Many thanks for this. I sincerely bow before your superor Google skills. Neither I nor my contact in Hollister were able to come up with this information. This means Eddie would have died a few months before I went to Hollister to interview Gus De Serpa.

I met Ardys several times at IBA events. A true legend.

All serious long-distance riders have custom seats. Rule number one of LD bike prep is make it the most comfortable place to sit as you can.

It falls into the category of “things that are fun to have done, but aren’t necessarily fun doing.”

I agree about excess horsepower. It’s like buying a 12-inch condom—there’s so much there you’ll never use. I’m a big guy; I’d need one VTR for each foot, like skates. Still, I’m tempted by the 300 Ninja. Meanwhile my 140-horse Miata is entertainment aplenty.

My latest coping mechanism is a ‘99 Miata. Never thought I’d say it, but it’s as much fun as a bike, and in some circumstamces more fun.

Waffles at the end make any journey worthwhile. The NH is a great ride, too. I’m looking at getting another one.

Major props. I had an SR500 when I lived in L.A. Seismographs went wild every time I rode it to work.

Who said I wasn’t?

Well done. As a former Ducati owner, I can attest that Ducati miles are like dog years.

It’s you.

In fact I love my ass, which I why I never did another SS1K.

The list of things I’ve been wrong about isn’t even half full yet.

Narcissism wasn’t part of the equation. I never figured myself for Grand National Champion. Going fast was—still is—fun. The track was the best place to do it.

Hey, it’s Ray of Sunshine! Hi, Ray!

Hard to say. I don’t remember any of the details of the ‘86 crash so I don’t know how I hit or how far I slid. I was wearing a brand new Arai helmet that day, and the impact put a 4-inch crack in it, so I’m guessing I went down head first. The leathers I had on were just a single layer of hide with small patches of…

I still ride on the street, and get all the kicks I need on local backroads. Track days are undoubtedly safer than bumpy cprners strewn with gravel and cow shit, but coming near a track again would be like stocking a needle in my arm. My mind has never quite accepted that I’m not 24 any more, despite daily reminders…

GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!

10-4 on that. I’m 63, and not a day goes by when I’m not reminded of some misadventure in my past.

I tried dirt riding. Not a good plan. If you look up “face plant”in the dictionary my picture is next to the entry.