story for my brother, may he ride in the clouds

THE RUN TO FLORIDA
FOR BARTON BECK
by James Beck


I have ridden motorcycles for over 40 years. I was taught by my older brother. I love bikes and I respect them. I’ve been hurt by them and I have hurt them. I have been on the asphalt with them and on the dirt. I have ridden short distances and long distances for many reasons. I have been rained on, snowed on, been through a West Texas dust storm and even took a honeymoon on one. The day I decided that I was going to Florida on one, was for a whole different reason. An Arctic Blast was what the weather man called it and it was a good one. I knew that it was coming but at that time I did not know that I would be in the middle of it.

You see, My younger brother Bobby, who lives Wichita Falls, Texas, called me and told me that our older brother, Bart, who lives in Brooksville, Florida, was in the hospital, very sick. I had known he had a few problems, but his being in the hospital bothered me. I didn’t know where Brooksville was. Bobby had said that Bart’s wife, Lynn, had called and said she was on her way back to the hospital, and would call later. I told Bobby to call me when he heard what was up. He did.

Bobby asked me if I was sitting down. “This ain’t good,” I thought. I told him I was, and he said that Bart was gone. We lost our brother. Bart was 56 years old. I asked how it happened, the whole of it not sinking in yet. He said that he had septicemia. I know what this is, because I fell ill with it on the job as a cop. He said that a leaking valve or artery and the diabetes did not help, and he had a heart attack. He said that he would try to learn more. I told him that I would call him later. I went outside and told my wife that Bart had died. She was on the phone at that time with my sister Pam, who had known that Bart was sick. This was a sad time.

Later, when I talked to my brother Bobby, I made mention that a memorial run to Florida was due. I knew he had a bike that would make it there and back. I had seen his new ride just a few months before. I had taken a trip on my 08 Electra Glide (yes a bagger), up to Wichita Falls. I had left my job as an Investigator for the Aransas County Sheriff’s Office, when the new Sheriff took over. I told Bobby I was not in the best financial shape, and the gas on the bike would be cheaper that in the truck. Also, since Bart was a biker in all the sense of the word, this was our way to pay our dues. He agreed, and said that he would have to put it to paper, and see what he had left in his money. Bobby is a realtor in Wichita Falls. Housing sales are not so good right now.

I talked it over with my wife, and she left the decision to me. After all, at fifty-two, I am now the oldest living brother. I called Bobby and told him that I was in. I told him that it was going to be cold but that we would have to push on through it. Bobby said that his 1500 Vulcan would make the trip no problem. The first Barton Beck memorial run of the Beck brothers was a go. Now I needed to get off work from a job I have had only a few months. That turned out to be the easy part.

I collected some cash, a good credit card, and made the plans. I would ride from Rockport, Texas. Bobby would ride from Wichita Falls, Texas. We would meet in Houston, Texas, at our sister’s home in the Woodlands. I spent the better part of the Tuesday evening getting my bike ready, and packing my T-bag. I had received my Touring Handbook from HOG, which has excellent maps in it. I sewed the second patch from HOG onto my vest. It looked good along with the 2008 Golden Aspen Rally patch, and the one that says “I rode mine” Ruidoso 2008.

We met on a Wednesday night in Houston Texas. I had ridden up on my bike. My wife followed in her truck with extra coats and leathers for Bobby, since he had mentioned that he did not really have cold weather clothes. The next morning we were up and on the road at 5:00am. We stopped in The Woodlands to get gas. Traffic was lite, and it was the starting of the Arctic blast. It was forty nine degrees when we left the Woodlands, and never got higher than that. We stopped at The Waffle House in Orange, Texas, on I-10, and tried to warm up with coffee and food. I used the hand drier in the men’s room to warm up my hands and coat.

We hit Louisiana at about 11:30am. We were freezing, but we pushed on. East on I-10. Cold. The day was falling fast as we rode across Louisiana. The distance is almost as bad as crossing Texas, from El Paso to Houston. I tried to think about the road, and found my self thinking about the conversations that I had with my older brother. They were few and far between since the death of our dad in 1995, and our mom in 2001.

I remember that when our dad died in 1995, Bart was the one in Naples, Florida that had been taking care of him. I had flown into Ft. Meyers earlier in 1994 with our sister, and Bobby had picked us up at the airport. The trip was when our mom had taken sick. Mom and dad had semiretired there, after each of them had suffered a strokes at different times. We talked again at mom’s funeral. Bart had always preached the family thing. I believe in the family, but he had almost shoved it down our throats. I didn’t know it, but I was about to learn why.

