Where’s Hank

Editor’s Comment: This post originally ran by me on a now-defunct Chopper Website that I started. It was recovered from the Wayback Machine and reposted here. Enjoy.

– Matt

A number of years ago, while on the Gypsy Run (an east coast chopper run/party), I was taking part in a large group ride on a beautiful September morning through the Catskills and around the Delaware River Valley. Just a few hours earlier, we had packed up all our crap on our bikes for the next night’s campground, grabbed some breakfast and started out down the road. We were rolling about 150 bikes that day, and I was about in the exact middle surrounded by a few close friends, and everything was shaping up to be a perfect day. We had just plowed through a small two horse town, rattling their windows from their sash, and eased out onto a long stretch of highway to blow out some carbon. That’s about when things got weird.

All of a sudden from the left, a small deer ran across the highway into the parade of loaded-down choppers. It hit about two bikes in front of me, clipping the bagger end of a new super-sparkle glide. Bag parts, pillows, tools, maps, and fur went everywhere. Everyone from that point back came to a quick stop on the shoulder and most, not seeing the deer disaster, started to try to figure out what just exploded in front of them.

Some started picking up junk from the roadway, I quickly found a ziplock bag with the bike’s registration papers…Hank (not his real name). Then it dawned on me and the rest of the crowd…where the heck is Hank! Where is the rest of his bike! About a dozen bikers took off into the woods off the right shoulder, trying to see any evidence of Hank. We searched for a long time, while someone else “took care of” the wounded deer. At least two cops drove by, neither stopped.

Eventually, we gave up looking for the dude, how could that many people miss a huge bagger laying in the ditch! We thought, “He must have kept going after being struck.” That was the only explanation. As we all said to each other, in amazement, “Who the heck keeps going like that!”, we packed Hank’s crap in our packs and headed back out to the next stop.

A few hours later, we pulled into the campsite with about half the group that we started out with. Walter, the Run’s leader came up to us saying that about halfway to the site he looked back and realized he had lost about 75 bikes and had no idea what happened to them. As we filled him in and handed him Hank’s paperwork from his roadside disaster, he got this look on his face and said “Hank’s right here,” and followed that up with a few colorful words under his breath…and then he stomped off to find Hank and have him go collect his crap from all of us.

That night, around the fire, we all told the story of Hank and imagined him getting hit so hard from the side and riding on without so much as a look in the mirror.  It turned out to be kinda funny.  Hank’s an idiot.

Someone on the Facebook group reminded me about this with a comment about a vest found on the side of the road.  I had totally forgotten about this.