The Lord meets The Sandies, again
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
Some of y'all remember that wild storm Sunday. The kind where the wind didn't merely blow—it came at you sideways with a personal grudge. The rain looked downright determined to scrub the paint clean off a motorcycle, and it got so dark folks were driving with their headlights on before breakfast had settled. Naturally, the Sandies took one look at all that and concluded it was the perfect day for a ride.
Mind you, we couldn't have one of these adventures where sensible people live. You know, somewhere with a café every few miles and dry coffee waiting on the stove. No, sir. We found ourselves wandering the back roads of northern Walton County, where the farms stretch clean to the horizon and the nearest shelter is generally somebody else's barn—and you're hoping they're feeling neighborly. Once you're out there, there's not much left to do but keep rolling and pray the weather gets tired before you do.
Now, the Good Lord has long been rumored to keep a watchful eye on fools and Englishmen. Seeing as King Charles has never once offered to pay for my motorcycle tires, I'll leave it to you to decide which half of that arrangement described our bunch.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We started the day with our business meeting. Sixteen folks showed up, which is a mighty respectable gathering these days, and we were pleased to welcome a prospective new member into the fold. We tried not to frighten them too early.
Then came the part where common sense quietly packed its bags and left the room.
The weather forecast was calling for a ninety-percent chance of rain. Most folks would look at those odds and decide to stay home. Sandies looked at the same forecast, nodded thoughtfully, and said, "Reckon that's only ten percent against us. Let's ride to lunch."
Tony G. and his son Lorenzo climbed into the support van. Randy and Bridget R. climbed onto their motorcycle with smiles that suggested they either possessed remarkable courage or had misplaced a healthy amount of caution. They were joined by Tommy and Bobby no strangers to Sandie Water Adventures. Sam and I also threw caution to the gods. Before long we were pointed down the highway on something resembling Dorothy's trip to Oz—only without Toto, ruby slippers, or anybody with enough sense to turn around.
Lunch was at Summer's Kitchen in Florala, a place that's always been a favorite among the Sandies. If you've never enjoyed a Southern buffet, let me explain it in one word: fried.
They had fried chicken worthy of a sermon, fried pork chops that could make a cardiologist weep, and banana pudding—which proves that Southern cooks don't believe any food should escape the skillet without a proper send-off. Then came banana pudding stacked with nilla wafers, because if you're already headed down the road to glory, you might as well enjoy the scenery.
About the time we were finishing dessert, somebody pulled up the weather radar.
Now, I've seen Jackson Pollock paintings that looked more organized. The screen was nothing but angry colors splattered every which way, and that's not the sort of artwork you want bearing down on a motorcycle ride. As we stared at it, only one line came to mind—Sheriff Buford T. Justice's famous warning from Smokey and the Bandit:
"Boy... you got trouble comin'."
Turns out he wasn't exaggerating.
No matter which direction we aimed, the storm seemed to have already filed travel plans. Tony and Lorenzo headed south in the van while the rest of us tried to sneak around the leading edge of the weather.
The weather noticed.
It caught us square on New Harmony Highway.
I've ridden through some respectable rainstorms over the years, but this one had ambition. The wind shoved from the side like it was trying to collect a debt. Rain came down so hard you couldn't tell where the road ended and the sky began. Gusts grabbed at the motorcycles like they intended to rearrange us into next Tuesday.
Then, just when we'd begun wondering whether Noah still had the blueprints for that ark, salvation appeared.
Out of the sheets of rain rose New Harmony Baptist Church.
Now, if that wasn't the Lord dropping a hint, I don't know what would qualify.
Sam, Randy, Bridget, and I pulled in and huddled under the porch roof while Tommy and Bobby, proving there are several recognized levels of Sandie stubbornness, decided to press on down the highway. Randy and Bridget proved they were outstanding Bike handlers this trip.
As it happened, there were still folks inside the church. They couldn't have been kinder. They invited us to come in out of the storm, but seeing as we were dripping enough water to irrigate a soybean field, we thanked them kindly and stayed on the porch rather than baptize the fellowship hall. I did ask to borrow the restroom, and I have to admit the pastor looked just a touch puzzled when a soaking-wet stranger wandered in looking like he'd lost a wrestling match with the Gulf of Mexico.
Before long, the sky began to brighten. The rain eased from "biblical" down to merely "Florida," and we climbed back aboard our motorcycles.
Every now and then a ride reminds you that motorcycles aren't really about perfect weather. They're about good friends, good stories, and the kind of days that get funnier every time they're told. Around the Sandies, if everything goes according to plan, nobody remembers it. But let a storm chase us across the county, feed us fried chicken before trying to drown us, and park us on the porch of a country church...
Well, that's the sort of Sandie ride folks will still be chuckling about long after the motorcycles are put away. Yep sitting around after a great day of riding these type of Sandie Adventures, told with great embellishment. Okay tall tales have us all laughing no matter how many times the Tale is told.
Thanks Tony for the video
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