Today was way different. It wasn’t a Bobby Day. You know what a Bobby Day is: hot, wet, and miserable. The kind of day where you’re not sure whether you’re riding through Florida or being slowly boiled in a bag. But today? Today was different. When we took off, it was in the 70s and pleasant. I know that sounds suspicious, but it really happened. The sky was overcast, the humidity was manageable, and for once you could ride without feeling like somebody had thrown a wet blanket over your head. I call days like this at the end of summer “Tease Days.” The Road Gods can be cruel. Very cruel. They’ll give you a morning like today—cooler temperatures, almost dry air, a pleasant breeze—and you start getting ideas. You begin thinking, Maybe summer is finally over. You start believing that Fall, which is only two days away, might actually mean something in Florida. You poor sap. The Road Gods are up there somewhere, sitting around with their coffee, watching us. They’re saying, “Hey, watch this.” Then you enter Shalimar. And just like that, the Gates of Hell open. The humidity comes back. The heat climbs aboard. You’re right back in the same hot, wet misery you’ve been riding through all summer. That’s Florida Fall for you. It doesn’t arrive. It sneaks up behind you, gives you a cool breeze for five minutes, and then kicks you in the backside. People ask me, “Why do you do this to yourself?” My answer is simple: “I love riding more than I hate Bobby Days.” Now, let’s get to the important back-office stuff. 8 Sandies. 160 miles. That 160 miles ought to tell you something about today's weather. When the weather is miserable, everybody starts looking for the shortest route home. When the weather is pleasant, suddenly nobody knows where home is. Today was one of those days. The weather was so nice it made you want to keep going. We had breakfast at Milly’s Café in DeFuniak. It’s a pleasant little place, just right for coffee, breakfast, and sitting around visiting with people who apparently have nowhere else they need to be. Which, when you’re riding motorcycles, is pretty much the definition of breakfast. I also understand that last week’s missive got my good friend Ken C thrown under the bus. I really didn’t mean to do that. Well...Maybe a little. But in my defense, I did paraphrase Ken’s comment a bit, okay quite a bit. And if you’re going to say something funny around a somebody who likes to embellish, you really ought to know better. It was great seeing Randy and Brigitte L out riding with us today. I noticed Randy picked the best Sunday we’ve had in months to come along. Some folks have good timing. Some folks have Randy timing. Bobby was out today too. He said the Indian group on Saturday took almost the exact same route to DeFuniak that we did—almost mile for mile. Great minds think alike, I suppose. The difference was, we went almost another 100 miles after breakfast. That’s what pleasant weather will do to you. It gives you confidence. Dangerous thing, confidence. Then there was Misty on her Ryker. For those who aren’t familiar with a Ryker, it’s the sporty version of a Spyder. It’s got a sportier look and doesn’t have all the Tupperware hanging off it that you find on the big touring machines. None of that seems to bother Misty. She just rides. Anywhere we go, Misty is right there. You can’t tell her, “That’s too far,” or “That road looks rough,” because she’ll apparently just go find out for herself. Then there was JoeJoe, who was in full weatherman mode. Location of showers? Away from us. Temperature? Very pleasant for riding. Chance of some world-ending storm appearing directly over our heads? Apparently low. It was actually nice hearing JoeJoe report that there weren’t any biblical storms waiting for us around the next bend. For once, the weather report didn’t sound like the opening scene of a disaster movie. So all in all, it was a pretty good riding day. The Road Gods teased us. They gave us cool temperatures, tolerable humidity, dry roads, and enough sunshine to make us forget what August and September had done to us. And we fell for it. Because that’s what rider’s do. Give us one decent day and we’ll forgive you for a hundred miserable ones. That’s what makes riding so damn interesting great riding. Oh and great riding friends helps a lot.

