ODE TO THE RED BARON

     This poem was dedicated to Ron Meyer, BMW Motorcycle Owners of America (BMWMOA) member #2526, of Melbourne, Florida. Ron sported a somewhat red beard and sometimes answered to the moniker of the Red Baron.

     The poem relates to a 1977 trip by each from his hometown to a point in greater Saint Louis, Missouri, and thereafter together toward the BMWMOA national rally in Colorado Springs, Colorado. During their layover in Missouri, it was learned that some of Ron’s family had terminal cancer. This news, along with the hard riding in heat behind a full fairing the day before, apparently added together to make Ron’s ride very stressful. The ensuing accident changed both our itinerary and our lives. Although it certainly was not enjoyable, the facts that followed did increase the binding of our friendship --- which has grown even stronger in the past two decades.

     Ron rebuilt his BMW during his recuperation at home, and he was able to return to the sport the following year. Unfortunately, he later received greater injury due to other problems and is no longer capable of motorcycling. He still hangs his hat in Melbourne, Florida.

     The poem was written by Gil Frydell, then BMWMOA member #3426. He started the poem while Ron was hospitalized in Lawrence, Kansas, and finished it after he returned home to Ohio. At the time, Gil was a firefighter and emergency medical technician for the Sidney, Ohio, Fire Department. Gil left the fire service in 1978 due to conditions resulting from a fire related injury. He is presently a part of the Maintenance Training team of Emery Worldwide Airlines, and he rides frequently on his third Gold Wing. Gil has been riding almost fifty years and is Charter Life AMA member no. 82558.

ODE TO THE RED BARON

(15 August 1977)
by: Gil Frydell

I left my home for the open road,
My Bavarian cycle bearing the load
Of tent, bedroll, camera, and clothes.

My faithful BMW seemed to have wings,
As I headed it westward for Colorado Springs
To Attend the National MOA Fling.

In the Gateway City, I met my good friend,
And we rode on westward into the wind;
The cool night air was a real Godsend.

We rode at night to escape the heat,
Not realizing how much we were already beat --
That our trip was becoming a grueling feat.

We looked forward to the fun and games,
Increasing our list of memorable names;
These and others were our vacation aims.

We entered Kansas well after dawn,
As the summer heat was again turning on;
We moved on westward -- on and on.

As we entered the turnpike, we paused to rest
With other cyclists heading west
To the National Rally bound to be best.

Onto our bikes, we continued to go;
Forty miles further, Ron started to slow;
And then it happened -- Oh, God, no!

He swerved to the right and into the guard;
The cables rebounded without human regard;
On top of its rider, the bike fell quite hard.

I prayed to my Lord, "Don't let him be dead,"
And jumped from my bike, quick to Ron's aid;
Pinned by his cycle, my best friend laid.

With God-given strength for immediate need,
I lifted his bike, and my friend was freed;
He was certainly injured, but alive indeed.

Several two-wheelers and one with eighteen
Offered their assistance at the scene;
My signal for help had truly been seen.

Answering a CB call aimed their way,
An ambulance was speeding from eight miles away
To the place where an injured cyclist lay.

Someone righted Ron's R Seventy-five,
As I thanked God for his being alive
And for the help that did arrive.

With two first aid kits and my EMT training,
I tended his wounds and continued praying,
Yet listening intently for a siren's wailing.

When toward the hospital the ambulance did speed,
I shifted attention to Ron's Bavarian steed
And those who helped us -- true friends indeed.

With the damaged cycle put up for the duration,
I followed the wrecker to the hospital location
To check with the doctors on Ron's situation.

With Ron admitted to the hospital that day,
I found a motel a short distance away
And phoned to his family many miles away.

In Lawrence, Kansas, where we spent many days,
The people were helpful in so many ways;
We may go back for some future days.

After a week, I learned his release
Would be seven more days at least,
So I headed my motorcycle back to the east.

I returned from Ohio before that date --
With my camper, I returned early, not late --
To transport man and machine to the Bikini State.

With his leg in a cast, two pins in his knee,
I was glad to have Ron accompany me
Heading southeast across the country.

My passenger seldom, if ever, did moan
Of his broken ribs and collarbone,
As I drove on toward his home.

On Ron's face, a smile did show
As we entered Florida: 300 miles to go;
His smile would increase each mile we'd go.

He's now safely home and doing quite fine;
Sooner or later, he'll be back on the line
Riding his cycle for an enjoyable time.

Whether next year's National be on mountain or lake,
That's one get-together we'll sure try to make,
But one thing for sure -- our time we will take.