Years ago I heard the phrase “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” At the time I just thought it was something old people said, probably from some 70’s less than B-Grade biker movie. While I’m far from an old man, I’m creeping near my 30-year anniversary of motorcycles coursing through my veins. As I take a look back through the things I’ve been fortunate enough to experience on two wheels, it reminds me of how easy it would have been to miss some of those experiences.

Some of the time, life simply gets in the way. Work obligations, family plans, and maybe even your budget can keep you from those “dream rides” you may have planned. When I worked full-time in the motorcycle industry, the whole joke was that when you get serious in the industry, you never get to ride anymore. I remember telling people it was quality over quantity. I may have not ridden much, but when I did, it was in an epic location and usually on a rad motorcycle.

Myself and the boss man here at DCP have even spent a lot of time on the road together. We’ve been caught in a monsoon for an entire day in Arizona, we tried (and failed) to get our Iron Butt certification slamming miles through the night on I-10, and even circumnavigated California, riding up US-1 and then back down through Yosemite and Sequoia National Parks. By the way, make sure you visit Yosemite Valley. With other crews I’ve surfed the curves of the dragon in Tennessee, nearly spent a night in the clink after some hooliganism in Arkansas and enjoyed delicious gas station breakfasts across the Ozark region of Southern Missouri. Am I bragging about everywhere I’ve been? Far from that. I haven’t ridden half the miles that most of you reading this have! What I’m trying to illustrate is, none of us are promised tomorrow. Epic trips with your best friends are out there waiting.

Over the last few months, I’ve told you where to go several times. I’ve praised the benefits of rallies and boasted about how those “out of riding season” indoor shows are awesome trips to make. I’ve documented how fast things can change with the crash our owner had on his Road Glide. We don’t know when things might change drastically. It could be with our health or financial situation, but what I’ve learned is the best time to do something is now. In my 20’s I chased my dream of being a professional motorcycle racer. I didn’t accomplish much, and I drained my IRA and racked up tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt. I can remember both of my parents telling me how foolish I was to blow all that money to chase a dream. What I told them then and I stand by now is that in my 20’s I have the ability, but maybe not the money to go racing. However, in my 50’s I might have the money, but there’s no way I would have the ability to go racing at the professional level. I bought the ticket, and I took the ride. Damn proud that I did.

During the winter I bought another ticket. And now, 543 words in, I’ll tell you about the ride. One of my best friends is a man named Weston Frank. He’s currently the mayor of Mount Vernon South Dakota, A Country and Western singer (seriously, go find his music on iTunes, Spotify or Youtube or follow him @westonfranklive) and he’s really into old cars, guitars and sewing machines. A renaissance man if you will. Weston had always wanted a CB350 and when he pulled the trigger on one, and then bought a second, the two wheels that make up my brain started turning.

With two vintage Hondas in his garage and me trying to find a creative way to “return” to the Sturgis Rally as an attendee instead of as a vendor, we started hatching a plan. I would fly in; we would hop on the bikes and ride across the state on the back roads to the largest motorcycle event in the world. There was only one hiccup…that second bike was NOT a CB350. It was a CB175. Weston and I are both are the larger side of slim, and a CB175 won’t quite pull a greased string out of a hogs hind end. Not to say a CB350 is a rocket ship, but we at least wanted to be able to cruise at 50mph with our “heft” on board. Back to the drawing board we went. A few months later another bike popped up that was also on Weston’s “to own” list, a 1966 Honda Dream 305. The only problem at this point was that his wife was onto our little caper. No worries though, I snuck him the cash, he picked the bike up and just like that, we were back in business.

While Weston is a capable mechanic and those old Hondas are not only simple but very reliable, they still needed some attention before we headed across the Mount Rushmore State. With access to a vintage Honda guru, both bikes were gone over and fresh parts were fitted as needed. All systems were pointing to go. The plane tickets were booked and we even lined up a chase truck driver. Weston’s brother Carson and his girlfriend Chloe volunteered to make sure that no matter what, we got there and back. The ride didn’t start off as planned, as our first few test rides didn’t turn out so well. Apparently, my bike needed more than 1/64^th of a tank to fuel to run and Weston’s bike needed a few petcock modifications and then on the next to last test ride, he lost his gas cap. Remember that CB175? Well, it came to the rescue, as it’s gas cap was a perfect fit. We saddled up for one final test ride and well, we never stopped!

Weston had insisted that we get helmet coms for the trip. I told him he was a sissy and that only nerds wore com systems. Truth is, this trip wouldn’t have been the same without them! If you’re going on a trip with friends, get the helmet to helmet communicators, they are worth their weight in gold. We talked about funny things we saw, if we needed gas, every time a bike had a little random miss and came up with marketing ideas that will never work. Needless to say we had a blast. At a top speed of 53mph, the miles crept by as we took the long way to Sturgis. True bikers are what we were! We knew Weston’s charging system on the ’66 Dream wasn’t up to snuff so as the sun went down, we pulled over for a battery swap and off we headed into the night.

By the time we got into town, we were tired, sore, and Weston’s headlight looked like a candle. The thing we couldn’t get over was that at no point in our 12 hour ride (it’s a 4 hour drive on the interstate…) did we truly think we would make it. We were optimistic, but with a chase vehicle, we knew it was no loss if the bikes gave up on us. But there we were, in line at Sweeto Burrito for some late night sustenance outside of the Iron Horse. We bought the ticket, took the ride, now it’s time to enjoy the fruits of our labors.

Over the next 3 days we saw old friends, Weston got a real tattoo and I got a stencil (a whole ‘nother story for another time) we had pizza, got pulled over, and Weston won $1300 at a Deadwood casino. We didn’t even get any tickets, but the “temporary cops” sure were leery of our vintage plates. Everywhere we stopped, people wanted to talk about our bikes. Most gravitated to Weston’s ’66 Dream, but we both agreed after all the show bikes we had ridden around there over the years, we got more attention on these $1500 bikes than on $100,000 custom rides that were passing us by. At the end of it all, we decided that riding the bikes back home was pushing our luck. Weston had a show to play that he couldn’t miss, and with no room for failure, that Ford Econoline sure was looking like a great option. We made his show, I got back on my plane to Alabama the next day and now a few weeks later I get to share the story.

For the next 50 years we will tell the story of our 2022 Sturgis Rally adventure. We named it “Red Hondas, Black Hills.” Time with friends can’t be replaced, and neither can the stories that you make up along the way. Make a plan. Stick to it. Build stories of your own. Buy the ticket, take the ride.