Five Hundred Miles...

A Rogue Wanderer Traveling The River of Life.. Travel, Motorcycles, and Growing Old Against My Will

Saturday, August 19, 2006


This road trip actually began almost six years ago, when I bought a used, rather beat up long on mileage and short on looks Kawasaki Vulcan 750, in returning to motorcycling after a much too long hiatus. Aside from being in possession of a newly minted Motorcycle attachment to my license—A first for me, despite having owned two prior motorcycles—I knew absolutely nothing beyond that it had two wheels and a motor.

An internet search put me on to VROC, the Vulcan Riders and Owners Club, a what I then thought was a loosely formed group of Vulcan motorcycle riders and owners (that makes sense, no?) I signed on. It was perhaps the best move I could have made in my motorcycling education.

As a complete, or relatively complete neophyte, I was apprehensive at first, tepidly asking questions, which to my surprise were answered with what was often overwhelmingly helpful advice and solutions to my various motorcycle problems.

But VROC was more than that. I soon discovered that VROC was not something I joined, but a process of osmosis that gradually absorbed me. There was more here than just motorcycles. VROC was about life, And I was gradually absorbed into it.

It was the quintessential “Biker Bar” where everything was discussed, argued, fought over, and once in a while—not too often, remember, this was VROC--resolved. There was politics, religion—or lack thereof—and just about everything in between. It came to a point where if I had a question about just about anything, I would post it, and someone, somewhere knew something about it, or provided a link to someplace with the answer. It became a sounding board for just about every subject under the sun, from a world-wide membership. It can actually be said that the sun never sets on VROC membership.

And I came to know these people whom I had never met.

There were marriages and divorces, an affair or two, posts from family members advising the group of medical progress for various ills some member someplace was going through; and reports—all too frequent—of riders going down, including my own,
There were births and there were deaths. I don’t think I have every witnessed such an outpouring of support and emotion as that I was part of with the death of Foggy to Cancer. I had corresponded with him, but we had never met. His losing battle is the stuff of VROC lore, an experience shared by a world-wide membership that no one ever though would be repeated.
Until August 19, 2005, when we opened up our mail to the unimagined post announced that Big Number Three, Rick Jackubas had taken his last ride.

No. things like this don't happen to somebody I knew, even though I had never met him. It speaks volumes for what he left behind has effected each and every one of us in ways that none of us can explain.

There are no words that will adequately explain what he meant to us, so we will just let the day of silence speak for us. A member of our family passed on much too early in life one year ago today, and he is missed beyond words.
Thanks Rick


  • At 6:26 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Because of VROC I have met some of the nicest people, like you, Warren. You went out of your way to show me around New York City when I rode down the East Coast in May 2004 and it is greatly appreciated. I also stopped at SEVROC in Lake Lure, NC on my way home and met some old acquaintences from rallies past, and new faces, as well.
    My first Internet search for Kawasaki Vulcan 750 turned up nothing, but in 1998 I found VROC. The most bizarre thing was that the person running the web site lived less than 20 miles away from me in Naperville, IL. I got to ride with Rick quite a few times, but never did get to know him as well as I would like. He is greatly missed, but his spirit lives on in VROC.

    Wolfman - GBNF


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