RUNNIN' WITH THE BIG HOGS--
Harley Hogs of course

Yup, you see the sign in the background.  That's where we spent a recent Saturday participating in my first-ever poker run--motorcycle style--then socializing the day away with a fine corn roast on the club's grounds.

It all started when Sue and I rode my Honda motorcycle to our square dance club's annual picnic and had a nice talk with Dick and Melisa Moyer (above right) fellow dancers who, up to that minute, had no idea of my interest in motorcycling.

A day or so later Dick was on the phone and inviting us to ride a poker run with his Mansfield club that Saturday.  I was flattered but reminded Dick I was new to the sport, had never ridden in a poker run and rode a Honda besides.

You have to understand, Harley-Davidson (Harleys) dominate the American cycling culture to the extent some of those riders disdainfully consider Hondas and other oriental motorcycles "rice burners".

I said, "Dick, let me get this straight; you want Sue and me to trundle into their nest out on Cookton-Grange Rd., with about three month's of cycling experience and ride 75 miles with those folks over an unfamiliar course and do it on a Honda?"

"You'll be fine," he assured me.  "Yeah," I muttered, feeling like a little-league baseball player about to try batting practice in Yankee Stadium.

Dick said his cousin, Aaron Beer, an experienced Moto-Guzi rider (a legendary Italian cycle), would be joining us and we could ride together.  "You mean I can follow you guys and try to avoid embarassing myself," I inquired.  "Absolutely," he assured me.

So, after registration that day, Dick and Melisa rumbled out of the club grounds on their Kawasaki Vulcan 900 cycle, followed immediately by cousin Aaron on his Moto-Guzi and suddenly it was our turn to roll.  I prayed silently we wouldn't tumble in the gravel of the club's driveway while we did an instant 90 degree turn onto the road's pavement and sputter-roared away from the starting grid.

I learned later 60 motorcycles were entered in the day's event.

We rolled east to a northerly turn on Rock Rd., then a north-westerly turn onto Highway 39 and somewhat promptly into Shelby traffic where Aaron got stymied behind some turning cars and I had no option but to slide into his place behind Dick and Melisa.

At the next opportunity I offered Aaron his starting slot but he said "stay there", you are doing just fine.  That was nice--but it put me in second place of a queue of motorcycles that began to form behind us as we sped along SR 96 to SR 603 where we whistled through Olivesburg then down into Mifflin where Dick promptly missed our course change onto the Lincoln Highway eastbound.

If you are following the story carefully you will realize, as I began to realize, I was now in the lead of a squadron of about 10 or so motorcycles and not the least bit sure where our next turn was.

I knew Sue still was behind me.  Everytime we hit a bump she squeezed me with her legs.  I began to think about getting her a seat belt.

Then I would check my mirror and as far as I could see on the hilly-curvy road there were motorcycle lights, lots of them.  I checked the other mirror.  Same thing.  Egad.  How did I get into this mess?

I had a copy of our scheduled route taped to my cycle's fuel tank, just like Dick showed me, but even when I could read the darn thing I didn't have the foggiest idea where the next turn was.  I lucked out on a couple of turns because their intersection was posted on an advance road sign.

That got me to a lucky right turn on SR 511 where I was intently watching for the next left turn because I thought they said it was obscured when discussing it in the pre-ride driver's meeting.

It was, and by the time I saw the sign I could only bump on my left turn signal and bang the brakes to show a stopping light warning while I sailed past that turn.  I finally managed to find a place to make a U turn and headed back...passing at least one other rider who had followed me and was doing his U turn in the clumsy fashion required by the anatomy of slow-moving cycles.

I was relieved when he didn't throw something at me.

Turning right on the correct course I soon noticed Dick, Melisa and Aaron waiting for us.  They had been far enough back to be able to get slowed down and make the correct turn.

My agony of leadership was over!

At least, with any luck, I would be able to follow Dick the rest of the way home as we rumbled into Loudonville.  The remainder of the ride was a piece of cake; a stop to get checked in at the Malabar Inn's, locally famous roadside spring house then a very dusty section of Hanley Rd., westbound from SR 13 where we had been warned road crews had done a tar and chip job just the day before and it was too late to change the ride's course.

Heading into the later afternoon sun it looked like riding in a storm on our dusty moon's surface.

That's Melissa, Dick and Sue in the lower photo with our bikes in the newly forming queue of parking at the motorcycle club so folks could make an orderly departure from the grounds when the yummy-corn roast party ended.

It had to be some reverse form of Murphy's Law when Sue's randomly drawn poker hand awarded her two pair; good enough for a dandy second place plaque in the passenger class of the day's event.

That's my smiling co-pilot heading back to her seat in the clubhouse while another award-winning rider takes stock of this very curious affair.