaurant that I'd never stopped at before.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I was able to recharge my batttery, and right my ship.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I was able to lose the worry and stress of responsibility and replace it with smiles, joy, and adventure.

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I was able to let go, and just be a Harley rider, not a dealer.  (Thank you Jonathan Clemmons for taking the lead for a while and allowing me to just ride and follow).

Because I really rode my motorcycle today, I'm a better man.

Thank you to my friends, old and new, that were able to join me and as well, allow me to join you today.  

If you can't relate to what I'm talking about..... There is a remedy. 

Never forget, you only get one shot at life on this Earth.  Make it count.

Until next time...

Ride Safe and with Purpose.

SMB

A 20 Year Journey, Part 1.

It’s cold and dreary.  Winter storm warnings bear down on us and own the news.  It’s wearing me out, this winter is.  I miss green.  I miss my motorcycle.  I miss the road.  But that’s not all that’s on my mind, not by a long shot.

I’ve mentioned “another blog for another day”.  Maybe today is that day.  Maybe it’s time.  Maybe it isn’t.  

I love the emergence of spring.  The first warm breezes, the feeling of the sun against my skin.  The problem is, with the onset of spring also comes March the 3^rd.  I’ve been trying to outrun it for 20 years but to no avail.  It always seems to catch me.  I hate March the 3^rd.  My life crashed down on my head on March 3^rd.  I think I’ve been trying to deal with it for the last 20 years, but if I’m truly honest with myself, I don’t think I’ve even begun.  Maybe I’ll start. 

It’s been said that in one’s lifetime, we will all have that one great friend who will stand above all others.  God, I hope that’s not the case, because if it is, mine has come and gone.  I had Eric Jones in my life for 4 short years, but they encompassed more time than I can fathom.  A lifetime of memories, experiences, laughs, tears, dreams, miles….  Eric Jones was my playmate, my confidant, my brother, my comrade, my wingman, my council, and the best friend I’ve ever had.  He was my barometer, my compass, and my motivator.  We shared the same backgrounds and interests.  We loved the same things.  We envisioned each other’s futures and couldn’t wait to see wait lay in store for the other.

It all ended on March 3^rd, 1994 when I, his family, our friends and the rest of the world lost Eric Jones.

I hate you, March 3^rd and I’m sick of being owned by you.  It stops with this anniversary, this 20^th anniversary.  No more death, only life from here on out.  Memories of good times and good things.  Memories of great roads and blazing chili.  Memories of Moosehead Beer and cheap cigars.  Prime Rib and 1979 Sportsters.  Crew cuts, Marine ditties, late night dad stories, “Presidential” Halloween rides, and the big blue party bus.  You were always there whenever I needed you.  Roadie, actor, mechanic, driver, set of ears, proofreader, go between, stand in, editor, you name it. 

I see you in every Marine.  I see you every time I ride Hwy 127.  I see you in bonfires and contrails.  You’re always smiling.  And you’re always young.  You’ll always be young.  That’s your final joke on me, and a good one too, asshole.

It’s time to start dealing with it.  I’ve got plans on how to go about doing that very thing.  Join me on this journey, if you wish.  This is Part 1.  I’ll come back to it soon enough.  In the meantime, there’s a big Harley that’s waiting to be packed up and pointed towards Redfield, South Dakota.

I’ll talk to all of you soon, in the meantime, love your friends.  They won’t always be there.

Eric Scott Jones

October 28, 1971-March 3, 1994

Remember him.

Ride Safe, and with Purpose.

SMB

Ask, Care, Escort.... and RIDE!!!!

Hello friends.  I hope this post finds each of you well and that you are enjoying all that Spring has to offer.  I especially hope that you are able to be racking up some of those two wheeled miles that have proven to be elusive to me.

If you’re in search of a place to ride and a reason to do so, let me help you out.  Bear with me here for a minute as I unload on you a burden that weighs heavy on my heart. 

Since the attacks on 9-11, our country has been at war, the longest war in the history of our nation.  A war like we have never before fought, and with an all volunteer force.  We’ve all watched the 24 hour news feeds of the war on our televisions, from the streaks of green flame of the anti-aircraft batteries around Baghdad, to the earth trembling scenes of IED explosions in Kandahar.  We have seen the toppling of Saddam’s statues along with the hanging of Saddam himself.  We have celebrated the death of Osama Bin Laden and mourned the loss of our sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters in uniform.

Eleven years of war.  It has lasted so long that there are some that forget we are even still fighting.  Nearly 5,000 of our servicemen and women have paid the ultimate price on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan.  Five thousand front porch visits from stone faced messengers telling a family that their loved one will not be returning.  Devastating.

