Well, as most of you are painfully aware, the Sandies have had themselves a rather adventurous month of Riding Adventures. We’ve ridden through weather, ridden through questionable decisions, and generally demonstrated that there are still a few things in life we have not yet learned to leave well enough alone. I’d like to tell you this weekend was just as adventurous. It wasn’t. This weekend, the Sandies apparently decided to check the “enjoy” box. And there ain’t a thing wrong with that. First, the knitting: 135 miles. 10 Sandies. Now, if you’re wondering how knitting got involved in a motorcycle ride, I’m not entirely sure myself. With the Sandies, I’ve learned it is sometimes better not to ask too many questions. Just smile, nod your head, and make sure you know where your motorcycle is parked. Now, if you count lunch at a place called Bigfoot’s Buffet as a little unusual, well, okay. I’ll give you that. Our original destination was the Roadkill Café in Elberta, Alabama. Yes. That is actually the name. And they are famous for their fried chicken. Which, when you think about it, is a rather bold culinary decision for a restaurant named Roadkill Café. But apparently they know what they’re doing because folks keep showing up. We were going to give them our business. But alas, it was not to be. We rolled the bikes out of the garage and almost immediately the sky decided it had other plans. It poured. Not a gentle Southern shower where you stand under the carport drinking sweet tea saying, “It’ll pass.” No sir. This was rain with a mission. We checked around and discovered pretty much everybody else was getting the same treatment. So, being experienced riders with excellent survival instincts, we made the only sensible decision: Unfortunately, the Roadkill Café closes at 12:30, and apparently they don’t stay open just in case a bunch of motorcycle-riding Sandies happen to be delayed by the wrath of the weather gods. So we needed another destination. That’s when somebody mentioned Bigfoot’s Buffet. It was discussed. It was considered. And eventually it was agreed upon. Because nothing brings a group of hungry motorcycle riders together quite like the promise of a buffet. Now, at the meeting place, three enterprising Sandies actually showed up: Greg L, Misty, and JoeJoe. Much like children on Christmas morning, they had that special look in their eyes. Only they weren’t dreaming about bicycles, toys, or video games. They were thinking about food. Then they found out we had postponed the departure time by a few hours. Did they go home? Not a chance. They went and ate breakfast. Because apparently there is no such thing as eating too early when there is another meal somewhere down the road. These folks do not miss an opportunity to eat. And frankly, I admire the dedication. When we finally arrived at the appointed hour, our three Sandies had the satisfied look of bears who had just discovered a picnic table somebody forgot to guard. They were calm. They were content. They were fed. And for the moment, nobody was looking at me like I was personally responsible for delaying lunch. Then came the surprise. Tommy was driving Sandy’s Yellow Zonkers Slingshot, with Sandy occupying the pillion-warmers spot. Now, that alone was enough to make the trip interesting. For those who may not know, Bigfoot’s Buffet is about 58 miles by the normal route. But this was not a normal route. This was a Sandie Route. And anybody who has ever been on a Sandie Route knows that 58 miles can become 75 miles without anybody having the slightest idea how it happened. We headed through the Blackwater Forest, taking advantage of all those beautiful canopy roads. The weather had at least decided to show a little mercy. It was overcast, which meant the sun wasn’t beating down on us like it had been doing lately. For once, Mother Nature seemed to be saying: “Fine. Go ahead. I’ll give you a break.” Of course, we should have known better than to trust her. This seems like a good place to bring up a rather strange phenomenon. JoeJoe has a brand-new Harley CVO. Top of the line. About $53,000 and change. And this motorcycle is loaded with just about everything