Well, Martha, I’d have to say the ride went pretty good.

The weather was tolerable. Now, when a Southerner says the weather was “tolerable,” that generally means it didn’t kill anybody, so we count that as a victory.

It got hot enough to make you wonder if you’d accidentally ridden straight into the gates of Hades. Then, just about the time you got good and sweaty, a rain shower would come along and cool you off. And just about the time you dried out enough to feel human again, another one would show up.

See the pattern?

Tolerable.

We had a nice-sized crowd today—11 Sandies—and put about 190 miles behind us in pursuit of what was, by all accounts, the best fried chicken known to mankind. The folks at The Roadkill Café over in Baldwin County, Alabama, have been voted the best three years running, including 2026. The staff is absolutely top notch your ice tea glass never saw bottom and they got your preference right every time. To a true Southern Rider a never empty tea glass is only surpassed by a visit from Elvis.

Now, I’m not saying those folks know everything, but anybody willing to conduct a three-year investigation into fried chicken has earned my respect.

Just before we left GTD, Bobby showed up all kitted out in his riding rain suit. Bobby looked like he was prepared to cross the Atlantic rather than ride down the road. But Bobby had apparently ridden through a frog strangler and decided to err on the side of caution, Anyway the sky west it looked rather evil since that was our direction of travel .

Bobby elected to keep the rainsuit on.

Joe said, “It’s only a light shower.”

That’s when somebody wisely replied, “Oh crap, it’s Noah’s Ark time.”

And sure enough, most of us had already been thoroughly Monsooned

by the time we got through with all those “light showers up ahead.” I’m beginning to suspect that “light shower” is motorcycle weather code for bring a boat.

By the way, JoeJoe has now officially qualified as an Annoying Road Observer.

Joe has developed the remarkable ability to locate obscure, unnecessary, mildly irritating, and occasionally fascinating subjects to discuss over the radio while the rest of us are trying to remember where we are and whether our socks are still dry.

It’s a gift.

Bobby kept that rainsuit on all the way to our first stop north of Milton, and I believe that suit had acquired some sort of mystical power. It kept almost every rain shower away from us.

Now, Bobby did lose approximately eight pounds wearing that thing, which means the rainsuit was apparently also a mobile sauna.

But the rest of us appreciated his sacrifice.

A man will do a lot for his fellow riders. Apparently, Bobby will sweat eight pounds for them.

Misty also proved today that she can handle that Ryker just fine. When we took the Interstate around Pensacola, Misty rolled that rig right up on the concrete slab, settled in, and stayed right there with the Krewe.

That was some fine riding, girl. You handled it like you’d been doing it forever.

Great riding with ya, Misty.

Howard W. rode with us today, too. Howard has been busy traveling and working around the house, so whenever we get a chance to see Howard, it makes the ride that much more enjoyable.

Some folks you ride with because they’re good riders.

Some you ride with because they’re good company.

Howard happens to be both.

Then there’s Greg L.

Greg is a certified Rider Coach and teaches over at the Harley-Davidson dealer in Panama City. Now, you’d naturally assume a man who teaches at Harley-Davidson would favor a Harley.

But no.

Greg’s preferred motorcycle of choice is a BMW.

Well, bless his heart.

That’s about like finding out the preacher secretly prefers another church.

Regardless of what motorcycle he chooses to sit on, riding with Greg is always enjoyable and informative. The man knows his motorcycles, knows how to ride ’em, and is always good for something useful when you’re trying to keep the shiny side up and the rubber side down.

Then Ken C. joined us in Milton.

Ken is not only a mighty fine bike handler, but the man knows fried chicken.

Now, when a fellow possesses two talents of that caliber—handling a motorcycle and identifying superior fried chicken—I believe the proper thing to do is listen when he speaks.

Two talents like that make Ken an expert by any reasonable Southern standard.

And if you disagree, well…

You probably haven’t had good southern fried chicken yet.

I have to thank Mark S, Mark ended up in The Sheepdog position today.

For those who have never heard of it, the Sheepdog is the last rider in the group. It may sound like a position involving livestock, but it is actually one of the most important jobs in a Sandie group ride.

The Sheepdog’s responsibility is to keep the group together and make sure nobody gets lost, left behind, or accidentally adopted by another motorcycle club.

Without Mark communicating with the Road Captain—me—keeping the group together would have been considerably more difficult.

And by “more difficult,” I mean it would have turned into the usual Southern pastime of trying to herd cats, only with motorcycles, radios, traffic, and considerably more expensive mistakes.

The Sheepdog position is probably the most important component of a safe Sandie group ride. It takes attention, patience, and the ability to keep track of everybody while the rest of us are busy pretending we know where we’re going.

Mark, thank you for doing a great job

Tommy was at his brightest best today. Tommy’s observations are always a bit dry but funny and point on. Today Tommy had some good observations on the human condition.  I had   to laugh when Tommy explained why he only likes and eats vanilla ice cream. Get Tommy to give you his personal take on such a weighty subject.

It was another fine day with the Cat Herd: good folks, good motorcycles, a little heat, a little rain, plenty of laughter, and 190 miles spent chasing fried chicken.

Truth be told, I’ve had worse days.

A whole lot worse.