Now, let’s talk about something else equally as devastating and to me, far more shocking and unacceptable.  Our military are coming home from war zones daily.  We celebrate them.  We call them heroes, and deservedly so.  They stood in the gap for us.  They laid their lives on the line for us.  They accepted as part of their daily lives, the understanding that if by chance their life was to be given for us, then so be it.  But what happens to them after the welcome home parties? 

Our military are being killed at an unacceptable rate, but not necessarily by the enemies of our country.  They are dying by their own hand, and they are doing it at an alarming rate.

 

Fact:  Our veterans are committing suicide at the rate of nearly 2 dozen per day. 

Fact: There are many specific risks that our veterans are dealing with including:

·                              Multiple deployments to hostile environments

·                              Length of deployments

·                              Exposure to extreme stress, death, and combat.

·                             Physical and sexual assault while in service (not limited just to women)

·                            Service related injuries such as Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), Post-Traumatic 

               Stress Disorder (PTSD), and other mental health diagnoses.

Fact: When our veterans receive the needed (and available) care from a VA facility (specifically a VA Serious Mental Illness Treatment, Research, and Evaluation Center), they are three times LESS likely to commit suicide. 

Friends, this has to stop!  

In step the American Gold Star Mothers, specifically Mrs. Cindy Tatum and Mrs. Molly Morel.  The AGSM’s are an association of ladies who have lost children in military service to our country.   If you will recall, Bumpus Harley-Davidson teamed with these remarkable ladies last summer and launched "A Tour of Duty" in which we were able to raise over $25,000 to help fund the building of a Fisher House facility in Murfreesboro.  The issue of soldier suicide (as well as Marine, Sailor, and Airman…. As these Marine mom’s quickly pointed out to me) was one that weighed on them as much as me.  We began the process of researching what was needed and what could be done.  Into the picture steps Irene Trebilcock, an active duty member of the TN Army National Guard, a dedicated Harley-Davidson rider, an Iraq veteran, friend and wife of BHD sales team member and Iraq veteran Dan Trebilcock.  Irene is also the liaison for the TN National Guard for suicide prevention. 

Here’s what we learned.  There are many programs that are set up for our returning veterans to seek and receive the assistance they need.  What we do not have is AWARENESS!  The culture in which our vets exist does not always lend itself to one that encourages them to seek help.  We have to help them through that barrier. 

This need sparked “A Tour of Duty II”, a ride to end the epidemic of veteran suicide.  We are partnering with the AGSM’s to raise money to fund awareness campaigns for the programs that can and will save the life of a vet on the precipice.  We will also spread the word across the state of Tennessee of how we can break the cycle amongst the veterans that exist in our circle of family and friends. 

This Saturday, June 8 at all Bumpus HD locations, TOD2 will launch.  Here’s how it works.  Stop by any BHD location.  With your $20 registration fee, you will receive a powerful “Tour of Duty II” t-shirt emblazoned across the back with the warning signs of veteran suicide, and a passport.  The ride functions like this.  Take that passport to all other BHD locations and get a stamp.  You can ride at your own leisure whenever you have time to do so.  The ride will culminate with a final bash at BHD in Jackson on July the 20^th.  Have your completed passport in to us by that time, drop it in a bucket and one lucky rider will win a $2500 Bumpus HD card. 

The tour is every day.  You can register at any time.  If you can’t make the ride, hit every location, or don’t ride at all, no problem.  Your $20 donation will still get you a t-shirt. 

More importantly, you’ll be making a difference amongst those that offered their life for yours.  They deserve it. 

It’s all about the ACE card…

A.C.E.

ASK-     Ask a veteran if they are ok.  Do they ever think of hurting themselves.

Care-     Care for a veteran.  Remove means for self harm.  Remain calm.  Actively listen and show

              understanding.  Produce relief. 

Escort-  Escort the veteran.  Never leave them alone.  Get them to a VA facility or emergency room.  Call a suicide prevention hotline.

For more information on Tour of Duty II contact me at scott.bumpus@bumpusharleydavidson.com or

Memphis area Joe Kilpatrick at joe.kilpatrick@bumpusharleydavidson.com

Middle Tennessee Kathy Potter at kathy.potter@bumpusharleydavidson.com

Jackson area Brittany Crouse at b.crouse@bumpusharleydavidson.com

For more information on suicide prevention contact The Veterans Crisis Line at 1-800-273-8255 or www.veteranscrisisline.net

Ride safe and with purpose and I’ll see you this Saturday for the kickoff.