POCONO BIKER NEWS
MEL, THE TWO-WHEELED PATRIARCH
By Jeff Bahr
Talk to most any father who has sons in their twenties and you’re likely to hear horror stories. Chief amongst these will be tales of a seeming inability for the two generations to relate harmoniously, and a total meltdown in communications between them. For some reason fathers and sons at this stage of life’s journey mix about as well as liberals and conservatives, although unlike those battling politico’s, they very rarely even know from what their friction stems. I’ve always found this a bit odd. After all, were talking the same bloodline here. By such virtue aren’t these guys supposed to be playing for the same team?
Yet despite this rather sad fact, every so often some lucky dad discovers a way to bridge this gaping generational chasm between himself and his offspring. My riding pal Mel is such a fortunate man, but before we pat him on the back too hurriedly, (we wouldn’t want him to become swell-headed, would we?) we should first realize that he cheated a bit to make it happen. How? Simple. He very cunningly paraded a shiny new Harley Davidson Road King in front of his two sons and stepped back to watch nature (and testosterone) take its course. One shrewd dude, this guy Mel, wouldn’t you say?
Of course to hear Mel himself tell the story, he’ll say that it’s nothing he did intentionally. In fact he is as surprised by the outcome and circumstances that prompted it as anyone. Some background here might help explain things a bit. Mel took up riding way back in the 1960’s, during the flower-power hippie era to be precise, when he himself was just a wee lad in his twenties. He loved the sport straight off and rode his ever-changing roster of bikes just about every chance he got up until 1983. In that pivotal calendar year, he experienced a number of close calls on the road that so rattled him he decided to hang up his helmet for good. He sold his bike and that was that. But of course, it wasn’t. Could it ever really be? In the ensuing years Mel was frequently tortured wondering if he’d made the right decision. If he had, why in hell did he still sense the loss so acutely? Certainly a correct choice shouldn’t feel so damned incorrect, should it? It’s a question that would play on his mind throughout the years, but that aside, he nevertheless stood pat by his original decision to remain a sidewalk commando and the sport of motorcycling continued to roll on without him.
Then on one particularly dark day just a couple of years back, Mel was diagnosed with cancer. Talk about your proverbial ton of bricks. Quite happily his form of the disease was treatable and he wasted no time in getting the necessary help. Two years later his status improved markedly as the frequency of his treatments blessedly lessened. Never one to complain, it would almost seem that the experience hadn’t affected Mel one iota. But it undoubtedly had. Sensing his mortality like never before he quickly adopted a new rationale and began living by it. “Some damn thing is going to get you eventually in life” he would announce to anyone within earshot. It was a liberating mindset that sent him off on a tear to enjoy life to its absolute fullest. Working toward that gratifying end his first official order of business was buying a new motorcycle, but not just any motorcycle, you understand. Oh, no. He figured since his new plan was all about fulfilling lifelong dreams; he might as well go the full Monte, no matter what the cost. So, throwing caution to the wind he bought a 2000 Harley Road King in his favorite menacing shade of black and began to put his life back in order. Unbeknownst to him his two sons were paying particularly close attention to this very intriguing move and making their own rather sudden plans. Hmm… Soon Mel would discover that there might just be a silver lining in every dark cloud, after all. Without a doubt, there certainly seemed to be one in his.
Snick up through the gears to the present and you can plainly see how the magical seed of motorcycling has taken root. Son Marc 25 was first to take the plunge by getting himself a Suzuki Katana. But he wasn’t alone. On that very same day his brother-in-law Todd 29 picked one up as well. Older son Dave 27 dragged his heels a bit longer (if only to raise the loot) but finally scored himself a new Harley Wide Glide. After witnessing this Dave’s friend Ron simply couldn’t bear the thought of being the odd man out on weekends, so he jumped in and snared himself a Harley Fat Boy. Cheepers! This snowball effect occurred so blazingly fast that Mel’s wife Dorothy was moved to quip: “look what you’ve started now Mel!” with a practiced smirk that can only be developed by 35 blissful years of marriage - but of course a telling wink did accompany her comment. Mel looked at what was happening before him, and very much liked what he saw. He pondered though why it required something as dire as the big “C” to finally show him the light; to lead him back to something he should never have left in the first place.
As a very fitting epilogue, most any Sunday finds this hastily formed “gang” plying the bucolic back roads of eastern Pennsylvania, and defying conventional stereotypes concerning father and son relationships. Heck, it says something for father and son-in-law mixing too! And to Mel that part comes as the real icing on the cake. The group is currently planning a rather ambitious run, a road trip to the Sturgis rally way, way off, in South Dakota. It was chosen because it just so happens to be one of Mel’s great-unrealized dreams. Listening to the fellows’ enthusiasm in planning the run, it immediately becomes apparent that they are going to achieve this –by hook or by crook. But even if it never comes to pass, I don’t suppose Mel would be too disappointed. After all he gets to spend quality time with his sons each and every weekend, tearing down cursed generational barriers as he goes, and he gets to do all of this while astride his shiny black Road King – a life-giving force that’s just the right tool to stick it good to the big “C”! Not too shabby a deal, really. Not too shabby at all.
For proof, just ask any dad who has communication problems with his sons, and doesn’t happen to own a Harley. His frazzled look will tell the story - the whole sordid story…
Epilogue:
Mel continues to enjoy life and remains unfazed by something as paltry as a little cancer. In fact, he and his sons just returned from Sturgis with each declaring that they had just taken the absolute best trip of their lives. Mel, or the “Fonz” as he’s now affectionately called, is already plotting another major bike run, this one to Arizona’s Grand Canyon. When you factor in all that he has been through, this place, probably more than any, is a fitting spot for his next visit. Why? Because Mel has spanned the distance between two great chasms, the generational one with his sons, and that gaping threatening divide; his own mortality. Yep, he absolutely deserves the honor of spitting into the great void once he arrives at the canyon’s rim. And being that he’s The Fonz, feared and respected, I imagine his minions will immediately follow suit. Hey, they have to. They saw this ornery dude blow off the grim reaper like he was a pimple-faced kid peddling candy! You don’t screw around with someone like that. Not even if your life depends on it…
Give ‘em hell, Mel!
Ride on, my brother…