Too often, kind words spoken about someone are said when it’s too late. A memorial service is the wrong time to express the influence a person had on your growth, the way they counter-steered your development in the right direction, how they shepherded your life. I will not make that mistake.
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The sign in the truck made my head tilt to the side with curiosity, like a Labrador hearing the far off squeak of a chipmunk. It was a worn, hand carved wooden sign that the muddy truck displayed proudly on its back window as it hauled a rack full of dirty snowmobiles. It declared a simple, often misunderstood saying: Loud Pipes Save Lives.
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I had a new mission. My crusade was to seek the American ideal of love for our fellow countrymen everywhere I rode. The quest took me three weeks, covered eight states and over 4,000 miles. What I found brought joy, pain, and changed how I ride and write forever. All because of a quilt show in the small hamlet of High Plains.
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