14 Jun 2026 Rides, rattlesnakes and Richie Ryerson
By Mike Kemp
The cackling through the helmet headsets signaled both amusement and relief.
Just a few seconds prior, it was Richie telling me a story about work, home life, I can’t really remember. But it was broken by some colorful language and his heavy braking ahead of me. Our serene dirt road and moderate pace were suddenly blocked by a huge mud hole, the kind that swallows front tires and leads to a wet, muddy rider pulling themselves out of the muck.
Heavy braking followed, along with motorcycles that waggled their way through the obstacle. And then, hysterical laughter at what we had just encountered.
These kinds of events are just part of having the right riding partner. Most of the time that I’m riding, I’m by myself. And not for the stoic, modern-day cowboy crap that some riding mythology wants to sell you. Often, it’s scheduling and my inability to make a good plan that bites me. I’m too spontaneous, and my friends have jobs and stupid adult responsibilities.
Additionally, I’m selective about who I want to ride with. No squids need apply. For many years now, Richie Ryerson has made the cut.
He got into the sport after I did and says seeing how much I enjoyed it encouraged him to make the jump. And to that end, we’ve been influential on each other; after seeing how much he was enjoying his dual sport a few years back, I took the plunge as well.
It’s been an interesting evolution. When we first began riding together, he joined my cousin and me for some rides. He said he could barely keep pace with us. But then, Richie discovered track days.
To the uninitiated, a track day is an open day on a race track that anyone with a credit card and the desire to pin it can enjoy. It’s not a race, but rather a chance to safely test your limits with runoff areas and emergency personnel nearby. With a few track days under his belt, Richie took the lead on our rides. It also meant that when we approached a curve, and he shifted his weight off the seat, I was not going to see him for a while.
That was okay. He always waited for me a little bit down the road.
He’s generous like that.
His generosity doesn’t stop there. For reasons that escape me, he sometimes likes wrenching as much as riding. Not content to wait on a shop’s schedule for mounting tires on wheels, he purchased a tire changer for his garage and shares his time and expertise with his friends. That has worked out well for me, especially in one period when I ended up with several punctures on rides with him.
His desire to purchase tools — he once wisely told me you never regret a tool purchase — has also worked in my favor. I had forgotten to return tools for extended periods and ended up owning those tools because he had doubled up on that particular tool and didn’t need two anyway.
We’ve also spent plenty of time in his garage due to his love of the mechanics of just about anything. Whenever I had a project that needed tackling but was intimidated by it, he shrugged it off by saying, “It’s just parts.”
The helmet communicators just add to the experience. When I first purchased mine, I wasn’t sure if having a voice in my helmet would add or detract from the experience. We had worked out hand signals for obstacles in the road, but now we could just tell each other what was ahead. Or what we saw in the rear views that might lead to more hysterics.
Like the time we crossed a dried creek bed in the Ozark National Forest. Despite my pointing out the perfectly good bridge we could cross, he insisted we go into the creek for some photos. It’s all for the ’Grams, right?
It was all fine until we were ready to leave. The exit was a pretty steep bank, which required commitment and a handful of throttle. Richie got it right. Me, not so much.
I launched up the bank in a manner that would make Evel Knievel proud and proceeded to land on another mound perfectly situated to launch me again — especially since I forgot to let off the throttle.
Another landing, another mound, another launch. This time, my trajectory shot me to the left between some concrete curbs and back onto the road. “Are you okay?” Richie’s voice sounded concerned, but when I confirmed that I indeed had survived, my headset erupted in laughter.
“All I saw was you disappear into a bush!” he mustered when he finally caught his breath. I’ll admit I laughed along as well.
The conversations via headsets ranged from shock when we both rode past a defensive rattlesnake on Highway 123 to fooling him into thinking I had spotted a bear. He called me some unfair names after that.
There are numerous other conversations, laughs and good meals that I could add. Despite spending a lot of time by myself on rides, it’s priceless having someone to share this sport with. It definitely adds richness and depth to the times shared.
