Hi!! I'm Bob's Wing, a pearl-white 1995 Honda Gold Wing. I've known Bob for about three years now, but for some reason, Bob hasn't taken me for a ride in over three months. I sure do miss roaring down those roads with all my friends around. I hope I haven't done something to upset him. Let me tell you a little bit about Bob, and Mary, and me.

Three years ago, I was born in the Honda manufacturing plant in Marysville, Ohio. Those people put me together with a lot of loving care. I was crated and shipped to a dealer where I sat for a while. One day, the mechanics at the dealership uncrated me, finished my assembly, polished me up, and put me on the showroom floor with a lot of other bikes. But, I was the biggest, strongest, and, if I do say so myself, the prettiest bike there. That's when I met Bob.

I saw Bob ride up on an older motorcycle. I don't remember what he was riding now, but it wasn't anything as big or as impressive as me. He came in the door, and as soon as his eyes glanced my way, I knew that we were destined to be together. Bob walked over to me and gently stroked my left saddlebag and my trunk. He had this gleam in his eye that I will never forget. Bob climbed into my saddle, and caressed my controls - a touch that would become so familiar to me in the coming years. I remember his long discussion with the salesman, but I knew from that moment on, I was Bob's Wing.

They serviced me in the shop, and before long, Bob was back in my saddle. I felt the quiver of anticipation in his body as he settled onto me. He checked me over very carefully to make sure that everything was just right. Then, he turned the key in my ignition, and I felt the warmth of the electrical power surge through my circuits. With the press of my starter switch, I sprang to life with a mellow roar, and off we went.

Bob maneuvered me carefully through traffic, and soon we were out into the rolling hills of the country. We glided effortlessly through the turns and accelerated easily up the gentle slopes. It was great to have the fresh air coursing through my carburetors. And, I could tell that Bob was really beginning to feel at home on me. All to soon, he turned us back toward the city, and we came to stop at what was to be my new home. That's when I met Mary, Bob's wife.

Like Bob, Mary fell in love with me from the start. I remember her saying to Bob that finally he had gotten something that they could enjoy together, and not just something to go fast. Bob, helped Mary into my rear saddle, and just as he had done, Mary stroked my curves. I felt the warmth of her body as she settled into her riding position. That too would become familiar over the coming years. But, even though Mary obviously loved me - I was Bob's Wing.

Before long, we all became involved with the Gold Wing Road Riders Association and we started participating with the local chapter. I remember Bob and Mary discussing how great these people were and how much fun the two of them were having, doing things they had never done before. We went on poker runs. We went to picnics. We rode in parades.

I really enjoyed being around the other Gold Wings, too. We would discuss our lives and how our owners took care of us, and kept us clean and shiny. It was fun riding in formation down the highway with all of the other bikes - the drone of the engines surging and falling as we rounded turns and went over hills. I could tell that Bob and Mary were really having a great time. But, the thing I remember most was when Bob and I would go off by ourselves and just get lost in the two-lane roads in the hills. Bob always loved to play John Denver's "Country Roads" on my cassette deck when we were off riding together. He would repeat it over and over again as we glided through the countryside - Bob eagerly twisting my throttle, and me responding to his every touch. I knew each move he would make and was ready to go wherever he pointed me. I was Bob's Wing.

Those were great years, but, now it's been three months since I've been out of the garage. I don't know what's wrong. I remember my last ride with Bob, he brought me home and parked me in the garage. He wiped me down with a polish rag like he always does, and then he went into the house. Just as I was beginning to fall asleep, I remember a lot of commotion, and the sounds of sirens stopping nearby. There were many muted voices in the distance, and then all was silent for a long time. The next afternoon, I waited anxiously for Bob to come home so we could go for our daily ride. But, he didn't come.

Late that night, Mary came into the garage and gently touched my tank. I was hoping that Bob would join her, and we could all go for a moonlight ride. But, he didn't appear. Instead, Mary climbed onto the passenger seat, and settled back into the backrest, silently. It was the same warmth that I had become accustomed to feeling. Then, she leaned forward and put the key in my ignition and turned it on. Mary put a cassette into my radio and turned the sound onto my external speakers. Soon the sounds of John Denver singing "Country Roads" began wafting through the garage. Mary leaned back in the seat and sat there quietly. Then, I felt something moist fall on my armrest, and gently trickle down to my saddlebag cover below. I heard an almost imperceptible sob coming from Mary. Why was she crying? After a few minutes, Mary reached forward and turned the key off and hesitantly dismounted. I remember the parting touch as her hand traced the lines of my fairing as she left the garage. What was wrong? Where was Bob?

