My uncle taught me how to ride a motorcycle. Sitting in front of him on his 100cc MotoBeta nothing could stop us... Neil passed away on July 15th, 2008 but the lessons and experiences he gave me flow through to you and everyone else that attends our events.
Neil MacDannald back in the day riding a Penton with Roy Winters.
The following poem was written by Neil . It speaks of his joy of riding and satisfaction of a days ride with friends. The next time you see a shooting star know that it is Neil just "roosting" in Heaven...
"Rubicon Rogues"
True story by Neil R. MacDannald
***
To our trails we come back, though it's not for a lack, of other things to do; The adrenaline will pour, as your muscles grow sore, And your mind is born again new.
A days hard ride, with friends at your side, Makes one feel happy, tired, and free; When I get back, and finally hit the sack, I'm always happy I'm me.
***
Rubicon Trail:
This day we had picked, knowing our bikes would get nicked, the legendary Rubicon Trail to ride;
Some fail to return, as we would soon learn, We started, friends side by side;
The air was quite cold, we rode hard we rode bold, Over the rocks, boulders, and shale;
We rode down this path, and realized it's wrath, This is a very difficult trail;
As it started to rain, not one would complain, There was too much fun to be had;
We should have turned-round, rain started to pound, I guess we're just crazy a tad;
From the sky came hail, as we rode that trail, That horribly tough rocky trail;
But no one turned, though all were concerned, That to get back we might fail;
Colder it got, but we're a tough lot, I thought as it started to snow;
Colder still colder, with snow on my shoulder, And the wind started to blow;
We stopped our troop, just to re-group, We sheltered under a tree;
The storm raged, “an all nighter" I gauged, as it hammered my friends and me;
“Just another mile”, I said with a smile, And fired RMX my venerable steed;
One said “Wait!! It is getting real late, and I've crashed and started to bleed”;
Then he cranked up his ride, and stood by its side... You see of unwritten code he did think;
“I can make this ride”, he said with great pride, Even though he was on the brink;
Half Way Point:
At shelter halfway, I was heard to say, “Let's eat, and check our bikes”;
Our return would be slow, through wind driven snow, I wished our tires had spikes;
I was chilled to the bone, but I was not alone, And the daylight quickly passed;
It need not be said, we all knew and we dread, This cold night could be our last;
One began to pout, as we started out, But no one really could blame;
All knew it was far, back to the car, and a hot meal by the fire's flame;
The going was rough, even our best had it tough, And wind drove the cold like a spike;
One of us crashed, when offered food stashed, He just cursed and restarted his bike;
Below the big hill, I sat with a chill, It was miles back to our camp;
"Go on past, and I'll ride up last", I said as I sat there all damp;
Everyone helped push, as we climbed through the slush, And cheered when we crested the hill!;
But the mood turned grim, as we gazed round the rim, We had many miles to ride still;
We finally made camp, and pushed up the loading ramp, Our bikes in the back of the truck;
Wow what a feat, while beginning to eat, On our side we had plenty of luck;
Of riders with less will, we hear stories still, They begin but they do not return;
We just ate our hot meal, and spoke of that hill, And watched the warm fires burn;
As we drove down, and headed toward town, I reflected on our trip;
To come home I was lucky, riding gear all mucky, I offer this tip;
Be yourself and have fun, in the rain or the sun, Enjoy beauty and just smile;
Support your friends, be true to all ends, And your life will be full and worthwhile;
To our trails we come back, though it's not for a lack, of other things to do; the adrenaline will pour, as your muscles grow sore, And your mind is born again new;
A days hard ride, with friends at your side, Makes one feel happy, tired, and free; When I get back, and finally hit the sack, I'm always happy I'm me.
True story.
Neil MacDannald Racing
Neil MacDannald Wheelie
At some point someone loved and cared for you enough to teach you to ride a motorcycle. I encourage you to find a way to honor that person for the gift they gave you.
