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Touring News is a monthly magazine mailed to GWTA members and advertisers. Its contents are contributions from our membership; it's truly the members' magazine.

At Touring News we strongly encourage our members to send  articles of interest concerning motorcycling and the many adventures we experience in GWTA. We have learned there are many great stories that could and should be shared with our membership. You don't have to be a great writer, if you have a great story we'll help you find someone to assist in writing it.

Send your contributions to:
GWTA Touring News
PO Box 42403
Indianapolis IN 46242-0403
touring_news@gwta.org

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Ph 1-800-960-4982

 

 

Some articles from past issues of 
Touring News magazine

 

The Orange Cap
by Leo Baseggio

 

We were all feeling our oats that morning. Forty of us had crowded into the airport restaurant waiting for the plane to arrive so we could welcome back Gary, our CD. He'd just gotten the doctor's final okay to ride again after bypass surgery,  Gary wanted us to have his bike at the airport. He was tired of four wheels, time to ride again!

As luck would have it Gary’s plane was delayed while some mysterious part was being replaced. We kept the waitresses hopping with the usual hearty appetites and forgotten diets that occur when our group gets together.

Terry Jenks was the first to notice the gentleman in the dark suit as he sat at a table in the corner watching us. The gentleman hadn’t given the usual dour looks that we received from the other patrons when the laughter had risen an octave or two, he  seemed to smile and observe all that was going on. He wasn’t a large man but he had a presence that made you to think he was. His dark tan came from the outdoors, not from some tanning salon, and his attitude and posture indicated he was very comfortable with himself. The thing that Terry brought to our attention was the bright orange baseball cap sitting on the gentleman’s table. Every once in a while he would look out the window and run his finger absentmindedly over the cap. One time as he was doing this Terry caught his eye and motioned for him to come and join us. Much to our surprise, he rose from his table, holding the cap and his coffee cup, and came over and sat down with us.

He introduced himself as Alfred "Al please" Barret. As he shook hands it was obvious from his grip and the calluses on his hands that he was used to labor. Al confirmed this by telling us he was a diesel mechanic. He'd wanted to come over and talk to us because he had seen our bikes in the parking lot and wanted to find out about them as he and his son had often rode together on off-road bikes but never on big touring bikes. By now the chairs and tables had been formed in a large circle, the food had been delivered, consumed and given our official seal of approval. With coffee cups in hand we started to sing the praises of our bikes and tell some of our adventures. Talk ranged from past rides to future events and some of our great goofs and near misses as well as the usual good-humored ribbing that occurs at every gathering. Al joined in with the rest of us telling jokes and sharing some of his experiences with his customers. His wife had passed away when his son was quite young and he had been a single parent for many years. It was their mutual love of motorcycles that had gotten them through a lot of rough spots over the years. It had always been his dream for him and his son to ride to Alaska, just the two of them, with no deadlines or hurry and nothing but road ahead. Many of us quietly nodded our heads because we'd dreamed the same dream and envied the few that had actually accomplished it. Terry’s wife Blair asked where his son was now. Al said that his son was in the Army and had been overseas in one of the hot spots and he and one of his friends were due in on the same flight as Gary’s. Al also explained that was the reason for the bright orange cap. His son had sent it to him so that they could be sure and spot him as soon as they got off the plane. This started another round of conversations about the various services. There were a few Vietnam veterans in our group, and some veterans from Desert Storm and even old Mac, our bomber pilot from World War II. It was during one of Mac’s stories that the announcement finally came, the plane was due to arrive in a few minutes. We hurriedly gathered our jackets and caps and headed for the gate for  Gary's big welcome. We turned to say goodbye to Al but he said he'd walk with us to the gate.

Gary’s reception was everything we planned, lots of hugs and laughter. Some one had even talked an attendant out of a wheelchair and put a sign on it that said Gary’s New Ride. We hardly noticed the young man in uniform who greeted Al, who by now had donned the bright orange cap. I remember thinking that there should be two soldiers but the thought was lost as Gary’s welcome continued. We  walked down to the baggage area to help with Gary's luggage and were waiting for the baggage to arrive when Mac, in a voice that wasn’t much more than a whisper said, "Oh my God! Now I know!" Everyone looked at Mac afraid something was wrong with him. The look on his face did nothing to relieve our fears. He motioned for us to follow him as he headed back upstairs. Everyone just looked at each other and followed Mac, including Gary who just left his suitcase and came with us. By the time we got to the top of the stairs Mac was already looking out the window at the plane Gary had just arrived on. There was Al, wearing the bright orange baseball cap, and the young soldier standing at attention as the ground crew carefully removed a flag-draped casket from the aircraft and transferred it to the back of a waiting hearse.

We don’t know who had the idea first and it really doesn’t matter but Mac suddenly called out to one of the terminal personnel and asked if they could talk to the ground crew that was handling the casket. The person said they could communicate with the ground crew by two-way radios but needed to know what the reason was. As Mac explained what he wanted to do, we explained to Gary about Al’s son and the baseball cap. We watched as the attendant and the ground crew chief conversed and saw the puzzled look on Al, the soldier and the hearse driver's faces as they were asked to wait while some arrangements were being made. It was only a few minutes later that those puzzled looks turned to smiles as they watched twenty big Wings with American flags flying pull out in escort formation, half in front of the hearse and half in back as Al and his son went on their last ride together. The driver gave us directions to the funeral home by CB and we were quite a sight as we went through town. As we pulled into the funeral home and stopped, Al got out and shook hands with everyone telling us how much what we had done meant to him. We could tell that he had been crying but at least he knew he wasn’t alone.

About 3 months later at one of our evening meetings, we were all sitting there talking and getting ready to order, when we saw an unfamiliar Wing pull in and park alongside our bikes. We recognized Al as he pulled off his helmet. Before he could get to the restaurant door about half of us jumped up to welcome him and escorted him to our meeting room. After he joined us he explained that he wanted to ride with the group that had the heart to do for a stranger what we had done for him and his son. With that, he pulled out that bright orange ball cap, adjusted it carefully on his head and said "Waiter, I believe my friends are hungry." We knew then that Al would never be alone again.

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