{"id":467,"date":"2020-12-14T19:09:59","date_gmt":"2020-12-14T19:09:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bmwmotorcycles.local\/bmw_features\/dave\/"},"modified":"2025-04-02T21:42:37","modified_gmt":"2025-04-03T01:42:37","slug":"dave","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/dave\/","title":{"rendered":"Dave!"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>There was not a doubt in my mind. Dave Levingston and I were never going to get along. Fifty years ago there was no way we\u2019d become best friends. Back in our college years Ohio University had two schools of photography, as different as night and day. I was in OU\u2019s Fine Arts College, me an \u201cartsy-fartsy\u201d guy, if you will, a rock and tree photographer. Dave on the other hand was in the School of Communication and was what I referred to as a \u201cNo-Account-Photojournalist.\u201d To say there was animosity between the two schools would be stating it mildly, at least from my perspective. There wasn\u2019t so much a turf war, we simply ignored them, and them, us.<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick01.jpg\" \/><noscript><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick01.jpg\" \/><\/noscript> Yet by chance, with changes in the university, there Dave and I were, in the same classroom on one perilous day, sitting side by side. By chance, in a matter of speaking, Dave pushed me to the front of the classroom. No need going into the details, it was what amounted to a turning point in my life. In no time we were friends, then not much later, best friends, to this day. Dave and Ken at the Fat Boy\u2019s Pork Palace near Brandywine, WV. Found on US Rt. 33, until it closed, Fat Boys either sent you on your way over the Allegheny Mountains into Virginia, or welcomed you on the West Virginia side with a fine meal, the highway and the meals, both favorites for the two riders.<\/p>\n<p><img fetchpriority=\"high\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick02.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"960\" \/><noscript><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick02.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"960\" \/><\/noscript><\/p>\n<p>The middle years of our lives were one motorcycling adventure after another. Decades ago, after our jaunt down the Natchez Trace, we\u2019d made our way into Mississippi on Dave\u2019s personal quest to find the South\u2019s finest bowl of gumbo. I\u2019d spotted a place just off the main highway; it called to both of us. It was a dumpy place with a dining area of only two or three tables. It was there Dave violated one of the few rules forming the basis of his life: Never dine where both food and fish bait were sold. The place was nondescript, a cubby hole, nothing of note to give it any semblance of a personality. What we saw inside was much like we\u2019d seen from the street, neglect, the discolored walls, its rough demeanor, unwelcoming. It was a local hangout, a place neither of our wives would ever consider darkening its doorway, perish the thought. To those inside, what Dave and I thought in that moment was of no significance. They could care less, our opinion. Dave and his Connie on US Rt. 50 in eastern West Virginia. Over Ken\u2019s decades of riding, other than Lombard Street in San Francisco, he had never seen a stretch quite like this. The highway has since been straightened, robbing riders of an exciting run up or down the hill. Food was ordered through one of two irregular holes cut in their back wall, not far from the other where the same was done for fish bait. One dared not look back into the kitchen in fear of what you might see, but soon, a huge Styrofoam cup appeared, hot to the touch. It was our dinner.<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick03.jpg\" \/><noscript><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick03.jpg\" \/><\/noscript><\/p>\n<p>Watching us had been another man, a local constable of some sort, seated at one of the tables, holding court, he in his police attire. Without so much of even a hello, in the richest Southern dialect to be found anywhere, he asked, \u201cWatsh you boyz gonna drink wit tat thar gumbo?\u201d Dave and Ken\u2019s cycles parked in front of the Log Cabin Caf\u00e9 in Silver Gate, Montana. This photograph appeared in Rider magazine, with a story Ken wrote where the restaurant was featured.. Ken would learn that for years, other motorcyclists would arrange their own cycles in the same configuration for their own pictures when they stopped for a meal. Dave and I were lost in regards to his question, not so much answering, but gesturing in a way revealing our uncertainty. With what you can only call a neutral expression, he went on to share with us our only choice, \u201croot beer!\u201d Who were we to disagree with anyone wearing a uniform of the law. Root beer it was, and it will forever be. Dave and I managed to get our dinner-to-be to a beautiful city park, and with the Gulf of Mexico as our backdrop, both of us went about feasting on gumbo never again in our lives to be duplicated. We talk about that dinner to this day, it one of the grandest feasts of our time together on the road. Together, Dave and I have plied our talents in pursuit of photographs since day one. On our rides together there was an understanding that when one of us found something special to aim our camera, the other would stay to assist or to look for their own pictures.