Three weeks after returning home to Colorado Springs, I received word that my mother had pancreatic cancer, and was not long for this world. I flew to Santa Barbara and spent a good week with her and my brother. We were told that she might hang on for weeks and months, so I made plans to stay there, as it was clear that she was getting better care because her son, the registered nurse, was around to advocate for her. Flew back here to arrange to be gone indefinitely and during the three days I was here, she slipped away. She had achieved an important goal, that of "not being a bother." All in all, her's was the sort of exit, at 77 years, that I hope for myself. She was a frugal lady, drove a 1974 Dodge Dart that she had purchased when it was one year old. In our last week together we talked of many things, one of which was the car. I did promise her I would take care of it after she was gone and, so I have. A legacy, a deathbed promise; hopefully the car (with AM pushbutton radio) will be around for a long time.

The girlfriend came to town soon after I returned from California. She stayed with me and then moved a block down the road, "needing her own space" (never a good sign). She was excited about motorcycling after the European trip and wanted to learn to ride herself. One day, I noticed an R65 for sale, rather in run down shape, but it ran, at least. I bought it, and told everyone that it was one of my restore and sell projects. In reality, I was planning on presenting it to her.

As I settled in, I resumed working at the Free Clinic at our local soup kitchen. While there, I heard of an opening at the local Health Department for Public Health Nurses. As this is essentially what I had spent my year in London studying and doing, I applied; confident in at least getting an interview, if not a job. Well, as things turned out, as I had my three year diploma from a school of nursing and my post-grad diploma from my year of study overseas; but not my four year degree in nursing, I didn't even get an interview. Oh, well. Decided then and there to apply part of my mom's estate to one more year of school and finish up the degree. This insured a year of evening classes, lots of study, but lots of unstructured time for working on and riding BMWs.

I finished up restoring the R65, mostly lots of fiddly cosmetic work. I even sneaked out of her what color of bike she liked and had that done (gloss black, with hot pink pinstriping). She took the MSF beginners' class one weekend and when she returned from graduating on Sunday afternoon, I unveiled the shiny bike. She rode it for about ten days and then returned it, stating there were "too many strings attached." Not long after that, we split up for good.

Life settled into a very pleasant, simple routine: school, volunteering at the clinic, working on bikes and finishing up being executor of my mom's estate. Lots of time for late breakfasts with friends. At the '94 Top O' the Rockies Rally, I ran into these odd folks, the Airheads. After a short conversation, I realized, "these are my kind of people" and joined up. In late '94, I attended a planning meeting at Deb Lower's in Denver and volunteered to be First Aid Chair at the '95 Rally in Durango. I had done first aid organizing for large events before (rock concerts and the like) and looked forward to being part of the Rally. Little did I realize, what a life changing event this Rally was to be.

To be continued... Matt Parkhouse