imaginable. And a few things that boggle the mind. JoeJoe is a retired weather person, so naturally he keeps up with the ever-changing weather here in the Florida Panhandle. And when I say he keeps up with the weather, I mean JoeJoe keeps up with the weather. He has subscriptions to weather services. He has radar. He has radar on the motorcycle. I suspect if we gave him another five minutes, he could probably tell us what the weather is doing in Nebraska. The new Harley does have one little glitch that JoeJoe is working diligently to solve. His best radar only works when JoeJoe is parked in his driveway. Now, admittedly, that is not exactly ideal for travel prognostications. A weather radar that performs its finest work while the motorcycle is sitting beside the garage is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. JoeJoe does have other radar services, but they leave just a little something to be desired. Like on this particular trip. Joe announces: “Rain to our west, but it’s not a factor.” And right about the time those words leave his mouth, the sky directly over us opens up and turns on the faucet. Apparently, the Road Gods had been standing over their celestial sink just waiting for somebody to say something. This is why we call these things Sandie work in progress. You can have a $53,000 motorcycle. You can have subscriptions to weather services. You can have radar on the bike. But you still can’t control Florida weather. And apparently, you shouldn’t tempt it by saying it’s “not a factor.” Mark and Lorna were also with us on this trip. Now, Lorna takes world-class pictures on their travels around this little rock we call home. And when I say world-class, I mean it. Lorna has taken some spectacular photographs on their trips, including pictures from their trip to the Philippines that are absolutely outstanding. She has a way of catching those places and moments that makes you stop and think, “Well, maybe I ought to get out of the garage once in a while.” Of course, then you remember the weather forecast and decide the garage isn’t so bad after all. Eventually, we arrived at Bigfoot’s Buffet, located just south of the Florida line. And I have to say, it was worth the ride. They have a great selection of food and some fantastic homemade desserts. And they have a reasonable senior price, too. Now, when you hear “senior price,” some folks might take offense. Not the Sandies. We consider it a reward for having survived long enough to qualify. And let me tell you something else. When you get a group of Sandies sitting around a table together, you need to be careful what you say. Because somewhere in that group is Tommy. And Tommy is the pit viper of dry humor. He doesn’t necessarily strike immediately. He waits. He listens. He watches for the unsuspecting Sandie to say something that can be twisted into a perfectly timed comeback. And then— Tommy comes back with one of those dry, perfectly delivered responses that leaves you sitting there wondering how you walked directly into it. His comebacks are hilarious. At least I think they are. Some folks occasionally don’t get it. So I dumb it down for them. You would think that would earn me some appreciation. It doesn’t. What a tough crowd. But that’s the Sandies. Good food. Good friends. A few miles on the motorcycles. A little rain. A little weather forecasting that may or may not have survived contact with reality. And enough dry humor around the table to keep everybody entertained. Nobody set any land-speed records. Nobody conquered the world. Nobody even managed to keep the weather away. But we did what we set out to do. We rode. We ate. We laughed. And most importantly— We checked the “enjoy” box. Sometimes, folks, that’s the best adventure of all. Re-try next Saturday for The Roadkill Adventure 7 am GTD