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick04.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"860\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick04.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"860\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Ken, in 1976, on his \u201872 Honda 750 parked at Siegfred Hall on the Ohio University Campus in Athens, as it appeared when he purchased the bike. In years to come he would add stock mufflers and replace the Wixom with a Windjammer fairing. Photograph by Dave Levingston.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>On one of my day rides I found something special, a beautiful stretch of highway, almost perfect, it requiring only the inclusion of two motorcycles. I called Dave, telling him of my find, it only half an hour\u2019s ride from his home. He begged off once, then again the next day, until on my call the third day he couldn\u2019t hold me off, finally relenting, we agreeing to do the photograph the following morning. That special stretch of highway, to be photographed properly required a longer lens, and with the two of us riding together, a remote trigger, something I\u2019d jury-rigged with the radio controls from a model airplane kit. To this day it\u2019s one of my favorite photographs of the two of us, and the only time when we ever rode side by side. Sometimes artistic license requires bending your rules a bit. I would learn the next day that while we were gone, Dave\u2019s wife went into labor with Esther, their first child.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick05.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick05.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Ken and his Connie, a \u201895 Kawasaki Concours, a bike he owned for 15 years. Best friend Dave Levingston made the photograph during a visit. There are only a handful of pictures of Ken and the bike together.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>In addition to our photography, our other common interest was motorcycles. In no time we became riding buddies. Together we\u2019ve shared tens of thousands of miles, Dave enduring decades of my abuse. All of this was well before I owned my RT, way back when we both had full heads of hair. Over the years we\u2019ve shared our life histories. Dave told me about his youth and of his dreams growing up. He told me of the many nights he\u2019d lie awake, reading in the sporting magazines about Ely, Minnesota and the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. For Dave it held an almost mythical quality. It was a place we needed to share. We made it the beginning of one of our long trips together. We arrived in the small town of Ely late one evening in the rain, not a big deal. We set our sites on the next morning, riding through town, Dave absorbing every square inch. To our left and right were the canoe outfitters, it seemed by the dozens, ready to set you free for 3 or 5 or 7 or 10 days, even beyond 21 days to explore the wild. All Dave needed to fulfill his life-long dream was a short time on the water, nothing more. We found a restaurant and settled in for our morning meal. In time our waitress stopped by, with Dave asking where he could rent a canoe &#8211; for an hour. Believe me, no one goes to Ely with such a simple request. We could almost see the young woman recoil, so strange was Dave\u2019s question. She had no answer herself, but turned to the booth behind ours, asking the somewhat elderly man sitting there if he knew of such a place.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick07.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"771\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick07.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"771\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Dave Levingston, riding on I-64 in southeastern West Virginia, featured on the April 1981 cover of Rider Magazine. To get the photograph Ken needed to climb a steep cut in the hill to get this vantage point, now impossible due to overgrown trees of all types.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>The man appeared rough hewn, a bit grizzled, perfect for where we were. He turned to give us a peek, in a second sizing us up, telling us, no, telling Dave, \u201cIf you\u2019ll follow me seven miles, I\u2019ll get you to an island where you can take out my canoe.\u201d When we arrived at the island there was a sign telling us his place was called \u201cThe Razor\u2019s Edge.