Remembering Friend and Rider Gary Randall

By Bud Wilkinson of RIDE-CT.com

The ritual will continue. A motorcycle will undoubtedly get rolled from the garage and parked at the top of the driveway on Sunday morning. The armored jacket, helmet and gloves will be brought outside in advance of a very lonesome ride. Missing, this Sunday and forever, will be the sweet exhaust notes of a vintage motorcycle coming up the hill to the house and the sight of an old Moto Guzzi, BMW, Triumph or Indian, piloted by a goggled rider, pulling into the driveway. There will be no housekeeping conversation of whether a quick stop for gas or cash is necessary and no deciding what route to take for breakfast at Toymaker’s Cafe in Fall Village.

That’s because Gary Randall, friend and riding companion, died Wednesday at Hartford Hospital where he had been airlifted following a horrific crash Monday evening on Route 202 in Litchfield. An inattentive driver pulled from a package store into his path, he couldn’t avoid the collision and suffered severe head injuries. We had been on our way to dinner at The Village restaurant.

The past few days have been filled with countless, worthless “what ifs” and innumerable tears. What if the headlight on his 1968 BMW R50/2 had been illuminated? What if he had been dressed in something more visible than a black riding jacket? Would the driver have seen him? What if he had been wearing a full-face helmet instead of a half-helmet that was more decorative than protective? Would that have prevented his death? “What ifs” don’t provide answers and don’t bring him back.

Like most of us who ride, Gary was passionate about riding. He rode swiftly but was skillful in his hands-on operation. He also loved talking about motorcycles and loved stockpiling vintage motorcycles. He owned nine, some of which actually ran. But not the Honda CB750 or Norton Combat Commando in his basement.

The centerpiece of his collection was a 1946 Indian Chief on which he had another serious accident in 2010, also on Route 202 in Litchfield. He mended, the bike was rebuilt and he resumed riding.

Given the nature of his classic mounts, part of the adventure in riding with him was wondering whether his bike of the day would make it home and, if it did, whether all its parts would be intact.

Once, on a ride to the Brit Jam meet a few years ago, his BSA Lightning dropped its shifter lever on Route 10. He had to go back and retrieve it.

 Gary Randall being interviewed at Indian Day 

A trip to Indian Day at the Springfield Museums in 2011 saw his revived Indian fail to start in the parking lot at day’s end. The bike’s carb float had melted, done in by modern gas. Friend and Indian expert Tim Raindle got down on his back on the hot pavement to get it running again.

While not mechanically inclined, Gary was interested in how bikes worked and why. He was always asking questions of friends and listened intently to their replies. Raindle and George Yarocki were his go-to guys for his Indian. Brian O’Neill handled his Moto Guzzi Eldorado, Jeff Dlugokinski his Triumph Bonneville and Will Paley his BMW. I sometimes kidded him that he had more bikes that were not running than he did ones that were.

Riding near Monterey, MA one day a couple of years ago, a spark plug ejected from the BMW, leaving him stranded. He got on the back of the 1994 BMW R100RT that I then owned and we rode tandem back to Harwinton to get a truck and trailer. It was a scary ride, at least for me. Two guys weighing upwards of 250 pounds each was really too much of a load for the sluggish bike. We looked like a circus act.

Gary Randall retrieving the 1968 BMW R50/2

I don’t think Gary ever met a bike he didn’t like. His Moto Guzzi was a literally a “barn find,” snatched from a barn atop Cream Hill Road in Cornwall. O’Neill also owns an Eldorado, so they got dubbed them the “Guzzi Guys” in a column that ran in “The Republican-American” newspaper. I quickly learned that they didn’t like the identifier.

Writing the RIDE-CT newspaper column and having this website sometimes affords me access to events. When the Yankee Beemers motorcycle club had a camp out at Lime Rock Park and its members were given the opportunity to do some laps on the racetrack, Gary came with me and got to ride his BMW in the procession. His pleasure is evident in the picture.

The evening ride on Monday that ended tragically was meant to be carefree fun. He’d been out of town with his family – wife Karen and daughter Mackenzie – for a few days. Having not been able to ride over the weekend, he called Monday afternoon to say he was leaving work early and that he’d call when he got home so we could ride together.

We had ridden to Litchfield, Morris and Bantam and were heading back to The Village on the green in Litchfield when the driver suddenly pulled out. We were riding in a staggered formation with Gary in the lead. He had no time to react.

A motorcycle will get backed out the garage on Sunday morning. Riding gear will be put on and the bike started. There will be a joyless ride to Toymaker’s Cafe followed by a ride to Kent to scout the motorcycles parked along the main drag and to get a coconut macaroon at J.P Gifford Market. That’s what our weekly ritual dictates. I’ll buy two. One for myself and one for the absent, much-missed friend.