125 Miles, 9 Sandies, and One Tortoise First, before anybody starts making nasty comments about the heat, let me say this: it was a pleasant ride. A perfectly pleasant ride. For the first 125 miles, anyway. We had nine Sandies rolling along, enjoying the morning, minding our own business and generally behaving like responsible adults who had somehow been allowed to own motorcycles. Then we opened the gates of Hell in Shalimar. You know that blast of heat you get when you open the oven door on Thanksgiving and discover somebody has put a 24-pound turkey in there? That’s about what Shalimar felt like. We left GTD and headed over to Penny’s on North 85. Breakfast was great, and the folks waiting on us were outstanding. Southern hospitality is a wonderful thing. You can feed nine hungry motorcycle riders, keep the coffee coming and still smile at us like you actually want us to come back. After breakfast, we headed out on a loop through the northern part of the county. That’s where I earned my “Enter Heaven” badge. I helped a Gopher Tortoise cross a busy highway. Now, some folks might call that a good deed. Sam may have a slightly different opinion. I saw the tortoise, hit the brakes and stopped suddenly—without giving Sam any warning whatsoever. Apparently, my turn signal was on vacation that day. I almost put Sam into the back of me. But the tortoise made it safely across the road, so I'm pretty sure St. Peter has already made a note beside my name. “Best of intentions. Questionable braking technique.” Misty joined us for the second trip and got good marks from JoeJoe on her riding ability. That’s high praise coming from JoeJoe. He's a tough judge. I’ve seen him evaluate a perfectly good motorcycle rider like they just showed up for a job interview without a résumé. Tommy didn’t have to perform any Motorcycle Voodoo Hocus Pocus today, which was probably a good thing for the rest of us. More importantly, Tommy managed to keep up with his most important piece of equipment—The Infamous Dry Humor Hat. He didn’t lose it anywhere along the way, either. The Tommy wit was still sharp, dry and right on point. Frankly, after 125 miles in this typical heat, I’m not sure how he kept it that sharp. Most of us were getting a little soft around the edges, but Tommy’s humor was still coming out drier than a West Florida dirt road in August. No voodoo. No hocus pocus. Just Tommy being Tommy. And honestly, that's probably plenty of magic for one ride. At one point I made the mistake of mentioning that Randy might not be happy if we got caught in the rain. Randy and Brigitte immediately chimed in: “You can’t get rid of us that easy.” Well, I would never dream of such a thing. Really. Trust me on this. I have witnesses. Ken caught up with us at Penny’s. Ken is one of those fellows who knows the North County like he drew the map himself. After all those years as a Deputy, he knows where everything is, including places I apparently haven't discovered yet. Which is important because I have a tendency to get a little lost. And when I say a little lost, that’s Southern understatement for: “We have no earthly idea where we are.” It’s like saying the Pacific Ocean is a little salty. And when I'm lost, nine Sandies can look exactly alike. That's why we've established one of the great Sandie Riding Rules: If the lead is lost, we all are. We learned that one the hard way. These days, with cellphones, GPS and enough technology to launch a rocket to Mars, you'd think getting lost wouldn't be much of a problem. You'd be wrong. Nine motorcycles scattered across the back roads of North County is still basically Herding Cats—only the cats have helmets and radios. So we stick together. Nobody gets too far ahead, nobody gets left behind, and if the leader takes a wrong turn, well... Congratulations, everybody. We're all going that way. And that, my friends, is how you turn a pleasant 125-mile ride into an adventure involving nine Sandies, a Gopher Tortoise, one near rear-end collision, a little heavenly intervention, and enough heat in Shalimar to cook Thanksgiving dinner. All in all— Just another pleasant ride with good people. Don’t forget next Saturday Road kill café, new leave time GTD 7;30. We are taking a bit of a different route. True Sandie route, hopefully the link works Copy paste link into your web browser Copy paste link into your web browser