\u201d Our new friend, John Juranitch, unlocked the gate, pointed over a short bridge to his canoe, and told us when we were finished to return it, and when leaving to lock the gate. Then he was gone. We later learned he owned a local business, known nationwide as The Razor\u2019s Edge where he manufactured equipment for sharpening knives. That morning, on the water with Dave, I learned the \u201cJ\u201d stroke, and came to understand why it was so important for Dave to have his few minutes on their water. We could have been there for only an hour, but maybe much longer, Dave\u2019s life dream had come to now be a memory. After we\u2019d parked the canoe as we had found it and had written a warm note for its owner, we found ourselves stopped, back at the main highway. I asked Dave where he wanted to go, he telling me in no uncertain terms, he didn\u2019t care, we could go anywhere &#8211; and we did. Dave, a cautious rider with a penchant for always obeying the speed limit, to whom I\u2019d often wanted to give a slight nudge to get him moving along a bit quicker, once led me on a race down eastern Arizona\u2019s Devil\u2019s Highway, the old US Route 666, now US Route 191, a place he\u2019d heard of, it one of America\u2019s finest motorcycling highways with me barely able to keep him in view. On another ride, stopped in northern Utah in the middle of nowhere for photographs, after days of riding, our last showers long behind us, a car filled with teenagers went roaring by, one of the boisterous boys, his body half hanging out a car window, fist raised, yelling at us, \u201cM\u00f6tley Cr\u00fce!\u201d in obvious reference to our distressed stinky demeanor.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick09.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick09.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Ken removing the license plate from his Honda 750 when he donated it to the AMA Hall of Fame Museum in Pickerington, Ohio. The Connie that followed filled the next 15 years, with the RT he rides now a truly special motorcycle. Sorry, it\u2019s doubtful either of the two will ever be as special as Ken\u2019s old Honda.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>There was one morning long ago, over our annual Columbus Day weekend ride, after a run through a cold and rainy West Virginia day and an equally miserable night of wet camping, we awoke to a brisk bright sunny morning, with the ride from our campsite to the main highway unlike any other. Beneath us was no semblance of any roadway surface, only the glistening of a million sunlit yellow and red leaves beneath us, many taking flight as Dave raced over them, the road filled with magic as to make Dorothy\u2019s yellow brick road to Oz pale in comparison. At the remarkable nature of what Dave and I witnessed, at our first stop Dave turned to me and said, \u201cThat\u2019s why we ride!\u201d To this day, those brief miles, so magical were those few minutes, they remain the most extraordinary experience of my nearly six decades of riding. Years before, or maybe later, late into a long hot day, riding into Coon Rapids, Iowa we happened upon the small town\u2019s municipal swimming pool. The lady-in-charge, the only person there, took one look at us, and seeing our look of desperation allowed us to take a quick dip, despite Dave\u2019s warning we might leave a \u201cring around her pool.\u201d Memories such as we shared there you never forget. One wonders, in my remaining years will I be able to revisit any of the far away places where Dave and I have enjoyed our favorite meals. On top of my list, Dave\u2019s too, is the Log Cabin Cafe in Silver Gate, Montana, only a stone\u2019s throw from the northeast entrance to Yellowstone National Park. Inside was an antique British phone booth, it being the centerpiece for a visiting horde of Japanese tourists, flocking to get a picture with it. I couldn\u2019t resist, jumping in, offering to take pictures, soon with a table full of cameras in front of me.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick10.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick10.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>An unfortunate oil leak, late in the game before a major trip with Dave, called for extreme measures, a towel wrapped around the cylinders to collect errant oil. It worked, at least well enough, but what a mess.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>That day, our first time there, sitting off to one side was a Harley rider from Cleveland, his white-as-snow beard tied in intervals, his way to keep it from blowing over his miles and miles of riding. It was there I saw the most beautiful waitress I\u2019d ever seen, and still is to this day. That day the cosmos came together. There was true magic in that log building. When Dave and I left everyone inside came out to give us a proper send-off and to wish us well. One woman, warning us about the ride over the coming Beartooth Pass, told us, \u201cWhatever you do, watch out for the Port \u2018o Johns up there. They\u2019re as cold as you will ever find. EEEIIIIOOOOWWWWW!\u201d Years later Dave would stop there with his family in tow, pointing to a copy of the story I wrote, published in Rider Magazine, on display under glass near their cash register, telling the person behind the counter, \u201cI\u2019m Dave!\u201d For the remainder of their stay Dave and his family were treated as though royalty. On my last visit there only a few years ago I saw the old phone booth was gone, but everything else thankfully was much the same. The trout dinner they served me was the finest I\u2019ve ever eaten.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick11.