Paul Richardson: When time produces friends

I have an old friend that I stopped by to visit with over the weekend. I say old, but in the course of events I have known him going on twenty-two years.

I have many friends that are approaching the duration of my entire life, so this one is actually setting at about thirty-two percent. But I have known him for a piece.

This friend of mine is my senior by fifteen years, so he is knocking on eighty’s door. Still in good health and mentally seems to be the same old guy that I have always know. 

When we were still acquaintances, I was preparing for a trip to California during which I was going to haul my motorcycle in the back of a moving van and then make the return trip on the bike. My dad had just passed away and my dear mother was moving to California to live with my sister. 

As part of the preparation, she had sold property and had an auction to thin out personal belongings. The remainder she was moving with her for furnishing her new abode and maintaining her life. My plan was to load all the items that were headed to the west coast, take my bike and then make a therapeutic ride home. The good wife was not comfortable with me making this trip alone, so she approached a group that we were associated with attempting to solicit someone to make the journey with me. It was then that this acquaintance stepped forward.

We had never been on a trip together before and had not really spent much time in each other’s company. But, off we go to California with a moving van packed to the hilt and two motorcycles riding in the back. 

By alternating drivers, we made it to our destination almost non-stop. It was not record time because the rented moving van struggled with some of the steeper grades as we were crossing the mountains.

Arriving at my sister’s home in the middle of the night, we immediately stopped to sleep and the next morning were up bright and early anticipating the much-needed ride home. 

My sister’s home was in a gated community and motorcycles were not allowed inside the gates. Our bikes, however, had arrived in the back of the moving van, unseen by all and in the middle of the night. So, the next morning we off-load our bikes, pack up and ride straight out the front gates. We were immediately chased and stopped by one of their “security” officers. 

While there wasn’t anything, they could do to us, my niece who was with us gave up her mom’s name and address. A couple of weeks later a $450 ticket arrives in the mail. She got out of it.

This entire journey was filled with adventure and established a great friendship. I will pick up here next time and share some more about our adventures coming home from California.
(Paul Richardson's column runs weekly in the Neosho Daily News, Seneca News-Dispatch and on the Turner Report.)