Today was one of those days that makes a fellow think he might actually know what he’s doing on a motorcycle. That delusion lasted most of the morning. We knocked out 190 miles on a fine early-fall day, and eight Sandies decided the cooler weather was too good to waste sitting at home pretending to have something productive to do. So off we went. We wandered through backwoods trails, canopy roads, and eventually made our way to the Highest Point in Florida, which sounds more impressive than it is. Still, it’s the highest point in Florida, and when you live here you take your victories where you can find them. Randy and Bridget hadn’t been there before, so naturally we decided they needed to see it. That’s how group rides work. Nobody actually asks you if you want to go. We just announce that you’re going somewhere and call it fellowship. Along the way, a small native revolt broke out. Sandy was at the head of the rebellion and had decided we should have lunch at the Conecuh Sausage store. I explained, in what I believed was a calm and reasonable manner, that it was a considerable distance to go for lunch. This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Before long, the rebellion had gathered steam. Ken was definitely in it, Sandy was obviously in it, and I believe I heard a JoeJoe somewhere in the mob shouting something inflammatory about sausage. Wisely, we compromised. We stopped at the Country Buffet in Florala. Nothing ends a revolution quicker than a buffet. The rebels were fed, the government remained intact, and civilization was restored PDQ. Speaking of Florala, they now have a Museum and Welcome Center, which we’ll definitely add to the list for a future ride. Because nothing says motorcycle adventure quite like a bunch of sweaty people in riding gear wandering through a museum pretending they aren’t mostly there for the air conditioning. The ride home was when Florida reminded us that summer hasn’t quite accepted its eviction notice. That beautiful little taste of fall packed its bags and left us somewhere along the way, and good ol’ Summer came marching back in just to let us know he was still around and apparently still had something to prove. As we approached Shalimar, the Gates of Hades were not exactly wide open, but somebody had apparently left them cracked. Yes, it was hot. Yes, we sweated. But it wasn’t the full, wringing-wet, mid-summer sweat where you wonder if you should just throw the riding clothes away and buy new ones. This was more of a respectable little river of perspiration. Enough to remind you that Florida is still Florida, but not enough to require a baptism afterward. Still, you can feel it coming. Fall is sharpening its elbows and getting ready to shove Summer out the door. And speaking of folks returning from adventures, Tommy is back from his and Sandy’s trip to Hawaii. Yep, the dry observations and carefully delivered understatements were back in full regalia. It’s good to have them both home safe and sound. All in all, it was a fine ride, a good crowd, a little rebellion, a little sweat, some scenery, and 190 miles of proof that there are worse ways to spend a Sunday. Today was a great ride and, I suspect, a harbinger of good rides to come. So dig out that jacket. You’re going to need it soon. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Come ride with us you will enjoy it.

Today was way different. It wasn’t a Bobby Day. You know what a Bobby Day is: hot, wet, and miserable. The kind of day where you’re not sure whether you’re riding through Florida or being slowly boiled in a bag. But today? Today was different. When we took off, it was in the 70s and pleasant. I know that sounds suspicious, but it really happened. The sky was overcast, the humidity was manageable, and for once you could ride without feeling like somebody had thrown a wet blanket over your head. I call days like this at the end of summer “Tease Days.” The Road Gods can be cruel. Very cruel. They’ll give you a morning like today—cooler temperatures, almost dry air, a pleasant breeze—and you start getting ideas. You begin thinking, Maybe summer is finally over. You start believing that Fall, which is only two days away, might actually mean something in Florida. You poor sap. The Road Gods are up there somewhere, sitting around with their coffee, watching us. They’re saying, “Hey, watch this.” Then you enter Shalimar. And just like that, the Gates of Hell open. The humidity comes back. The heat climbs aboard. You’re right back in the same hot, wet misery you’ve been riding through all summer. That’s Florida Fall for you. It doesn’t arrive. It sneaks up behind you, gives you a cool breeze for five minutes, and then kicks you in the backside. People ask me, “Why do you do this to yourself?” My answer is simple: “I love riding more than I hate Bobby Days.” Now, let’s get to the important back-office stuff. 