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick11.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>For decades, over the Columbus Day Weekend, Dave and Ken would venture into West Virginia for what they called their \u201clast ride of the year.\u201d Many times they would find their way to Philippi where they\u2019d make their way over the town\u2019s covered bridge, some version of the bridge in place since before the Civil War.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>Dave and I had a knack for finding special places to eat, some with a dining experience not to be duplicated.. For years there was fine eating in a huge log building, the Chimney Corner in Redhouse, Maryland, a tiny dot on the map where US Routes 50 and 219 cross. It was a classic, but on my last ride through the area, it than a church, serving a different need. Decades and decades ago when Dave and I were in our prime, we stopped at a Rhode Island gas station, filling up. A few pumps ahead of us was another man, doing the same to his bike. At some point he removed his helmet, revealing to me he was an old man, his thinning gray hair and the lines in his face showing the effects of many miles. I turned to Dave, getting his attention, motioning ahead to where the gentleman was standing, telling Dave, \u201cIt\u2019s me!\u201d All those years ago I could see myself, still riding, well into my own old age. It was me. It is me! Today I am that old man. Years later, I was out with Dave again. We were on our way home from somewhere south. This ride would be memorable for another reason. I\u2019d decided this was to be my last ride on the old 750, our final hurrah together. There was almost nothing on the bike that wasn\u2019t worn out. The rear brake drum had worn to the point it wouldn\u2019t take a further adjustment. Any combination of mechanics had worked their various magic to keep the carburetors working, with at that point just enough success to keep the motor running well enough, most of the time. The wiring harness was as brittle as uncooked spaghetti. The wheels, the rear the third on the bike, showed rust from the inside out, the four mufflers, the third or fourth set on the bike, the same. Still, at highway speeds that bike never wavered. There was a beautiful sound its engine made in its power curve I\u2019ll never forget. My RT has a somewhat similar tone. I listen for it every time I\u2019m on the road, hearing it only when the conditions are perfect.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick12.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick12.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Ken\u2019s \u201872 Honda 750 and \u201895 Kawasaki Concours. The two motorcycles would carry Ken on forty years of adventures. There was a time when the old Honda would shine up well, but later on, not so, not that Ken cared. It seemed that forever there was a film of chain lube soaking its rear wheel.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>The paramount problem with the 750, emerging just days before we were to leave was a bad gasket at the base of the engine\u2019s cylinders. Each and every time the crankshaft turned over a tiny gusher of oil would squirt out, making a mess of things. Before my remedy, the poor bike would leave a Honda Valdez reminder of everywhere we\u2019d been. Any proper repair would require removing the engine, something impossible at that late date, and quite frankly, unwarranted for a bike on its last legs. I wrapped a bath towel around the cylinders, securing it in place with a bungee cord, and off we went, adding oil as was necessary. The towel acted something like a 20W-50 wonder-bra. When it got dark, I simply removed and replaced it with a clean towel. It wasn\u2019t pretty, but it worked.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick13.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick13.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Ken\u2019s \u201895 Connie aside his \u201805 BMW RT. It was a beautiful morning some years ago when Ken walked into a dealership to see a bike he\u2019d heard about, the bright sun from outside shining on it alone, the bright red RT soon to be his.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>We were on our way home, when near Milledgeville, Georgia I casually slipped off the road. The odometer was about to turn over for the third time. I needed a picture. With that photograph, an era of my life was coming to an end. I knew the gravity of what I was doing. That bike had witnessed everything important in my adult life, from my college years well into middle age. The Honda knew the bottom side of every woman important in my life, of Cindy, and our son, Kevin. Dave was there to get his own pictures. He understood. To this day, with due respect for my Beemer which I\u2019ve ridden for only six years, that old bike is the only machine I\u2019ve owned I believe had a heart and a soul. I was barely able to keep it together, until finally, pictures done, we were again on our way, but by then there were tears running down my face. When I got home I removed the speedometer, it stopped with the 99999.9 still there, it only a few feet away as I type these words. What a great bike. That great motorcycle is now a part of the collection at the AMA Hall of Fame Museum in Pickerington, Ohio, forever warm and dry, where it will outlive me.