In 1985, I nearly made the biggest mistake of my life. I ran away from my girlfriend, who is now my wife. I went back to my post-adolescent roots in Georgia and moved in with two former roommates, Doug and Steve.

They were both motorcycle men, Doug the mechanic, Steve the rider. Steve won the WERA middleweight championship that year. His tired FJ600 was just about to blow and the Grand National Finals at Road Atlanta were a month away. It happened like this:

One day while floating a tube down the Chattahoochee River, a common Georgia pass time, Doug floated to the bank to take a wizz. He climbed the bank out of view. When he returned my buddy said his face was white as a ghost. Odd, since he was 1/4 Cherokee Indian and the rest, southern good 'ol boy, motorsikle rebel-yell redneck.

He didn't say a word. He was that kind of guy, but man, could he ever tune a two stroke Yamaha RD. He just hung his T-shirt on a tree and got back on the tube.

About 2am, I found him standing over my bed inches from my face. I almost wet the bed. I assumed that was his intention.

"I need to borrow the eagle head knife" he growled.

I got it for him. It was almost as long as a machete and had a big silver eagle’s head on top of the handle. My nephew had stolen it the year before from a neighbor's house and my brother took it from him for stealing. Then, he gave it to me. OK, now it sounds funny, but it seemed right at the time.

As listened from my bed, it sounded like he was throwing Steve's canoe in the back of his little pickup. He spun gravel leaving the driveway. I would have gone with him, but just started a new contract job and had to be in the office by 6am.

When Doug climbed the riverbank to whiz, he found himself standing in the middle of a massive "cash crop" plantation. The shirt was to mark the spot.

That night he filled 10 Hefty trash bags with Georgia's finest. Two weeks later, having gone to market he headed to Canada to buy a fat pig. In the form of one a brand spanking new Yamaha RZ 500 V4 2 stroke. He drove straight to Road Atlanta with it in the back of the truck and they safety wired it trackside, finishing minutes before the flag dropped.

Steve took the hole shot and led the pack from flag to flag. His rival beat the gas tank of his own machine in with his fist as he watched Steve and the title dissappear over the top of the hill after turn one.

On the first race of the following season at Roebling Road in Savannah, now wearing the number 1 plate, Steve pinwheeled the RZ end over end on a fast sweeper and they collected what was left of the of the GP based machine in a box. As they say: "That's racing" or "Easy come, easy go" or "You flippin idiooot!"

With the money he made from the canoe AG harvest, Doug also bought a Yamaha IT 250, a very nice enduro dirt bike. He loaned it to me one day and I took it to north a well known north Georgia riding spot.

As I was trying to figure out where the actual riding area began, another truck drove past with a local KTM dealer logo branding on the door. I followed them down a red dirt side road and after parking, the guys invited me to ride along with them.

I waited as they got their "real" gear on and gassed up. I figured it was better to ride with the overly prepared geezers than get lost. About a hundred yards into the thick pine forest and red Georgia clay, I realized the error of my ways. I could barely keep them in sight and they continued to wait for me every 10 miles or so. As the day wore on, they had to wait less and we had a great time. One guy I particular, whose name was Barry, was astoundingly nimble. He flicked his machine between trees that seemed too close together to ride thorugh. He made it appear so effortless; at speed he rode better than anyone I'd ever ridden with.

At the end of the day, we said our goodbyes and Barry Higgins gave me a business card from his shop. When I got back to the house, I told Doug met these guys and he asked who they were. I remembered Barry's first name and as I was ...um..um...trying to remember his surname, searching for the card. I showed Doug.

Doug exploded.

"HIGGINS!? YOU RODE WITH BARRY HIGGINS!? You just spent the day riding with a world champion and didn't even know it?!"

I knew he was good, but I just didn't recognize his name. Barry rode a CZ to near victory in the 1969 US motocross GP at Unadilla, our world renowned east coast track, and this against the Europeans, the finest motocrossers in the world at the time.

Barry was inducted to the AMA Hall of Fame in 2000. A childhood hero of mine and I didn't have the intellectual wherewithall to allow his stardom to overwhelm or intimidate me. I just spent the day riding with a champion.

Is that cool, or what?

Barry, if you're out there, thanks man. You are the genuine article.