We pushed on across Louisiana and into Mississippi. Night was upon us. The temperature had dropped, as did the sun, and the bikes were as frozen as the riders. We stopped in Pascagoula, Mississippi, at around 8:30pm. We got the key to the room at the motel and unpacked. Then, we stepped next door to Frank’s Buffet, and ate like we were hungry. We were. The TV weather news said that they were expecting freezing temperature, and bring in the plants. I thought about my bagger. I went out and got out the cover and covered her up.

Morning came, and with it the feeling that I had been on a motorcycle way to long the day before. I looked out and saw that Bobby’s bike had frost. We packed up, ate breakfast, got gas, then hit the road. Pushing on. Our goal was to reach Brooksville, Florida, by night time or we froze. We rode hard and steady through the bottom of Alabama. I had never seen the Battleship Alabama up close until then. We went down the tunnel in Mobile and out the other side, and there she was off to the right. I had searched for her on Google Earth one time long ago, when I was looking for the CVS 70 Carl Vinson, the aircraft carrier that my son, William, is on. This day I kind of peeked at her through the face buff that kept me warm. My helmet was keeping the heat on my head. She looked great sitting there, as does the Lexington aircraft carrier in Corpus Christi, Texas, near home. Home, a long way back there. We pushed on, across the Mobile, Alabama bridge, stopping to eat on the other side.

I checked the HOG travel book and saw that from the Alabama State line, down I-10 to 75 would be a way to go. We would keep moving on an interstate highway, instead of cutting down state highway 27 to 19. I wanted to keep moving, and not stop in cities. Bobby said that when he drove a truck through Florida, that was the way he went. We put on the cold weather gear, got gas, and pushed on. The temperature was dropping, and we had a long way to push South in one day. I was hoping for a temperature change, and I got it. It went down.

