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@we-royal-wingmen
Conversations with Mace
Casual Observer: You know... they say there are those who have crashed their motorcycles, and there are those who will crash their motorcycles.
Me: You know... there are those who know firsthand the freedom and serenity of life in the saddle, and there are those who cower behind the oversimplified statistics of clever dualistic axioms.
—Mace of Spades
Don't let this photo trick you...we're getting absolutely dumped on just north of Manhattan at a suspect rest stop enroute to Wickford, R.I....this kinda sucks, you guys. I miss the other half of our flock of wingmen. Wish y'all were getting punished with us.
Bro, do you even Scrapple?
Just after crossing the Maryland border, we asked some adorable little kids selling lemonade on the sidewalk for a breakfast recommendation. We were enthusiastically encouraged to eat at a place called Our House, a tiny little classic American diner that does not see a whole lot of foreign traffic. Our favorite type of establishment.
We perused the menu whilst eavesdropping the various conversations about local politics and general disgust at the concept of a separated church and state.
One item on the menu stood out. We reckoned it was a type-o, but figured we’d ask anyway.
Us: “What’s scrapple?”
Waitress #1: “Y’all never heard of scrapple?! Hey, Mary Beth! These boys never heard of scrapple!”
Now, these gals LOVE them some scrapple. They spent the next few minutes trying to describe it to us. It sounded pretty suspect, so we ordered our brekkie sans scrapple.
Then the little sweethearts informed us that they split the price of an order of scrapple to buy for us to try. Damn. We decided not to look up what it is until after we were forced to try it.
They brought it over, fresh out of the deep fryer, no less, and hovered over us while we feigned excitement about placing a corner of the brick of fried stuff into our faces.
"MMMM… it’s… interesting"
Once they walked away, I managed to bury most of the scrapple under my remaining food and napkins.
These ladies were absolute dears, but they can keep their scrapple. I reckon it’s not coincidental that you can’t spell “scrapple” without “crap.”
—Mace of Spades
Aside from the severely ball-punching speed limits and ample police officers more than willing to enforce them, Virginia was absolutely gorgeous. Condemned shanty homes awkwardly coupled with epic plantations lined the 13 North and kept us entertained during the first 120 miles. Only 420 left to go until Rhode Island. Big day. Heised-tea
0517: Pre-Dawn Departure
You thought the 'Wingmen had folded their aerial appendages and settled down into their respective nests, didn't you? You thought it was all over, didn't you? Well . . . it ain't. Heisenhower and I have just completed our first week of new employee orientation here it Norfolk. We've got to be in New Jersey Monday night to begin training. Instead of jumping on the shuttle directly to the hotel, we decided to make a road trip out of it. He's got family in Rhode Island, so we're headed up thatta way. It's about 540 miles from here, which is longer than any day we've done so far. Thus, we are currently loading up the Hawks as the Atlantic sunrise casually defeats the parking lot lights in the battle to provide illumination for mankind. It's gonna be a long day. Standby for updates.
Well moms, you’ll be happy to know that all four wingmen have arrived in Virginia. After 22 days and well over 5000 miles, the ‘Wings have landed. A crowning achievement to complete what we sought, and a sobering wake-up in that reality starts tomorrow morning.
This voyage started many weeks prior to our departure. From it’s inception, this trip has consumed us. Hunting for suitable bikes, planning, maintenance, bragging, and most importantly hyping each other up for the road.
Collectively our bikes are over 120 years old. This trip, we collectively put over 21,000 miles on these machines, and not ONCE did they even blink. On the coldest mornings in the mountains of Arizona they cranked to life. In the fantastic heat waves and traffic Tennessee, they radiated heat in all the wrong places but never quit running. Charging headlong for hours daily at blistering pace through the red dust clouds of West Texas. Hurling man and machine through lightning and torrential downpour of East Texas. Rambling down the caliche dirt or on manicured highway, these steeds never caved in… neither did their jockeys.
It’s been a real pleasure, three of my best friends tackling such a feat. Thanks, ‘Wingmen. A sincere thanks.
More to come on the blog as we dig through the footage and pictures
-Dallas D
We decided that since the highlighter-colored rando had followed us all the way across the country, we'd let him join our crew. This is a bittersweet border crossing for us, as it will be our last. 120 more miles to Norfolk, where this journey will draw to a sad, sad close. —Mace of Spades
The wingmen cross the North Carolina border on our way to get pulled pork tacos! Tail of the Dragon is intensely curvaceous. -Dallas D
Meet the trinket sector. Every one of our bikes has a leather cover over the cubby on the port side of the dash. We've dubbed this the trinket sector, and we've been collecting trinkets along the way to fill it up. Our trinkets are kind of a big deal. We take them very seriously. —Mace of Spades
Sad wingmen. Our last breakfast on the road. Norfolk, here we come. I hope for all of our liver's sake it's a dry town.
You guys are going to get lit up with photos for the next three hours. I've literally never been so excited for a sporting event. I've been a nascar fan from waaaaayyy back...oh wait, nope. This is the first time I've ever seen a race, not even on TV...and I am front and center in the real deal. Wish more of you people could be here with us in Charlotte, North Carolina! - Jimmie Johnson #48/Heise P.S. - are any of you aware you can bring any quantity of beer you desire into a nascar race without charge? #'merica
America…… #Nascar
-Dill-sauce
If you're in Knoxville in May, make a point of checking out the Knoxville international Biscuit Festival. Dill and I are biscuit guys from considerably far back, so naturally we had to sample the offerings. We were not disappointed. —Mace
RIDER-TO-RIDER GREETINGS
It's pretty standard for motorcyclists to greet one another when passing in opposite directions. It's kind of like a two-wheeled solidarity salute. Occasionally a rider will not return a greeting, which is pretty rude and just strange. I mean, it's like someone leaving you hanging on a high-five. Usually if a rider doesn't signal back, the odds are bent heavily in favor of that dude being on a Harley.
On this trip we invented a new greeting that we like to call "the emphatic wave." We especially enjoy throwing this one up to guys who appear to be taking themselves far too seriously on their Harleys. It's tough to ignore four dudes on massive Gold Wings who are emphatically waving at you.
And since we all have communication systems in our helmets, we can synchronize our wave to start all at once which hits 'em with a blindside that they are totes unprepared for. We generally laugh for about five minutes after issuing an emphatic wave. Try it. You'll love it.
Three . . .
Two . . .
One . . .
EMPHATIC WAVE!!
—Mäson
Traveling with Dallas is like traveling with a very loud and stinky puppy dog, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
—Mäson
I finally got around to editing this fine piece from back in Utah. Host, Joel Mason. Special guests, Dillon Lancaster and Evan Heise. Filmography, Dallas Downing. -Dallas D
Because this trip is drawing to a close, I had to post Jocelyn on Craigslist this morning. What a bummer! anybody in Virginia want to buy her?
-Dallas D