Kevin Spangler in a photo from his Facebook page

Kevin and Sandy Spangler

“We live for Harley-Davidsons,” Kevin and Sandy Spangler declared on their Facebook page.

Kevin Spangler, 49, loved his Harley. He loved Sandy and his two children even more.  The young couple — married just a few years — lived just outside Buchanan where Kevin graduated from James River High School.

I met them through the Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group (RVHOG).  They were a fun-loving couple and we joked that we represented the extremes of the geographical boundaries of the motorcycle group — they in the far reaches of Botetourt County and me in Floyd.  We had a friendly rivalry during the Muscular Dystrophy riding challenge this year to see who could raise the most money by collecting a penny a mile from April 30 through Sept. 10.  I rode the most miles — more than 19,000 — but Kevin trumped me with a $1,000 donation from his company.  I pretended to be mad but it was all in fun.  The important thing was the money we all raised for a good cause.

Sandy ran for a club officer position this year. They showed up last weekend for a ride to Shatley Springs with a decal saying “Vote for Sandy” on the windshield of their Harley and they handed out breakfast biscuits.

“Young lady, you know how to campaign,” I commented while munching on a chicken biscuit.

Sandy said she didn’t make the biscuits.  Kevin did.

“He’s the cook in the family,” she said.

On our way back, we stopped at an overlook on The Blue Ridge Parkway.  Kevin asked about my encounter with a fawn on Virginia Rte. 8 a week earlier.  I clipped it with the engine guard of my Super Glide and it slammed into my leg.

I stayed upright.

The deer didn’t.

It died.

“You were lucky,” he said.

Most of us planned to get off the Parkway on Rte. 8 and head towards Floyd.  Kevin said he and Sandy would stay on the Parkway and head home to Buchanan.

“Watch out for Bambi,” I said to him.

“You’re the deer magnet in this club not me,” he laughed.

On U.S. 11 on the way to Buchanan later that day, a full-grown deer darted out in front of their bike.  They hit it and went down. The crash hospitalized Kevin with multiple broken ribs, a busted collarbone and internal injuries.  Sandy went home with bruises and injuries to her hand.

UPDATE: During a stop on a ride to the North Carolina Barbeque Festival in Lexington Saturday, one of the RVHOG members said doctors were still deciding on whether or not to operate on Kevin.

Later in the day, one of the group’s cell phone rang with an update.

Kevin Spangler died from his injuries.  Arrangements are pending.

He leaves behind a young wife and two children, along with many of us who knew him as a fellow rider, a fellow lover of Harleys and a good friend.

Riding the Harley home on Rte. 8 after visiting my mother Monday afternoon when the car ahead decided to brake hard and turn left — without warning or a signal. Too much oncoming traffic and no place to swerve, so I locked up the rear tire in a panic stop.

The rear end of the bike started to slide to the right. Not good. The rules of motorcycle riding say you shouldn’t release the rear brake in a slide but I had no choice so I let off both brakes. The bike wobbled but straightened and I applied the brakes again and slowed to a stop.

I had taken my eyes off the road ahead of me for an instant because a van looked like it would pull out in my path.  When I looked back ahead the car in front was stopped. No signal but it apparently planned to turn left into Whitetail outfitters. I came to a stop less than two feet from its rear bumper.

I was lucky. Two friends who rode with a group of us to Shatley Springs in North Carolina recently were not.  The group of about 20 bikes returned to the area via the Blue Ridge Parkway. Most of us left the Parkway at Rte. 8 and headed into Floyd but Kevin & Sandy Spangler, who live in Buchanan, stayed on the Parkway to ride home.

A deer jumped out in front of their bike and they went down. Sandy suffered bruises and a hand injury and was treated and released at the hospital but Kevin remains there with multiple broken ribs, a busted collarbone, road rash and internal injuries.

All it takes is an instant.

UPDATE: Kevin Spangler died from his injuries on Saturday, October 22.

The last leg of the long climb to the top

The old man at the top (Photo by Susan Lipes)

It might be called an act of lunacy for a 63-year-old man with a history of back problems, bad knees, a questionable hip, cobbled together ankles and some non-OEM parts to climb more than 400 step steps to the top of Chimney Rock in North Carolina but I’ve never claimed even a passing acquaintance with sanity.