About thirty five miles into Florida I was in the far left lane of the three lane East bound I-10 and Bobby had just moved over to the middle lane so I could swing over. I was leading and he was off my right quarter when we both noticed the right rear mud-flap of the forty foot trailer in front of us in the far right lane banging away under the trailer. I looked at Bobby about the time it came loose. Bobby took the far right lane as the flap and metal bar was sliding towards us in the middle lane.
The timing seemed to be perfect and the flap was using the middle lane. I was still in the far left lane. Then it caught air and flew up and headed in my direction. I saw it and gripped the bars and ducked down onto my tank holding the bike steady and stared through the bottom of my windshield at the road to stay up. I knew at this speed I had a good chance of clearing it before it touched down. Wrong. Bobby saw the flap lift off the asphalt and new that it would hit me. It Did, my front tire went over the Rubber part and heard the clank of the metal bar under my bike.
I sat up and leaned my bike over as I road and Bobby came up beside me and looked under my bike to see any damage. Stopping now was out of the question and I did not want to use the pickup service I got with Hog. No oil leaking and no visible damage so we pushed on. The flap and bar met me as it hit the ground in front of my tire. I was lucky. It was cold, how cold I was to find out later.
Stopped for gas somewhere in between Pensacola and Tallahassee on the highway. Still cold. Warmed up with the hand drier again. Pushed on to Tallahassee and beyond. Stopped at the turn onto I-75. Got gas and saw dusk.
The day was ending and the cold got worse. I began to feel numb on the fingers and I was tired. I knew that I had ridden many more miles on a bike than Bobby and knew that he must be cold and tired.
I thought of Bart and knew that he would have done the same for any one of us. I was to learn that he had done this for bros in Florida. Night fell and found us cutting the speed down for safety sake. The road is black and that does not reflect the headlights well. I turned on the spot lights. Seemed to help some. I was still in the lead since my bike had cruise control and keeps us at a steady pace. The cold was biting into my toes in the steel toed Harley boots.
I was wearing long-johns, two t-shirts, a sweatshirt, vest and leather jacket and a pair if cover alls.
The cold was trying to beat us but it did not know why we were doing this and it was not going to win.
Stopped for gas at about eight fifteen. Cold and tired and one hundred and three miles to the Best Western in Brooksville. Pushed on. We rode into Brooksville Florida at ten thirty. I went in the office of the Best Western to get the keys to the room that had been reserved for us. The kid at the desk watched as I peeled off the helmet and face buff.
I looked at him and he said “you guys are crazy’ I asked for the key and then asked what the temperature was there. 28 degrees and fifteen mile an hour wind was the answer on the TV above the desk. Plus 65 miles an hour on the bikes gets us around,17 degree windshield.
Cold.
We rode around to the room and I looked for other bikes that maybe were there for the funeral of Bart. There were none that I saw. We entered the room and did not unpack until we thawed out. We stood looking out the window at the bikes standing over the heater in the room. Thawed out and hungry we rode to the Denny’s across the highway. Came back and saw a couple of bike down near the front as we rode past.
Next morning was Friday the day of the funeral. I showered and dressed and stepped out to greet the Florida sun. Cold but no where near the biting as the night before. We had pushed on and had made it and now the day was Bart’s.
I saw some men and women down near where the other bikes were.
I told bobby this and he got ready to go and meet them and see if they were here for Bart.
We walked to the group and the eyed us as if we were outsiders, we were.
I was within five feet of the group when I asked “y’all here for Bart”
the man closest to me said yes and the a few others said yes.
I then put out my hand and said “ I am James Beck” thanks for coming and shook every one’s hand and hugged the girls and thanked them. Bobby was doing the same when one of the men said “ are you the brothers from Texas. I said yes at the same Time as Bobby and then the hugging and hand shakes started again.
I was asked when did we arrive and how far was it. I said last night at ten thirty and it was twelve hundred and forty miles.
Someone said how did you make it through the cold and I said “for Bart”.
That seemed to be enough for all the bikers who had ridden miles with our brother, Bart, and they treated us as brother bikers. There were some from Brooksville, Naples and the Keys and one from Georgia. I’ll name as many as I can later.
We were then told that the procession would start at Bart’s favorite pub called RUE’S PUB.
Bobby said that he had passed it back when he was driving a truck for a living.
They said we all should be there around twelve thirty. Lynn would be there just before the Limo arrives.
Lynn, A sister in law that I had only seen in wedding pictures and talked to on the phone maybe three times. This would not be easy for me or Bobby to do because she knew and loved our brother and was there when he passed. I figured that if the tears fell so be it.
We arrived there at RUE’S Pub and saw that there were a lot of bikes in the lot. I pulled into an empty spot that would fit two bikes, across from the door to the pub. I learned later that this spot was for us and several bikes were stopped from parking there.
I met Mitch, the Pres of the Christan Riders group that Bart was a member of. After the handshakes and the hugs of the members, he said that we were put in line just behind the limo and Bart would be in a Cherry wood box inside with Lynn and her family. I learned that Bart had been cremated and Lynn’s brother had hand built the box in just a few days. My chest was pounding at the love that was flooding the air. I was blinking and had yet to meet Lynn.
The procession would then leave and travel the roads that Bart liked to ride, all the way to the Bushnell Florida National Cemetery. Bart was a Viet Nam Vet as I. He in the sixties and I in the early seventies.
He Served on the Aircraft Carrier Saratoga on the maiden voyage out of the Bremerton Washington Ship Yard in the sixties after our mother’s Grandfather designed the new carrier deck.
We were talking to a cute little lady named Kim, we turned when she did and there stood Lynn. She hugged someone and then we were pointed out to her. I went toward her and she put her arms around me and Bobby. I on one side and Bobby on the other. This hold lasted for a good while before we let go. Lynn said that Bart talked about us and asked if I was still the cop. I said yes but not like before.
Lynn then went and got the small box of Cherry wood. It was not sealed and friends and brother and sister riders were placing small personal items into the box. I took off my Texas Peace Officer dog tag and chain and placed it in the box.
It was time to line up the bikes as the limo had arrived. I was stepping out the door of the pub when Lynn handed me the Cherry wood box. I was asked to place it anywhere in the Limo. My heart beat with pride as I place the small box, that held the remains of Bart Wayne Beck, in the limo. I placed it square in the middle of the rear seat. “this is for you bro”.
My chest was pounding and I needed air. I walked over to the two County Deputies who were to escort us out of the county, since the Florida National cemetery is in the adjoining county. I introduced myself and thanked them for the service they were providing. I as a Deputy Sheriff had done this duty many times in the past.
We left the Parking lot and the roar of the twenty or so bikes was behind us. I felt small on my bike and very quiet. My stock pipes barley audible from the custom thumpers behind us.
We turned right from the parking lot went up the highway for a quarter of a mile then did a u-turn to head out. I was told earlier that the limo would travel Bart’s roads he liked to ride. The hills and curves made me believe that he enjoyed the ride. I did. We topped a hill and in my mirrors I could see the double line of motorcycles and then the long line of vehicles. I noticed that tears were streaming down my face or the mirrors were blurring. I blinked and stopped looking back. I focused on the back of the limo and keeping a distance from the vehicle.
The ride lasted forty minutes or so with the turns being slow because of the size of the Limo. Sometimes we just stopped in the road and let the Limo take the turn slowly.
We arrived at the gate to the Florida National cemetery and stopped. The gate attendant checked in the Limo and was told that there were a lot of vehicles.
The attendant came back to us and said stay in Isle three. We followed the limo in and stopped two or three city blocks from the gate in isle three. Then isle four was taken from the overflow of vehicles.
I felt proud that Bart had so many people that called him friend and that some where he had found peace with God and rode with a Christan group. I walked and talked to many a friend. I was told by several that they met Bart when he started building his knuckle. They had helped him and he had helped them on their bikes.

