| Author | Message | ||
     Court |
I've dusted this off from 1995. It seems fitting. There a day's I can't stand what this sport does to me; there are days I couldn't be without it. Andy was loved by everyone he came in touch with. Court Canfield Back around 1970 the legendary Eric Clapton sang a song that left subliminal memories lingering with a generation as he held the last word six counts and the line "had to cry today" slowly faded. We were immortal then, we could not have understood. A year later, 3 shots from a 12-gauge shotgun gave me a glimpse, as I lay in a hospital bed, of how briefly we stir dust on the mother ship. Some learn the lesson that life is not a dress rehearsal, some think they do and some pass without ever knowing. It may have been some strange cognitive symbiosis, an unlikely and random association of events triggered by experiences, but for whatever reason as the years passed by faster and faster I learned an important lesson. The halcyon days of peace, fulfillment and tranquility were always just "around the next bend". I recalled, while in pre-school, how I longed to be a kindergarten student. I wanted that nap time and snack. I hadn't taken many of those wonderful 15-minute naps in Miss Ray's class before I longed for first grade, with its full day and two recess periods. By something like the 4th recess period of 1st grade, I was hearing rumors of the kids in 2nd grade using "real" pencils, not these 5/8" diameter "kid" things. The cycle continued. I recall so many of those moments, 7th grade with it locker and changing classes, being a Senior, off the college, independence, my own place off campus, getting married, the first apartment, the boys, the first "starter" home, the first "new" home.........you know the drill. It was as I sat alone, early one Sunday morning, at Point Loma. I made a weekly ritual of going there during a tough time alone. I thought and reflected. As I reflected, one day the above scenario began to play over and over in my head. I could literally "roll the tape ahead". I got scared, real scared. I was scared that someday the end of my life would come and I would be just approaching that bend, that blind corner, around which lie fulfillment of everything my life meant or was intended to mean. I would have raised my children, seen their children, retired, spent my mornings drinking too much coffee, sitting on the porch, overlooking the beach and writing, but I would still be basing today's happiness on the outcome or occurrence of a future event. I decided to adopt a way of living, replete with its concomitant shortfalls, which would allow me to make today the ONLY day I needed to be happy. I could dream and you've read my stories on dreaming; I love to dream. I'd have aspirations, goals and a place I was headed. But today's happiness would allow me to look in a mirror, at any day in my life, and say that if today was my last, I could honestly say to myself...."Now THAT was a life worth living". I'd have known love, fear, anger, fame, humility, and friends. I'd have laughed at things I shouldn't and cried as many times as I choked tears back. Even if there were more to do, yesterday will have been it's own benchmark. I hope Andy knew this lesson. Two incidents in my life brought me to grips with the concept that big boys cry. The first was the death of my Grandfather, a prince of a fellow to whom I had grown very attached, partly due to my fascination with the way he'd lived his life after being a key player in an upstart automobile company known as Cadillac. Henry loved life. The second was after a long night of waiting for my first son to be born. I was shuttling back and forth between an unconscious new mother in recovery, and the NICU where a small boy recovered from the trauma of a long night. As I stood there looking at him turning pinker with every breath, the sun shone brightly through the spires of the high school's famed tower modeled after a 120' high English castle. The sun hit the son. I cried. He had so much to learn and he'd do it so well. He's gone looking at college living facilities today. I didn't want to learn to cry and I don't like it, but I'm glad I learned. There are times I rely on faith, times on music, times on friends and there are those times that only crying will do. That is as it should be. I didn't want to cry today and I'm mad about it because I shouldn't have to. Andy Spiegal was a living, breathing dichotomy of a person. At times torn inside, he struggled at time to keep the faith. He never struggled for the smile. The first time I met Andy I enjoyed the kinship that immediately endeared him to anyone whose motorcycle had a suspension or just loved life and people. Quotationists abound to tell us “tis better to give than receive”. Who can forget the lingering lyrics “and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make”. While the world around him quoted and sang, Andy, even on the days he was depressed, remained a “one man giving machine”. I number at about two the motorcyclists who have told me they loved me, Andy was one and I always knew what he meant whether we were eating fast food or carving the back roads of New Jersey. I haven’t ridden with Andy in a while, but know some of the folks who do. Their accounts, spoken from the heart, tell me my dear friend was snatched from me unchanged from the person I recall. Carly Simon sung, in “Touched by the Sun” about the risks freely undertaken by those who choose to step from the passenger seat to the helm of live, those who insist on the view from the •••••••• Each person who has leaned a motorcycle into a corner has traded a bit of safety to reach for the sun. The smell of the morning air off Lake Isabella or the mist in a New York Forest are ours, up close and personal, the reward for reaching. We're not immortal; I know that. The years have taught me. But, we do have a place to be next week and given the slightest chance we can affect that, we will. We will do everything, reasonably in our power, to protect ourselves against the dangers of motorcycling. When those efforts fail but one of us, I still sit and cry. I'm not up to writing much longer tonight. Now I know what Clapton meant................" I had to cry today ". Court | ||
| Turnagain |
I never met Andy, but would always checked his posts. You can run a search for Author 'Andys' and see he was here to spread his vast knowledge. Thanks Court. Steve(2) edited by turnagain on July 13, 2004 | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
Denise and i were at Laguna Seca all weekend, arriving home only a few hours ago. we were, needless to say, amped from the last four days. D sleeps as i type this, a victim of adrenaline, sun, sleep deprivation, miles, and the reality of going back to work at four in the morning. i can't unwind that easily. i always look forward to "hitting the boards" after an awesome riding weekend, eager to see what i've missed. it's a dose of cruel reality to hear that a member of our sport has died, especially as you played the same game. i never spoke to Andy, directly, and only just a tiny bit indirectly. i only knew him from BADWEB, and even then just a little, but a little seemed a lot, in terms of what glowed off the computer screen. i choose not to get all Hallmark here, but sometimes you can tell simply from a printed word the character of the person who typed that word. when Andy "resurfaced" recently on BADWEB, he seemed a little surprised that anyone remembered him, and even more so that anyone cared enough to say, "Hey!" i was glad to see his posts again, as were many others, and i can't really tell you exactly why his words felt so good, but they did, and after reading tributes to him here and on SacBORG here for the last hour, it seems readilty apparent that Mr. Speigel was a special gift to us. Court, thanks for your emotion above. Denise and i logged some large life this weekend, the kind of stuff i bet Andy loved. i feel so alive when i ride, and i bet Andy did, too. i bet he'd tell us all to NOT stop. if there's any final justice to be had, a reluctant, grudging truth for those of us who ride to lean, maybe it is the hope that those who have touched our lives in some way, small or magnificent, get to live on in the spirit of those left behind, those fortunate few blessed by the warmth of a beautiful soul. Andy, any time you wanna suit up, fire up, and show me the way just say the word. ride in peace. Ferris & Denise |
