Rodger remembered. The cake is on the table when we all ride in for breakfast at JJs. GREATER LIBERTY RIDERS SECOND ANNIVERSARY written in red atop that white sheet cake. Rodger had called ahead to tell them we were coming and order the cake. Now as we assemble, he stands to say, “Two years ago this crazy man named Ed Chasteen was riding 10,000 miles to raise money for MS, and the MS society sent out an invitation for riders to join Ed on Saturdays. Ed rode everyday. But he wanted company on Saturdays. Several of us came that first Saturday in November two years ago. We enjoyed it so much we kept coming back. And Ed volunteered to keep our email addresses on his computer and send us weekly reminders of our Saturday destinations.”
From Mt. Gilead Church out on Plattsburg Road, 16 of us this morning have ridden 15 winding, hilly miles and propped our bicycles along the storefronts to either side of JJs. On this tweener morning, some wear shorts; others, gloves and head covers beneath their helmets. We pull tables together so we can tell our stories. While Julie and her helper take our orders and bring our food, we each in turn give our name and tell something about ourselves. None of us today is a first time rider, but some of us have not ridden together before. More than 200 have ridden at least once with us on a Saturday, but we never have had exactly the same group. Seldom do we all know each other, though about a dozen are regulars. Aside from the Saturday in May when some 200 riders come for a special ride, we draw two or three on raw winter days and 25 to 30 on pleasant spring and fall Saturdays. But if there is no ice, we ride every Sarturday.
My time comes to speak: “Next Saturday we ride to Excelsior Springs and breakfast at Mill Inn. It’s my birthday. I’m buying everyone’s breakfast. If the weather’s bad, come in your cars. Bring friends. I have lots of money. I want to buy your breakfast.”
Even if I didn’t plan to ride last every Saturday, natural ability would put me there. My high school teammates understood irony when they nicknamed me “Speedy”. A feeling of responsibility compels me to bring up the rear. If anyone breaks down or gets lost or has any problem, I want to be there.
Richard hangs back this morning to ride with me. We talk in route about movies, our parents, where we’ve lived, rides we remember. I tell him about riding one day with Bobbie at Watkin’s Mill and locking both sets of car keys in the trunk. Then having to ride in search of a phone to call a locksmith.
Richard and I are the last ones back to Mt. Gilead. His truck and my car are the only vehicles left. “I may have a problem,” Richard says as he feels in his bike bag. Then peers in the window of his truck. The bag on the seat holds his keys. And the truck is locked. I offer to drive him to his home in Independence. But as we make our way back toward Liberty, Richard uses my cell phone (His is locked in his pickup.) to call his son. He has me drop him at Cody’s Quick Stop at the intersection of Lightburne and Mill, where his son will get him. He calls Dave at Biscari Brothers to tell him I’m bringing his bike in for repair or replacement of his odometer, and he will pick it up after his son comes and they drive to Mt. Gilead.
I ask riders every Saturday to write their names in a notebook I carry. I ask our newest rider to sign first. Nan Lueckert rode with us last week for the first time. She signs first. In order around the table, these are our other riders this week: Bill Hessel, Rodger Suchman, Greg Snodgrass, Petra Toye, Melanie Linderer, Aaron Sims, Brian Harvey, Cindy Harvey, Easel Roberts, Rolland Yoakum, Ed Chasteen, David Eaton, Richard Mark, Kevin White and Steve Hanson.
HateBusters
Box 442
Liberty, MO 64069
Phone: 816-803-8371
e-mail: hatebuster@aol.com
No Boundaries On Our Soul!