Twenty five minutes later and it was time to move to the Pavilion where there would be Marine color guard to give the memorial and a twenty-one gun salute for the service he had done for his country.
I was told to pass the limo when it stopped and circle out onto the road way so that all could park. I did this and there was still a long line of vehicles. I sat on one side of Lynn and Bobby on the other I held her hand and the hand of her grandmother who sat on my left. I felt the grandmother jump when the guns went off. Three times she was stirred. The flag was folded and handed to Lynn.
After it was over we stood and the Pastor asked who would be escorting the remains to the vault. Lynn asked Mitch to do it and I saw in this man the pride that I had felt at placing the box in the limo. There was no way that I would have objected to this. My chest was pounding.
When we left out of the Florida National cemetery I stopped traffic as the limo turned left and told Bobby to keep going. I had done traffic on several bike runs with other groups and this seemed to the the natural thing to do since I was in the lead and could do it safely.
Bobby kept on and I noticed that the second row rider filled my spot very smoothly.
I caught up with the group in the rear and followed them to several old watering holes that Bart like to go to. Then it was to Bart and Lynn’s home to give him the going away party he had asked for and deserved.
Stories were told and beer was passed around. Bart was gone and not forgotten. This I liked. One member of the group who had ridden many a mile with Bart and had know my parents when they lived in Florida, gave to me and my brother, Bobby, a compliment that I will cherish for as long as I live. Brad come up to me and said the journey we had taken in the freezing cold and the miles we logged to do this for Bart, our brother, proved that we were “Hardcore” I had heard this term in many ways but never towards me, this one meant the most. All I could say was “Bart would have done the same”. Yes, he would have.
I learned that Bart was a stickler for safety and that he had quit smoking and cut back on drinking and wanted every one to get along. He was known for his negotiation skills at breaking up a potential bar fight and was the first one to take up for a bro. I learned that he would drive or follow a bro home to make sure he made it. I learned that he had held Lynn as he exhaled his last breath.
I rode back to the motel thinking of the stories that were told of Bart’s adventures by friends.
I began to realize that my job here was done. We had been invited to a breakfast on Saturday but I began to feel the tug of the high way and the need to hold my wife.
The next morning I asked Bobby to pull out with me early and we would explain later. My whole being wanted to go home.
We hit the highway in seventy one degree weather and rode fast and steady to Mississippi.
From there we left on Sunday Morning and decided that if we hit Houston before dark that I would cut South and he would stop on the North side at our sisters.
We arrived outside of Houston just before dark. I said I was tired but needed to be at work on Monday the next morning. I was pushing on. I wanted to go home and hold my wife. I said my goodbyes to my brother and we split up at the Highway fifty-nine. I South and he North. Waving and he was gone.
I was getting very tired as I passed Victoria Texas, South bound on Hwy fifty-nine. Victoria Harley, I waved. My eyes were blurring. I was alone on the road and it was getting very late.
I began to wonder what would happen if I did not make it home. What would Missy, my wife do.
How would she survive. How would she pay bills. I noticed that my pipes were getting loud. This was something that I had not heard. I was thinking that this maybe be the burn in part of a new bike. I was pushing seven thousand miles now. Then I realized that the sound was not my bike but another. I looked around and saw nothing but the sound was still there. The sound of an old knuckle head , thump.
I knew that I was going to make it home, Bart was making sure I did.

To my brother Barton Wayne Beck may he forever ride in the clouds and watch over us.
To Lynn, my sister. Love is a small word, for what you and Bart had is much bigger. God bless.
To all the bros at the motel we had pictures made of and to Brad who kept saying I looked like Bart. Thanks, my life is energized with the family I have gained.
To Kim who without really knowing it, she made Bart smile.
To Victoria Harley, with the utmost respect for the service you have provided me.

Thanks
Hardcore Deputy James Beck
State Of Texas

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