Thoughts on The "Parts Motorcycle Ride" from a Sandie point of view

Before we get into the cool stuff, humor here, they had 6 to 700 riders. It came off pretty uneventfully which under the circumstances was outstanding.

Now for the why’s and where fore’s

There are two kinds of heat in this world. One is the sort that reminds a fellow it's summertime. The other convinces him the Almighty has parked the sun about three feet over his helmet just to see what happens. This ride belonged to the second variety. I became reasonably certain my boots were fixing to fuse themselves to the pavement, and I suspect the gas tank was considering the same arrangement.

Now, I will say this for Emerald Coast Harley—they had shade. Honest, dependable shade. The sort of shade that makes a man reconsider every unkind thing he has ever said about parking lots. Whoever arranged that deserves a medal, or at the very least a chair, a fan, and something served over ice.

The route itself was mercifully short. That suited me just fine because the only air conditioning a motorcycle comes with is the throttle, and even that quits working the moment traffic remembers it exists.

A hearty tip of the helmet goes to the Okaloosa County Sheriff's Office. They handled those intersections with such precision you'd have thought royalty—or at least someone important enough to own an air-conditioned limousine—was coming through. We hardly slowed down.

The Sandies showed up Six Sandies strong, and that's a turnout any club these days can be proud of. Good company always makes a ride shorter, even when the thermometer is trying to negotiate your surrender.

I couldn't help noticing there were quite a few green riders among the crowd. One gentleman, astride what appeared to be a recently adopted used motorcycle, came perilously close to discovering that brakes are not decorative accessories. He nearly introduced his front fender to another rider's rear tire. Fortunately, common sense arrived just ahead of catastrophe. It served as a useful reminder that a little practice in an empty parking lot is considerably cheaper than repairing motorcycles in a crowded one.

The event itself was run as smooth as fresh pavement. Riders from all manner of clubs and organizations turned out, and everything moved along with the kind of order that only appears when somebody has done a great deal of planning before everyone else arrives.

The greatest surprise, however, wasn't the motorcycles—it was the beverages. I had expected to find coolers filled with enough adult refreshments to float a fishing boat. Instead, the landscape was covered with bottles of water, sports drinks, and enough energy drinks to keep a small city awake until Tuesday. It appears the crowd unanimously decided dehydration was the only thing less appealing than the heat itself.

Then there was the chatter over Open Mesh.

"I've never done this before."

"I'm nervous. This is my first group ride."

You could hear it often enough to realize there were a fair number of first-timers in the pack. That's not a bad thing. Every experienced rider was new once. But large group rides have a way of exposing every habit a rider hasn't yet mastered. They're a mighty poor place to discover you're still negotiating peace terms with your clutch, your brakes, or your nerves.

All things considered, it was a fine event. It was hot enough to fry breakfast on a gas tank and perhaps lunch on the exhaust pipes, but it was worth every sweaty mile. I'll gladly ride the next one.

Though, if anyone has influence with the weather, I'd appreciate requesting the setting be changed from "surface of the sun" to something a little more civilized—perhaps merely "broil."