Buddy was born in Texas and, to hear him tell it, he rode before he could walk well. If you’ve seen him get up out of a chair lately and start ambulating with that little hitch in his step, it’s clear that he probably always rode better than he walked and was more comfortable in the saddle than on his own two feet. Though at some time he must’ve been pretty comfortable on his feet because he actually ran marathons! Buddy got his first bike in 1957 – a ’55 Cushman (so he wouldn’t actually need a real driver’s license). He rode that scooter for years until getting a Triumph 650 Bonneville. He was just past his teens before coming out of the closet for his folks. Despite their years of fighting to save him from himself and his nature, forbidding him to ride motorcycles and hang out with undesirables and his best efforts to hide it from them; Buddy was, in fact, a biker - the real deal. Nothing defined his life more than this. He was after all - Biker Buddy.
I remember a four month period when his rigid frame was the only bike running. Somehow he had lost the skimpy seat for it yet Buddy rode the bike that way with nothing but a bath towel for a seat and, in that condition, put better than 3000 miles on it. Everything was all right and he never complained until one very rainy day on the way back from a weekend-long party in Beaumont. We were riding along in this total monsoon and every so often he’d lift right off the frame and scream, “YeeHaaa!” It seemed that every good bump would ground out the wet towel to the battery and deliver a shock to his private parts. I’m not totally sure that he actually disliked it…
The last two years were tough on Buddy. Buddy suffered his first heart attack and had a sextuple by-pass (that’s six by-passes. I didn’t know they even could do that many). Then, just as he was recuperating from that, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. He went through a full course of radiation and chemotherapy. Following that he had the surgery for the removal of the tumor. He lived with a colostomy bag for months and then underwent the surgery to successfully reconnect his plumbing and get rid of the bag. He then began another six-month course of chemotherapy. The second round of chemo really took it out of Buddy. His last treatment was Christmas Eve. He got tired easily and was constantly ill from the chemo, yet – through it all, Buddy continued to work, continued to ride whenever he could, and wouldn’t let anyone do anything out of the ordinary for him. Even in the face of heart disease and cancer, Buddy faced life with the same passion and enthusiasm that drove him every day. He completely exemplified the saying - "life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved corpse, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming----wow---- whatta ride!!!"
Buddy’s last night was spent hanging out at the County Line with several hundred of his closest friends. He had a good night partying, listening to one of his favorite bands – Dangerous Dan, and swapping stories. We planned the next big road-trip – the first in three years since he’d been sick. He had a good night. He and Cecile went home. They got ready for sleep and Buddy sat in his big chair with a book in his lap, napping before bed. Cecile left the room and shortly returned to find him not breathing. In that short few minutes; Buddy had died quickly and peacefully.