8 Sandies. 160 miles. That 160 miles ought to tell you something about today's weather. When the weather is miserable, everybody starts looking for the shortest route home. When the weather is pleasant, suddenly nobody knows where home is. Today was one of those days. The weather was so nice it made you want to keep going. We had breakfast at Milly’s Café in DeFuniak. It’s a pleasant little place, just right for coffee, breakfast, and sitting around visiting with people who apparently have nowhere else they need to be. Which, when you’re riding motorcycles, is pretty much the definition of breakfast. I also understand that last week’s missive got my good friend Ken C thrown under the bus. I really didn’t mean to do that. Well...Maybe a little. But in my defense, I did paraphrase Ken’s comment a bit, okay quite a bit. And if you’re going to say something funny around a somebody who likes to embellish, you really ought to know better. It was great seeing Randy and Brigitte L out riding with us today. I noticed Randy picked the best Sunday we’ve had in months to come along. Some folks have good timing. Some folks have Randy timing. Bobby was out today too. He said the Indian group on Saturday took almost the exact same route to DeFuniak that we did—almost mile for mile. Great minds think alike, I suppose. The difference was, we went almost another 100 miles after breakfast. That’s what pleasant weather will do to you. It gives you confidence. Dangerous thing, confidence. Then there was Misty on her Ryker. For those who aren’t familiar with a Ryker, it’s the sporty version of a Spyder. It’s got a sportier look and doesn’t have all the Tupperware hanging off it that you find on the big touring machines. None of that seems to bother Misty. She just rides. Anywhere we go, Misty is right there. You can’t tell her, “That’s too far,” or “That road looks rough,” because she’ll apparently just go find out for herself. Then there was JoeJoe, who was in full weatherman mode. Location of showers? Away from us. Temperature? Very pleasant for riding. Chance of some world-ending storm appearing directly over our heads? Apparently low. It was actually nice hearing JoeJoe report that there weren’t any biblical storms waiting for us around the next bend. For once, the weather report didn’t sound like the opening scene of a disaster movie. So all in all, it was a pretty good riding day. The Road Gods teased us. They gave us cool temperatures, tolerable humidity, dry roads, and enough sunshine to make us forget what August and September had done to us. And we fell for it. Because that’s what rider’s do. Give us one decent day and we’ll forgive you for a hundred miserable ones. That’s what makes riding so damn interesting great riding. Oh and great riding friends helps a lot.

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2011 < Back Terry Cooper 1946 - 2011 Terry's picture speaks volumes as to Terry's love of life. Terry just flat loved life, always a smile, always with a funny comment. Terry was a Professor at University of Tennessee Chattanooga Branch. Terry was also a retired Civil Service Manager. When Terry was at Eglin Terry discovered the Sandies. Neither of us were the same afterward. Could Terry ride... Terry was an excellent bike handler. Don't let the picture in the gravel fool you, Terry was an excellent rider. Terry was taken from us way too early, we miss him greatly. Terry logged 15,914 miles as a Sandie and will forever be remembers by all of those fortunate enough to ride with him. Previous Next

2023 < Back Bingo Bob 1961 - 2023 Robert Lawrence aka Bingo Bob Those of you “been around Sandies“ know Bob was one of the nicest people you would be privileged to know. Bob was the only person I knew that told Life Flight, at the scene of his motorcycle accident , he was riding in the Ambulance. I’m sure the Sandie gang above have already welcomed Bob home. George E Always chain smoking, and never missed a chance to point out when you were overlooking something obvious or did something dumb. He was a nice guy who genuinely cared for the Sandie family. Bob first rode with the Sand Dollar's on Jun 29, 2008. He logged 15,176 miles with the club and well liked by everyone that knew him. I always enjoyed riding in the group with him. We were heartbroken when he could no longer ride with us, and the news of his passing brought all of the memories flooding back. We miss ya Bob! Bobby B Previous Next