RETROTOURS AUTUMN NEWSLETTER:
         What doesn’t kill you will make you humbler.

People drop and crash RetroTours bikes with depressing regularity. Put a great rider on a strange old bike and he or she is at the same risk level as a rank novice. Now add in the most technical roads that can be found, maybe some foul weather, a really long day, and then put several riders (especially males) in a group, stimulating competitive instincts, and well, as they say: “shit happens”. My philosophy is that the bikes are just metal and plastic and can always be repaired or replaced. Humans are another thing. We have had some broken bones, but nothing life threatening. Usually, we can effect repairs and continue on our merry way. Sometimes a detour for medical intervention is required. Above all, every RetroTour is an ADVENTURE.

ad·ven·ture /adˈven(t)SHər,ədˈven(t)SHər/
Noun:   an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity.

Over the decades, through scores of RetroTours adventures, I had somehow avoided crashing. Maybe it’s because I am familiar with the bikes. Maybe my familiarity with the route is a factor. Maybe I have just been lucky. Up to now.

In August, Eric and I were motoring happily along on Gyro #11. We had covered 300+ glorious miles that Saturday and were closing in on our rental for the night: a remote river-side double-wide trailer in West Virginia. We had just traversed Dolly Sods, a 17,000 acre Wilderness Area in the Monongahela National Forest, on a 15-mile long, rutted, wash boarded dirt road. Around 6 o’clock it was just getting dusky when we finally regained the asphalt, maybe 25 miles from the day’s destination. I never made it that far.

A crazed doe, maybe a 100 pounder, came running at my front wheel at full trot. I registered the hazard just as contact was made and down I went. I was only going 35 or 40 mph, the Moto Guzzi 850T3 was spared major damage by its sturdy crash bars, but I landed badly. I knew that I had at least broken a rib. Eric, being sensible, wanted to call 911, but there was no cell phone signal. I got him to pick up the bike, kick a few things straight and I rode it to the double-wide trailer which, thankfully, had an overstuffed “Old-man recliner” chair where I was able to sleep. The next morning, we rode 175 miles: halfway home. At that point I gave up and let Eric call my wife to come fetch us in a pick-up truck.

The next day (after watching Moto GP) I visited the hospital for X-rays and learned that I had 7 broken ribs and a collapsed lung. A chest tube, several days in the hospital, and a 4 week recovery period, plus a lot of help from some very good friends and of course my amazing wife, and I was able to make the September RetroTour. On that trip, one rider crashed in a curve, unhurt, and I managed to do a stupid tip-over at 2 mph, also unhurt—except for my pride. So, what is happening?

Well, I guess I am getting older. My reflexes have slowed, and my riding skills are certainly not what they were when I was 30 years old. I try to learn from mishaps like these and I may not like the taste, but I need to eat some humble pie now and again. And be more cautious. But you know what?

I still love the call of the open road. I accept the danger and yes, the pain. I am totally psyched for the Kinzua RetroTour in another week. It’s Autumn, the colors will be phenomenal. Adventure beckons.

SOMETIMES WE FIND OURSELVES IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE.

SOMETIMES, IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, WE FIND OURSELVES.

RIDE A PIECE OF THE PAST ON THE PATH LESS TAKEN!

             
         JUST DO IT.      CHEERS!          joel @ retrotours!