https://www.google.com/maps/dir/Good+Things+Donuts,+625+Eglin+Pkwy+NE,+Fort+Walton+Beach,+FL+32547/Milton,+Florida/Elsanor,+Alabama+36567/A%26G's+Roadkill+Cafe,+25076+State+Ave,+Elberta,+AL+36530/@30.6155429,-87.5183448,13.25z/data=!4m59!1m2!29m1!1b1!4m55!1m15!1m1!1s0x88913f9faac1f867:0x7d08f019f8edf98e!2m2!1d-86.5981537!2d30.4405751!3m4!1m2!1d-86.6330171!2d30.4495286!3s0x88913e5acf74f4a3:0xaf53a6d5bf24029!3m4!1m2!1d-86.9676962!2d30.5948682!3s0x8890e3e6132ad261:0x273ead299aa9f24e!1m25!1m1!1s0x8890e578113e97c9:0x7074c77463ac400!2m2!1d-87.0396881!2d30.6324149!3m4!1m2!1d-87.0470268!2d30.6257963!3s0x8890e5994735c1e1:0x5a85d676e52e31f7!3m4!1m2!1d-87.1208591!2d30.6469087!3s0x8890ee42c3e15cd5:0x95943bbe8b54c9df!3m4!1m2!1d-87.2090693!2d30.6670521!3s0x8890ed45a74669fb:0x8c766f2139f7063f!3m4!1m2!1d-87.4184279!2d30.6146963!3s0x88909a343cc92d37:0xee6a21b02acd76f2!1m5!1m1!1s0x889a74fc05792f35:0xbf2c674e29e95df1!2m2!1d-87.5835952!2d30.5451943!1m5!1m1!1s0x889a0bdf89733029:0xf6e8746970c5474c!2m2!1d-87.5972451!2d30.4141564!3e0?authuser=0&entry=ttu&g_ep=EgoyMDI2MDgxOS4wIKXMDSoASAFQAw%3D%3D

To my fellow feeling’ like Bacon Sandies, well, it was hot enough out there today to qualify as needing nothing more than a good flip and maybe a little basting. By the time we rolled into Shalimar, my outside temperature gauge was reading 110°F. Not “feels like” 110. Actual, honest-to-goodness, thermometer-don’t-lie 110 degrees. At that temperature, a man starts wondering whether he oughta be riding a motorcycle or lying underneath it for shade. Now, to be fair, the ride to breakfast was downright pleasant. The ride to Milton and breakfast at Grover’s 2.0. Yep Grandma 2.0. Had to try anything named like that. Grover’s was a new place with an old vibe. Oh with designated Motorcycle parking, SCORE! Food was good, people running it better It was later in the day when things began to deteriorate and we started feeling less like motorcycle riders and more like breakfast meat on a cast-iron skillet. Another fine example of our club demonstrating that good judgment is merely a suggestion. And speaking of questionable decisions, we managed to put 130 miles on the odometer. Because apparently going home when it gets hotter than Satan’s tool shed would’ve been the sensible thing to do. We had 15 Sandies out riding today, and we were mighty glad to see Misty Z rejoin us as a New/Old Member. She showed up on a pretty Ryker, too, proving once again that around here, if it has wheels and somebody’s willing to climb aboard, it qualifies. Today’s group was an absolutely remarkable assortment of motorcycles. Frankly, we looked like Big Al’s Used Motorcycle Sale Lot had broken loose and was headed down the highway. Two wheels. Three wheels. Big bikes. Little bikes. A little bit of everything rolling along together like some kind of traveling mechanical family reunion. And that, folks, is exactly why this Club has been around for 46 years. It ain’t about what you ride. It’s about the fact that you ride. No one particular brand is what brings us together. It’s the people sitting on those machines that matter. Of course, whether you’re perfectly sane, mildly questionable, or fully certifiable isn’t nearly as important as whether you happen to be on the FBI’s wanted list. I mean, let’s be honest—around this bunch, the really important question isn’t “What do you ride?” It’s “Can you make bail?” I also can’t say enough about how good it was to see Greg L out on the BMW. We don’t get to see Greg nearly often enough, so having him along made the day that much better. And Mark and Lorna S are back from setting Asia on fire and are apparently taking a little time to cool off before heading out on their next adventure to the South Pacific. Meanwhile, Randy and Bridget L keep showing back up, which leads me to believe they’ve either become attached to us or simply haven’t figured out how to make bail yet. Either way, we’re glad to have all of you And just when you thought we had exhausted the day’s supply of questionable mechanical decisions, Sandy S showed up again doing what Sandy does best—being her own personal version of “Hey, it’s me!”