What’s a few U-Turns among friends?

Well now—what a day it was.

Why, it was the sort of day that comes only with early spring the calendar and dares you not to grin at it. A body could scarcely keep from breaking into a chorus from Oklahoma!—but I shall exercise to spare you from me breaking into a rousing chorus. Suffice it to say, it was a glorious day to be astride a motorcycle, with the sun minding its manners and the breeze behaving like it had been properly introduced.

And speaking of motorcycles, they must have shook off their winter slumber all at once, for they were out in such numbers you’d think someone was offering free DQ., . Don’t forget today starts the Annual Pilgrimage for Riders everywhere, it’s Daytona Bike Week! Which might have stirred the long dormant juices.

As for the knitting 5 Sandies stitched together 149 miles of the prettiest roadway a rider could hope to see. It was a tapestry of asphalt and good humor, and every mile laid down neat as a Sunday seam.

Come lunchtime, some of the Sandies joined us at Where Y’at Seafood, a seafood establishment perched north of Navarre along Highway 85, where the food was so fine you didn’t want to stop. Sam wished she had a bigger stomach. Her Red Beans and Rice were that good.  The fare was outstanding—so fine it would make a preacher reconsider going to Sunday services. Having Munchkin and Helen, along with Mark S and Lorna, meet us there improved the meal beyond all calculation. Good company will do that—it multiplies flavor without adding’ a single calorie.

Backing up a bit we started the day with our business meeting, as even Sandies must. Learned that Tommy N has gone and injured his back—an affliction that commands sympathy and a careful chair. But there was good news, too: Tony G made an appearance and was feeling somewhat better, which was good news.

And then came the announcement that set the room to a twitter’—Tommy is going’ to be a Grand Pop. I declare, I never thought I’d live to see the day, but here it stands in broad daylight, undeniable as sunshine.

Not wishing to waste so much as a teaspoon of this glorious daylight, we set off after lunch to burn off our seafood by attacking curvy roads.

On the way there, I discovered I was one road short of my intended route — which is to say I had miscalculated with confidence. This required a U-turn. JoeJoe was quick — eager, even — to remind me of this navigational innovation.

Five miles onward we turned left onto Nelson Riley Road, a stretch best described in rider’s dialect as “technical,” which translates plainly to “abundant curves and insufficient mercy.” JoeJoe and Bobby executed a fly-by maneuver and vanished up the road like two escaping convicts with dogs after them.

This seems an appropriate moment to mention Bobby’s new acquisition: a 2026 Indian Pursuit — a machine so fine it ought to have its own butler. I reminded him that the trade-in value of his previous ride would melt faster than an ice cream cone in July should anything unfortunate occur. JoeJoe, who is presently awaiting delivery of a Harley CVO Road Glide Limited, received the same paternal counsel. Motorcycles, like pride, depreciate quickly when dropped.

Sam and I adopted a more leisurely pace — partly from wisdom, partly from self-preservation. Presently we came upon JoeJoe and Bobby sitting beside a sign that declared “Bridge Out.”

Now I will confess something to you: there are few temptations stronger than a “Bridge Out” sign. It beckons a man the way a red flag taunts a bull. Is it truly out? Has nature reclaimed her property? Or is it a government ruse designed to discourage the unwashed and under-suspended? The imagination and conspiracy theories cause imaginations to gallop. Now you see some of the sources of my madness.

But cooler judgment prevailed, and we performed yet another U-turn — which, as the chorus behind me was obliged to note, makes two for the day. A man can endure many things, but he cannot endure navigational commentary without consequence.

One more U-Turn awaited us, we turned onto log lake road and missed the turn onto Broxson rd. Damn another U-turn, of which my traveling companions wasted no time in reminding me of my mistake.

So the day was 149 miles, three U-turns, one missing bridge, several fine machines, excellent seafood, good friends, promising grandchildren, and a day so glorious it nearly compelled me to sing. Maybe I’ll save it for another incredible ride with friends.

Join us next time, I personally invite you.