Besides, sanity is over-rated in an insane world.

So along with some friends from the Roanoke Valley Chapter of The Harley Owners Group (HOG), I made the trek up to the top of the rock last Saturday.

None of us were spring chickens but I was easily the oldest member of the crew that rode our Harleys from Roanoke to Spartanburg last Thursday for the South Caroling State H.O.G. Rally and then ventured up to Chimney Rock for the hike to the top.

Did my bones and back ache afterwards?  Damn right they did. Was it worth it? Oh, yeah. Even though I grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, this was my first visit to Chimney Rock. The view from the top was fantastic and everyone along the crowded trail laughed and joked about the idiocy of our actions.

Afterwards, we compared aches over lunch in the village of Chimney Rock — population 175 — a town even smaller than Floyd but a prosperous community because of tourism to the park that rises overhead and nearby Lake Lure.

The view of Lake Lure from the top of Chimney Rock

In Spartanburg, SC, with other members of the Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group (HOG) for the South Carolina HOG Rally.  Here are a couple of pix of RVHOG Members in the bike games.

Robb and Susan Lipes from Roanoke

Heading home on Rte. 8 at twilight Monday after visiting my mother — a trip I make almost every day since she moved into an assisted-living facility more than a year ago.

As I banked the Harley into the series of turns between Riner and the Litlle River bridge, I caught the glimpse of a doe running across the road from left to right.  I swerved the bike to the left to miss the deer as she raced across the road but — in the gathering darkness — did not see the fawn following her until it was too late.

The engine guard of the motorcycle caught the small deer in the hindquarters and spun the animal around.  Its head struck my right leg and its torso crashed into the saddlebag on the right of the bike.

Somehow, I stayed upright and brought the Harley to a quick stop.  A car behind me swerved to miss the small deer laying in the road and stopped.

“Jesus Christ man,” the driver said. “Did you just hit that deer?”

“Yeah,” I said, still shaking from the encounter.

“How did you keep from growing down?”

“I have no idea.”

I pulled a flashlight from a saddlebag and looked for damage on the bike. Other than some deer fur on the crash bar and lid from the saddlebag popped open, nothing seemed out of place.  My leg ached from the collision with the deer’s head.

Another driver stopped and helped us move the lifeless body of the fawn to the side of the road.  The deer’s mother, I suspect, was close by…watching.

Other drivers came by and asked if everything was all right.  The driver who saw me hit the deer gave me his business card and address in case I had any insurance issues and I closed the saddle bag lid, climbed back on the bike and headed home — at a more sedate pace.

In 2008, I hit a deer in the early morning hours on U.S. 221 at the bottom of Bent Mountain. The deer went down with a broken hip. I stayed upright.  A month later, I laid the bike down after swerving into the entrance to Great Oaks Country Club to miss a deer on a Saturday night.

On each occasion, skill have nothing do to surviving a usually-deadly encounter between a motorcycle and a deer — just luck…and maybe something more.

Monday was the fourth anniversary of the death of Floyd Countian Robert Pauley, who died on October 3, 2007, when his motorcycle struck a deer on Meadow Creek Road near Riner.

Somebody was watching over me on Rte. 8 Monday evening.  Maybe it was Robert.

My favorite time of the year for motorcycle riding is here.

With fall colors approaching — assuming any leaves are left on the trees when the colors reach full fall hues — and cooler weather without the stifling heat of summer, I can piled more miles on the Harley.

A good time to be alive.

Riding a poker run to benefit autism Saturday with the Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group (HOG). Helped out with the first card stop at Craig Creek Mercantile on U.S. 311 just outside New Castle, then joined the last of four groups.

Riding second in the group on a spirited run on Rte. 615 out of New Castle, then over a small mountain on Rte. 606 that leads into Botetourt County towards Fincastle.  The three lead riders pulled ahead in the twisties going up and then down the mountain. We slowed as the road straightened to let the others catch up.