—this time aboard her Yellow Zonker Slingshot. Meanwhile, Tommy apparently decided to channel the Tappet Brothers, Click and Clack, those legendary NPR fellows who could diagnose an automobile from three counties away and fix practically anything that had an engine. If you remember Click and Clack, congratulations—you’re officially dirt old. Tommy demonstrated his own version of their mechanical wizardry today. Sam’s bike wouldn’t start. Tommy walks over, lays his hands on it, mumbles something under his breath, and I could’ve sworn I heard: “Start… or it’s the scrap heap for you.” The bike started. Then Sandy’s ride decided to play the same game. Tommy once again approached, laid hands upon the machine, and began mumbling what sounded suspiciously like an incantation: “Start… or it’s the toaster pile for you.” Instantly, it started. Now, I’m not saying Tommy has developed some kind of mechanical voodoo, but if my motorcycle ever refuses to start, I’m calling Tommy before I call a mechanic. At least Tommy apparently works for free and doesn’t require a diagnostic fee. JoeJoe showed up today fully equipped with the weather forecast, including temperatures. Now, you’d think knowing exactly how hot it’s going to be would be useful information. It isn’t. Somehow, there’s very little comfort in learning that it’s going to be damn hot instead of simply discovering that it’s plain hot when you walk outside. Ignorance may not be bliss, but sometimes it’s considerably cooler. Then there was Ken C, who felt obligated to remind me that Norm Riley Road was still adorned with its charming “Bridge Out” sign. Now, I’m sure Ken was merely passing along important roadway information like a concerned and responsible citizen. Except Ken knows me. Ken knows my weakness for a road marked BRIDGE OUT. That sign is practically a personal invitation. I almost succumbed. I could hear the road calling. But through tremendous personal strength, maturity, and an amount of restraint I didn’t know I possessed, I fought the urge. Meanwhile, Ken stood there wearing that innocent little “Who, me?” look. I know that look, Ken. You ain’t fool’n’ anybody. I also want to take a minute to say a genuine thank you to Bobby B. For the past couple of weeks, Bobby has been getting out to these local poker runs, heat and all. And he’s doing more than just riding—he’s “showing the flag”. That means Bobby is wearing his Sandy gear, letting folks know we’re still out here, still riding, and still very much a Club. Bobby talks up the Club to folks he meets, and I’ve even heard tell he’s been chatting up a few single ladies along the way. Now, whether that’s officially part of the Club’s recruiting strategy remains under review. But regardless of his methods, Bobby is out there representing us. And that matters. I’m sure Bobby could use a few more Sandies out there helping him show the flag. That’s how we’re going to attract new members—not by sitting at home waiting for somebody to discover us by accident. We need to be out there. We need to let folks see that we ride two wheels, three wheels, and pretty much anything else that can legally roll down the highway. We need people to see that this Club isn’t about one particular brand. It’s about riding, friendship, and having a good time with a bunch of folks who probably ought not be trusted with a map. So if you head out to a poker run or another motorcycle event, wear some Club gear. Show ’em you’re a member of the Ridingst Club. You never know who might see you, ask about the Club, and decide they’d like to join a bunch of people who willingly rode 130 miles in 110-degree heat. That’s either a great recruiting tool or evidence for the prosecution. Despite the heat—and I mean despite the kind of heat that makes a motorcycle seat feel like it’s been left on the surface of the sun—it was another great day. There’s just something about riding with friends that makes the discomfort worth it. Good motorcycles. Good friends. Good laughs. And just enough questionable decision-making to keep things interesting. That’s what makes this Club special. 46 years and still rolling. Now, before everybody gets too comfortable, don’t forget: Next Saturday — The Roadkill Café leave GTD 7:30am Roadkill Café open only 10:00 to 12:30 pm “Voted best Fried Chicken in Baldwin County in 2024” my kinda journey Be there. And if it’s hot? Well, by now you know the drill.