A few days later, I remember Mary bringing someone into the garage and handing them my key. I thought, what is going on? Who is this? Where is Bob? I'm Bob's Wing. The stranger settled into my seat. That was such a different feel. He inserted the key and pressed my starter. Something inside me said this isn't the time to protest, so as always, my engine fired with its reassuring sound of power, even though I was uncomfortable about what was happening. We rode out onto the street and I could feel the apprehension in the stranger's body as we negotiated the stops and turns. Soon we came to a large building that I had never been to before. There were many other Wings around. I recognized them from the GWRRA Chapter that Bob and Mary had joined. The stranger parked me right at the front of all those other bikes. I noted that there were a lot of cars there, too - several of them long and black. Everyone stood around for a while talking in low tones. I could see tears in most of their eyes. Every once in a while, some of the people from the GWRRA would walk over and quietly pat my fairing or trunk. But, where was Bob? It was all so strange.

Then, everyone went into the large building for a while. None of the other Gold Wings spoke - we all just sat there quietly and waited. Before long, everyone came out of the building, and I was hoping that Bob would be with them. Instead, the stranger returned to me, and started my engine. All of the other Wings and cars started their engines as well. I realized that this was going to be a parade and I really liked parades. I just wished that Bob was here with me. Soon, we pulled out onto the street. I was leading the parade, and we had a police escort - this was a first for me. All of the other Wings fell in behind me - there must have been 50. Then came the long, black cars and finally came many, many other cars. The stranger reached down and turned on my cassette deck. Soon, the strains of "Country Roads" began drifting from my external speakers. He turned the volume up very loud as we slowly followed the police escort through the streets of the city. People on the curb stopped what they were doing and turned toward us as we inched by. John Denver's voice from my radio echoed off the walls of the buildings as we passed.

Before long we were out into the gently rolling hills of the country and then we came to a place with many small monuments dotting the hillside. Our parade turned into the fenced area, and came to a stop. All of the other Wings and cars waited on the road as the stranger maneuvered me onto the grass to a specially prepared area. Then, he dismounted. I hoped that Bob would come and then everything would be alright. I don't remember much of what happened next. There was a lot of low crying and quiet words. I couldn't see or hear very well. Before I knew it, the stranger was back in my saddle, and we were headed back to the city. He pulled me into my garage and put me away. He didn't even wipe me down like Bob always did. But, then, how would he know - I was Bob's Wing.

Bob hasn't been to see me since that night he put me away more than three months ago. Every once in a while, late at night, Mary will come in and quietly go through that ritual she began those long months back. I wonder what I did that upset Bob so much that he won't take me for a ride anymore? I miss that reassuring feel of his touch and his warmth as he would lovingly maneuver me through those sweeping turns on our afternoon jaunts. My engine hasn't been started lately, and I feel so old.

Wait a minute. Here comes Mary. She's talking to someone. Maybe it's Bob? No, it's not Bob. It's another stranger, and Mary is giving him my keys. Funny, he has that same look in his eyes that Bob had when he saw me for the first time three years ago. It's been so long since I've been started, I hope I can. I don't want to get rusty - just in case Bob wants to go for another ride. The stranger presses my starter and my engine fires after a couple of seconds - it's been a while and I had to really try. Then off we go down the street. It sure is nice to be out in the cool air and sunshine again. This fellow is handling me just like Bob did on our first ride together, but I sure wish that Bob was in my saddle. This stranger is taking me down the same roads that Bob and I used to ride on. If I didn't miss Bob so much, I could really have a good time out here.

We've been riding for a couple of hours now, and boy, this is starting to be fun again. This rider is a lot like Bob - he tweaks my throttle the same way, and I can feel the excitement in his body as we lean through the turns and accelerate away. He put a tape in my cassette deck a while ago, and for the last hour we have been riding to the sounds of John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High." I settle back, and remember all of the good times I had riding up and down these roads with Bob.

Then, before I know it, we are returning to the city, and the stranger takes me to an area that I have never been before. We are turning into a long driveway, and he pulls me into a strange garage. This isn't my garage! What's going on? Bob won't like this. The stranger dismounts, runs into the house, and brings a lady out to see me. She has the same look in her eyes that Mary had the first time she saw me, those many years ago. They both gently touch my features and I hear the stranger call the lady Ann. She calls him Jim. Jim and Ann go back in the house and return with some rags and a bottle of polish. They begin waxing and shining me - the first time since Bob polished me three months back. As they do, they talk about joining the local GWRRA Chapter and going on poker runs and moonlight rides, and how much fun they're going to have with me. Before long they finish and as Jim closes the garage door, he gently takes a cloth and wipes a speck of dust from my fairing - just as Bob always did. I'm very confused, but I suppose everything will work out all right. I like Jim and Ann. They are so much like Bob and Mary. So, I guess until Bob comes and takes me home again, I'll be Jim's Wing.

Dedicated to all of the GWRRA riders and co-riders who have begun their never-ending trip during 1998.

Reproduced here with permission of Nick Hoppner, Editor - Wing World Magazine. This article originally appeared on page 51 of the January 1999 issue.