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick14.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"861\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick14.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"861\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Dave Levingston on one of the trips he and Ken shared on their cross country treks. Where this was, Kansas, Nebraska, maybe Iowa, Ken doesn\u2019t recall. The year of the photograph, the same. The specifics of the image are long ago forgotten.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>Dave and I have found great meals at the Purple Palace in York Beach, Maine, and for too short a period of time there was really fine eating at Fat Boy\u2019s Pork Palace near Brandywine, West Virginia, run by a retired US Navy cook, it alone enough to make West Virginia a destination. One day it was there, the next gone, and still truly missed. On that last ride home on the 750, late on our final day on the road, Dave and I stopped. It was tradition for us. Always, there was a handshake, and Dave would always add words to the effect, \u201cKen, another great ride!\u201d then we\u2019d put our bikes in gear and off we\u2019d go. On that ride home we came to a point along the highway where I\u2019d continue straight, Dave slipping to the left for home an hour away from mine. To this day I can still see him easing on his way, in the near darkness, leaving me alone with my thoughts.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick15.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick15.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>It was naturally Ken\u2019s idea. All the silly pictures of the two friends over the years always were. The dinosaur, at the Wall, South Dakota exit for Wall Drug proved too big a temptation. What most people never consider, looking at a simple picture like this, is we spent a good half an hour getting it completed. It was worth it!<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>I was at peace. There were changes ahead. For the next fifteen years I\u2019d ride my Connie, a \u201895 Kawasaki Concours, and now my \u201805 RT. Ahhh, the RT, now just as special as was the old 750. Dave knew a change of his own was coming and decided his years of motorcycling were behind him, moving on. After years, many years of his asking, just last week I finally relented, taking off in his car for a day drive back towards our old college stomping grounds. Not that I\u2019d admit it to him, but there was some comfort to be found in an air conditioned car on a hot and steamy day. Here\u2019s to best friends.<\/p>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick16.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick16.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"382\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Dave and Ken, still best friends today. Their hair may be a different color and their hairlines, well, never mind. Of note, Dave hasn\u2019t shaved since he left the US Army nearly five decades ago! Photo by Timothy E. Black Jr.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<figure style=\"width: 574px\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"data:image\/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP\/\/\/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7\" data-src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick17.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"860\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\"><noscript><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"lazyload\" src=\"https:\/\/bmwownersnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/frick17.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"574\" height=\"860\" \/><\/noscript> <i>Found by Ken, what a perfect road for a picture of the two best friends. Unknown to Dave, his life was going to change dramatically when he returned home.<\/i><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Dave Levingston and I were never going to get along. Fifty years ago there was no way we\u2019d become best friends. Back in our college years Ohio University had two schools of photography, as different as night and day.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":7357,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[65],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-467","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-findyourcrossroads"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/467","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/9"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=467"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/467\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7357"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=467"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=467"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bmwmoa.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=467"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}