Listing of all of the active and honorary Sandies. The Sandies Sam E A.K.A. Sam Joined: December 1, 1980 Club Miles: 235069 2026 Sandie The Dark Prince A.K.A. Tim Joined: September 22, 2002 Club Miles: 64422 2026 Sandie Rocketman A.K.A. Lee Joined: May 22, 2005 Club Miles: 23356 Lifetime Sandie Sir Robert A.K.A. Robert Joined: September 21, 2008 Club Miles: 78347 2026 Sandie Waldo A.K.A. Bobby Joined: December 22, 2012 Club Miles: 50005 2026 Sandie Howard W A.K.A. Howard Joined: November 5, 2016 Club Miles: 4962 2026 Sandie Dennis O A.K.A. Dennis Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 3405 2026 Sandie Ken C A.K.A. Ken Joined: May 24, 2025 Club Miles: 2203 2026 Sandie the Captain A.K.A. Jerry Joined: February 29, 2004 Club Miles: 113050 Honorary Sandie Dale K A.K.A. Dale Joined: May 31, 2014 Club Miles: 0 Honorary Sandie Chief Cat Herder A.K.A. George Joined: February 12, 1981 Club Miles: 254004 2026 Sandie Animal A.K.A. Will Joined: June 22, 2003 Club Miles: 39523 Lifetime Sandie Wheet A.K.A. Fred Joined: October 15, 2005 Club Miles: 25524 Lifetime Sandie Miz Edna A.K.A. Edna Joined: December 31, 2010 Club Miles: 25785 2026 Sandie Tim M A.K.A. Tim Joined: August 31, 2013 Club Miles: 3951 2027 Sandie Ace A.K.A. Tony Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 17253 2026 Sandie Joe W A.K.A. Joe Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 7083 2026 Sandie Randy L A.K.A. Randall Joined: April 18, 2026 Club Miles: 962 2027 Sandie Brenda L A.K.A. Brenda Joined: December 31, 2010 Club Miles: 0 Honorary Sandie Wayne P A.K.A. Wayne Joined: May 31, 2014 Club Miles: 0 Honorary Sandie GQ A.K.A. Tommy Joined: December 31, 1988 Club Miles: 71376 2026 Sandie Cool Hand A.K.A. Chris Joined: August 22, 2004 Club Miles: 64086 Lifetime Sandie Judge A.K.A. Laura Joined: April 22, 2007 Club Miles: 4475 2025 Sandie Munchkin A.K.A. David Joined: December 31, 2010 Club Miles: 114764 2026 Sandie Greg L A.K.A. Greg Joined: March 16, 2015 Club Miles: 11343 2026 Sandie Annie W A.K.A. Annie Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 8125 2026 Sandie Mark S A.K.A. Mark Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 10418 2026 Sandie Misty Z A.K.A. Misty Joined: August 16, 2026 Club Miles: 239 2026 Sandie Doc Pat A.K.A. Pat Joined: December 31, 2010 Club Miles: 0 Honorary Sandie Ms. Betty A.K.A. Betty Joined: May 3, 2015 Club Miles: 0 Honorary Sandie JoeJoe A.K.A. Joe Joined: October 24, 1999 Club Miles: 220749 2026 Sandie Tina G A.K.A. Tina Joined: October 17, 2004 Club Miles: 53588 Lifetime Sandie MacRocket A.K.A. David Joined: May 26, 2007 Club Miles: 58834 2025 Sandie Sandy S A.K.A. Sandy Joined: February 16, 2014 Club Miles: 44870 2026 Sandie Jim W A.K.A. James Joined: March 10, 2015 Club Miles: 41935 2026 Sandie Dawn M A.K.A. Dawn Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 5023 2026 Sandie Wes H A.K.A. Wes Joined: December 31, 2023 Club Miles: 6482 2025 Sandie SpectreSteve A.K.A. Steve Joined: November 26, 2000 Club Miles: 127313 Honorary Sandie CarolAnn D A.K.A. CarolAnn Joined: March 6, 2011 Club Miles: 25538 Honorary Sandie

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2015 < Back Don Bell 1940 - 2015 At 73 years old, he lost his three year fight with cancer. He went peacefully at home in his own bed. Donald leaves behind his wife of 48 years; son, Ken; daughter-in-law, Kira; and grandson, Evan. After his service in the U.S. Coast Guard, Don became a HVAC Technician. He finally retired from DRS Corporation. Don loved his motorcycle and his brothers and sisters of the Sand Dollar Motorcycle Club. Don logged 32,244 miles as a Sandie and will forever be remembers by all of those fortunate enough to ride with him. Previous Next