We waited….and waited….and waited.  Then a lone rider appeared to tell us a rider crashed on one of the downhill turns.  It looked bad, she said.

We doubled back and found that one of the group’s more experienced riders missed a tight left-hander and augered into a ditch alongside the side, throwing him over the handlebars.

He landed on his back, was conscious but with a lot of pain in his shoulder, back, ribs and hip.  Others in the group tended to him, keeping is head elevated and placing support under one leg.

Mountain roads in rural areas often bring problems with cell phones.  Only one of the group’s phone had a signal — a weak one but it was enough to call 911.  The operator dispatched two ambulances from the Boetetourt County Volunteer Rescue Squad and a brush truck from the fire department.

Another rider and I handled traffic while the others tried to keep the injured rider as comfortable as possible until help arrived.  In the mountains we could hear the approaching sirens long before they arrived.

The rescue squad paramedics brought out a backboard and neck collar and moved quickly to get him into the ambulance and headed for Roanoke Memorial Hospital.  The injured rider was divorced with no immediate family in the area so two riders — both longtime friends — headed for the hospital while the four remaining riders — including myself — waited for the State Police to arrive.

As we looked at the path the injured rider took from the road into the ditch it appeared that a second’s inattention had led his bike off line. Riding a motorcycle requires constant attention — not only on the open road but especially so on twisty mountain roads.  Once he was out of line going into the turn he didn’t have enough road left to recover.

Damage to the bike — a $30,000 plus custom Harley dresser with a 120-cubic-inch V-Twin — appeared mostly cosmetic.  One of the group, who works on Harleys as a sideline, estimated the damage at around $7,000.

After giving statements to the State Trooper and helping load the damaged bike on the trailer.  We prepared to leave.  My bike was pointed in the wrong direction so I executed a slow U-Turn into the banked turn.  Unfortunately, I failed to account for the steepness of the banking of the turn and as I completed the turn, the engine guard of the bike scraped the pavement and lifted the front wheel off the ground.

My bike went down, pinning my right foot and leg beneath the 700-pound bike.  My friends rushed over and lifted the bike off me and my now sore foot and leg but any bruise to my leg was miniscule compared to the damage to my ego for making such a rookie mistake.  The engine guard did its job. No real damage to the bike.  I will have the sand down the corner of the guard and repaint it.  By morning, the soreness to my foot and leg were gone.

At Roanoke Memorial, doctors found our friend suffered a broken clavicle (collarbone) and lots of bruising but nothing more serious.  They sent him home later in the afternoon.  As we helped him into a waiting car he kept apologizing for “ruining our day.”

We told him he had nothing to apologize for.  He escaped serious injury and was going home.  His bike could be repaired.  He would live to ride another day.

I got home Saturday evening and emptied my pockets, finding the unfinished poker hand sheet for the run I never completed.

I had drawn two cards: An ace of spades and an ace of diamonds.

The start of a lucky hand…and the end of a not-so-lucky day that could have ended much worse.

Motorcyclists call it The Snake — two twisting 11-mile sections of U.S. 421 from Bristol to Mountain City in Tennessee with Shady Valley in the middle providing a rest stop. The Snake is 489 turns in all, many of them switchbacks.

I first rode The Snake last year, discovering it by accident when I headed north out of Boone, North Carolina, towards Mountain City.  I arrived in Shady Valley with a smile after scraping my pegs, and a few other parts of my Super Glide on the first 11-mile stretch of twisties out of Mountain City. I found the second 11-mile stretch more fun.

Friday, with fresh rear rubber on the FXD, a tackled The Snake southbound out of Bristol, arriving at the country store in Shady Valley with another smile and time to chat with several sport bike riders who were heading towards Bristol.  At first they looked with scorn at the gray-haired,  leather-bound Harley rider but after we talked and they discovered that this Harley rider piled up an average of more than four thousand miles a month during the riding season while in search of twisting roads — and that I’d ridden a sport bike or two over the years — we hit it off.

It was late afternoon before I left them for an adrenaline-pumping ride along the second stretch before cruising through Mountain City and taking it easy on the more sedate segment into Boone and the headed home, arriving back in Floyd after 9 p.m. — still smiling.