"Don't wanna live afraid of dying....."

We called him "Ha Ha Dave". Because Dave is a pretty common name, and any time someone wanted to identify Dave to another of his friends or acquaintances, they instantly identified with Ha Ha Dave because he was the type of guy that was always smiling, always happy and had this loud irritating laugh that was unmistakable from across the room. Ha Ha Dave wouldn't just laugh, he'd invade your space, clamp his arms around you and make sure you were included in whatever he thought humorous at the moment. Dave was no small guy either. Near 6 foot and probably in the 240 pound area, when Dave wanted to laugh, you joined.

For Ha Ha Dave, riding was the most important thing in the world. I knew him before he got his bike and all he talked about was getting a bike. And when he finally got his bike, I never once saw him drive a cage again. Dave rode a Harley. Not because he was a wanna-be or because of the lifestyle associated with it but because Dave wanted to ride a Harley. It wasn't a shiny new yupi Harley, it was a shiny older Harley. It was everything to Dave. I teased him every chance I got about selling that "piece of crap" and buying a "real" bike but he would no more suit a Ninja then I'd suit a Harley. I knew that, and he knew that I knew.

Dave and I frequented a lot of the same places. Local pubs, bars, neighborhoods, but didn't really hang that much together. We sat and talked a few times and always acknowledged each other. We shared a common bond, me and Dave - that was the love of the ride. He knew it and I knew it. "Cowboys like us".

And then Dave was dead.

Just like that. No warning. No good-byes.

His life taken in a moment by idiots. See, they were out havin a good time. They "owned this town". Driving recklessly down a back road cutting people off.... speeding. Had a few drinks.....Didn't feel they needed to stop for anything as insignificant as a red light......

They hit Dave hard enough to split his beloved Harley in two. Cleaned the front end right off. Witnesses say they didn't even slow down.

After the witnessed explosion of glass, they proceeded to run over Dave's helmet, or his battery or his seat..."something black" and on two flat tires and a glass less car, sped away to a dead end road where they bailed and ran. While Dave spent his dying breaths crawling to his final resting place, the witness covered him with her child's blanket and talked with him, telling him he'd be all right. She even had the foresight to take pictures.

We were working out in the drive on one project or another when I got the call. It was only hours after Dave died. I sat in disbelief that someone so full of life was gone. As the hours ticked by I was able to organize the flood of emotions that hit. Sorry for a comrade fallen...... agony for what those closest to him must be going through...... guilt - for I should have known him better...... and anger towards those responsible. And helplessness knowing there was nothing I could do about anything. We were all on a path chosen by those ignorant people that we would have to live out independent of our choices.

When something like this happens, when it's this close to home..... when it coulda been you...... you have to re-evaluate your situation. What are we / am I - risking every time we ride. The pain that this caused and the ripple effect is incredible. The lives that have been touched. The suffering...the loss. This is what I risk every time I saddle up. Your mind can't help but think "What the hell am I doing. Is this worth it..."

So I, and I know of several others... found reasons to not ride our steeds in the days that followed. The sunny days weren't quite sunny enough, the temperature to cool.

Dave would be disgusted. Perhaps offended. The very thing that was the single most important thing in his life we have chosen to associate with his death. And it scares us. Scares us shitless.

Dave loved motorcycles more then anything. Loved to ride. The wind, the weather, the feel of the road through the bars. He knew what we have so recently forgotten. He lived it. With all his soul and his heart. And we honor that memory by parking our rides. I am somewhat disgusted with myself.

So, tomorrow, there's a ride for Dave. Down some of the same back roads that he used to ride and from his favorite watering hole to the next.... And I'll dust off the mighty ZX12 and I'll ride. I have to. I'll not allow myself to show even more disrespect. I think that's why there's ride's for fallen comrades. I think it's to get us back on our steel. Because as I've said before, it's real easy to find reasons not to ride.....

In the last few days Dave's name has come up quite a bit. An impromptu get together was held at the local watering hole where people sang Dave's songs and told Dave's stories. The place was packed. We'd gotten there early and had front row seats. In the classiest of moves, the motorcycles parked out front had left a single parking spot open.

I watched gruff, bearded bikers tear up with memories of their friend. I watched his closest friends, the people he loved, sit helplessly still trying to believe it wasn't true. The sad part was when I arrived, like a hundred other times, in a moment of pure habit, I scanned the bikes to see if Dave was there. We stayed for a while and honored Dave's life, then when it was time, we gave up our seats for those closer to him and quietly made our way out.

Dave was there. in that open spot between the Harley's. Laughing that loud overbearing laugh that got him his moniker. We just couldn't see him is all.

And I think Dave will be on that ride tomorrow. And maybe on every other ride we take, forever. And Dave, and others that have fallen, will keep us safe. And over time, the wheelies will get longer, and the speeds will get higher, and we'll saddle up again with confidence, because it's what we do. It's who we are. Dave knew this, we've only recently forgotten. I will choose to honor the memories of my fallen friends. Those that I knew, and those that I should have known better. I will ride.

There is nothing to learn here. There is no "shoulda", "woulda", "coulda". There is only drunk, balless idiots that took a life. It is not respectful or caring for us to hang up our spurs. It is submission. There is nothing profound about that. I will ride. I will ride for the love of riding alone. And if someday I too am chosen, then I will go how Dave did. With pride, and with the love of my friends.

And I'll be there too, when they ride for me.

So long Dave.

David Barnett - August, 2005