Since 1996, The Stagecoach Café in Stockton Alabama has been swarmed by motorcycle enthusiasts every December 30th. Dubbed “the last ride of the year”, this is a Ride To Eat (RTE) event, and folks ride from all over the country to attend. There are no club or manufacturer affiliations, and no money is charged to attendees. The event was hosted by John Harrison who’s a multiple time Iron Butt Rally Finisher and has held the honor of IBR Scribe multiple times. Awards were given to:
Youngest Rider: 18
Oldest Rider: 82
there were two, the winner went to a man whose birthday is in February
Farthest Distance: 4575 miles in less than 72 hours
Oldest Bike Ridden: 1969
11 Sandies and two family members made the trek up to Stockton. I clocked us in at just under 252 miles round trip. The adventure was filled with harrowing tales of Sand Dollar U-Turns, fuel anxiety, attempted formation hijacking, an embarrassing hot mic moment, and a deafening arrival of the local chapter to one of the largest motorcycle clubs in the world.
George “Cat Herder” E, Sam E, Tommy “GQ” N, Sandy S, Bobby “Waldo” B, Dennis O, and Joe W met up at Good Things Donuts and rode together towards Stockton. We picked up JoeJoe, Tony “Ace” G, and Nikki G along our spirited journey towards food. As we passed under I-65 another motorcyclist on an adventure bike decided to merge from the exit ramp into the middle of our formation. Since there wasn’t room, he rode on the shoulder and tried to muscle his way in. He might have stood a decent chance; except we were on the way towards food. No one should ever expect curtesy from a Sand Dollar when between empty stomachs and buffets.
As we pulled into Stockton it became evident that this year had an amazing turnout. There were bikes everywhere. The parking lot was full. The gas station across the street was packed. There were bikes lined alongside the road. Every drive had bikes parked. The shoulders, ditches, and dirt paths had adventure bikes facing every which direction. Half of our group found some space on the shoulder next to the restaurant. The rest of us parked at an abandoned building across the street. As we were getting off of our bikes and removing some layers (the day was really heating up), there was a thunderous roar with some of the loudest exhausts that I’ve heard since the days I rode with Ricky D. A dozen or so members of a local chapter of a very large club pulled in next to us. Multiple riders kept blipping he throttle making it impossible to even think. I was starting to get really annoyed until they disembarked and started screaming at each other. Not in an angry way, but in a hard of hearing way. I then realized that many of these gentlemen probably had no idea how loud their bikes were. I suspect nothing would have changed if they could, but it’s hard to stay annoyed at someone who legitimately couldn’t hear how much they offended everyone else’s ears. In the pandemonium, I dropped my key to my bike and was having a difficult time finding it. Eagle Eye Dennis O spotted my key wedged between the exhaust shield and the sprocket cover.
Once inside, the line moved quickly. Food was a little limited, but it was to be expected given the large number of bikes outside. Shortly after sitting down, I spotted a Victory jacket two tables down from ours. Who was wearing that glorious logo? None other than Shayna K! oh, and Wes H and Greg L were sitting at the table with her. Pleasantries were exchanged. After eating, paying, bathroom breaks, and losing Nikki, I was able to catch up with Wes, Greg, and Shayna outside. I caught Wes and Shayna admiring a slammed Road Glide with an oversized front wheel. They quickly walked away as soon as I tried to get a picture… Ok, maybe it was coincidental. The impromptu meetup was short lived, as the group was restless having found Nikki (who was never lost).
Speaking of lost, George led us towards every road in southern Alabama that had the word “old” in it. Apparently implying that something has some historical significance, attracts Road Captains like moths to flame. Somewhere along the two and a half U-Turns Dennis and I may have run over a moccasin that was desperately trying to cross the road. As we circled around Bay Minette, we saw other groups of riders parked in the shade discussing how lost we were. We eventually circled to Old Pensacola Rd, which was our route home and towards the next (much needed) fuel stop.
As we were pulling into a Cantonment gas station, we heard “Oh Look, there’s a whole herd of them coming” break in over open mesh. Would have been fine, except a rider in the group proceeded to poke fun of our motley group. George broke in with a “Hey Buddy” and everyone in both groups broke out in laughter. It was that special kind of moment where someone was tasking shoe leather, it wasn’t us (this time)! After fueling up, we made our way back to our respective homes and called it a day.
What The Great Waldo failed to mention that the Sandie parking was smack in among the Bandidos M/C AND The Pistoleros M/C. Since The Sandies were there first, The Sandies stayed, Good on the Sandies.
Was a most excellent day