Every so often I'll see a new post on this thread and read some kind words from kind folks speaking of a man they knew not in person, but well in spirit. The world is populated by several billion people so when you think of 100,000 or so that share a kindred spirit in the life we call " biker" there really aren't that many of us. Us of course being a relative term. So anyway, other events push the memory of Skip from my mind at times and this thread keeps him alive for me. So I thank all of you for that. Skip could ride probably better than all but one or two people I've met in my life. He was one of those guys who just seemed to be able to make a motorcycle do whatever he wanted to. In our MMMC days he had a Softail he pieced together and it was always one piece short somewhere, but ran well. The MMMC clubhouse was in a ravine on a (at the time) dirt road that was a shortcut between two counties in Maine. When first built we had no neighbors, but last I heard, the road was paved, expensive houses on 5 acre lots and the club had been forced to sell. Anyway, as I was saying, the clubhouse was down in a ravine. For most of us the last 100 yds was a dirt bike adventure on a dry day. On a wet one, it was a slide for life. So as you can imagine we did not exactly roar down over the hill to the base of the ravine and the clubhouse - - - - - except for Skip. It didn't matter what the weather was, he always came flyin down the hill and skidded in sideways to within an inch of the old clubhouse porch. We used to bet how close he'd come without hittin anything. So I'm glad I was out here in California when he passed. I didn't have to see him as the tumor in his brain slowly won the battle. I'll remember him forever skiddin in sideways, jumpin off his bike and shoutin " what are all you a$$holes lookin at anyway "
Adios Bro
Vaya con dios
B B