Passing
the Torch
|
 |
George
and his brother Charles (better known as "Chink") rode the
mountains, occasionally racing, but usually just enjoying the
trip. George wore pressed jodhpurs, polished knee high boots,
and tailored black leather jacket whenever he and Chink took
their long rides through Pennsylvania, into Maryland, then
home through West Virginia with their buddies. His friends
began jokingly referring to him as "The Black Ace" because
of his polished jacket. |
They
rode in packs through gorgeous the Pennsylvania countryside.
Their bikes polished to showroom condition would reflect
the sun as it glinted through trees lining two lane mountain
roads,
single cylinder engines rumbling through otherwise peaceful
wooded areas. Helmets were made of leather and worn at
the discretion of the rider. This is how the times like
the Great
Depression became known as "The Good Old Days." |
But even the Good old days had to end sometime. For my grandfather, they ended on March 25, 1943. Charles had been drafted into the infantry and sent to Guiterro, Tunisia to help push "That Bastard" Rommel out of Africa. During a skirmish in the desert, a mortar shell snuffed his young life. When word returned to Uniontown that Chink was dead, George sold his '37 to a man from Liverpool, Ohio. The chrome on his bike didn't shine the as bright without his brother, and his riding days had come to an end.
George
was drafted into the Army in late 1944 not long after the
birth of his daughter. The war ended while he was still in
training, and he returned home to Uniontown. In the 50's
as the call for independent painters dropped, he found employment
as a draftsman for the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation's
highway division in Uniontown, a scant 4 miles from his home.
That's where he was working in 1969, when your's truly came
into the world in Akron Ohio. George was officially a grandfather.
|
 |
My parents and I moved to Pittsburgh shortly after I was born and spent every weekend with George and Louise, or, as I came to know them, Weeze & Pap. They bought me my first bicycle at J C Penny, a white dirt bike with a fiberglass body that made it look like a motorcycle. Pap showed me how to take care of it, making sure that is was always clean. He taught me to take care of things and make them last. Twenty years later, that bicycle is still in my garage, and still clean despite the thousands of miles it has been ridden.
It was June of 1990, but it seems like yesterday, when I drove to see Weeze
and Pap from college. I was in my third sophomore year at Indiana University
of Pennsylvania, where Weeze had studied in the 1920's, when my friend
Toshio decided to sell his Harley. Toshio was from Japan, and I became
friends with him while living in Elkin Hall, the international dorm. Not
long after he bleached his hair blond (I'm not making this up), he purchased
a 1980 Harley Davidson soft tail. It was a beautiful bike, black with chrome
straight pipes. I had helped him work on it when the carbs got clogged
up so he gave me the first shot at it when he decided to sell it. I immediately
called Pap to tell him it was available. Toshio was asking $3000 for it,
and it needed a new tank, but was otherwise perfect. Pap asked me to bring
him some pictures of it, and we would see what we could do.
I drove to their house that weekend, and showed Pap the pictures Toshio had
given me. There was one problem. Toshio's bike had a thin front tire on it.
Pap's bike had a wide front end, and Pap always felt that was safer since most
of the braking power is in the front end. I was disappointed thinking I would
never get a motorcycle, when Pap suggested we drive to Z&M Motorcycle in
town.
We walked into the showroom, and Pap critiqued each bike, comparing it to his
'37. There were three bikes on the floor that caught his eye. The first was
a brand new red and white Heritage Softail, the second, a brand new blue Honda
Shadow, and the third was a black 1988 Honda Magna that had just come in used,
but in mint condition. Pap looked at the features on these bikes and was impressed
with all the improvements that had been made over the years. He was very impressed
with the hydraulic clutches on the Hondas, and extremely pleased at the classic
design of the Heritage Softail. We sat and talked with the salesman John Shocke,
and he pointed out all the hidden features that we had overlooked.
Two hours had passed and we returned home to have dinner. Pap never let the
conversation get off the subject of motor cycles, and after dinner asked if
I could take him back to the shop to look at one last thing. When we returned
to Z&M, Pap had me sit on the Magna. After subtly making sure that I liked
it, he asked John if we could start it up to hear what the V-four sounded like.
John wheeled it out the door, and started it up. Pap then looked to me and
said, "Well, what do you think m'boy? Would you take care of it?" I answered
a resounding "Yes." Much to my amazement (and the chagrin of Weeze and my mother)
, Pap pulled out a check and bought it on the spot. I finally had a bike.
 |
I had
a friend come by with his pick up truck to take the bike to my
house Pittsburgh. I learned how to ride by taking the free motorcycle
safety course offered by the American Motorcycle Association, along
with several helpful tips from Pap. After I had my license, I would
ride to Uniontown, and Pap would point out on a map his old routes
through the mountains for me to follow. I thought Pap and I had
grown close through 21 years of sitting on the porch listening
to Pirates baseball, but this motorcycle turned us into the best
friends ever to ride God's green Earth. Pap began referring to
me as "The Black Ace" after I purchased a black leather jacket
to go with my bike. I was unsure about my new nickname until he
told me the story of his bike, his brother, and his adventures.
It was the destiny of the Diego men to become Zorro, mine was to
become the "Black Ace".
I made the trip to Uniontown every weekend and took the bike when the weather
permitted. Pap would tease that I should get an umbrella so I could ride when
it rained, or "Turn the air conditioning off" on the cooler riding days. Weeze
always worried about my riding route 40 home, but it was one of Pap's old trails
and I wouldn't have had it any other way. These were "The good old days" that
my grandchildren will hear me speak of. Life was perfect.
Sadly, on August 26, 1995 Weeze passed away after a long series of health problems.
As I feared, Pap didn't last long without her. He was diagnosed with cancer
in January of 1996, and passed away in his sleep the night of May 7th. As sad
as I am for this loss, I know that he and Chink are riding matching Harleys
over some shady mountain two lane, bereft of traffic, and will make it back
to Weeze's just a little bit late for dinner. How do I know this? Otherwise
they wouldn't be allowed to call it "Heaven".
 Black Ace 04/19/2003 |