Boxer Shorts March, 2005 - 2 of 4
Editor's Pillion
by Victor Cruz
Stories. What defines a life. Stories are
life and life is a collection of stories.
At the end of life, if you don't have stories
to tell, then god bless, you haven't been
loyal to the gift of life itself. In the
life of Fred Tausch, what we remember most
about him are the stories: those he told
to us and those stories that were told of
the man.
Perhaps more than any other symbol that befits the man, is an object that symbolizes the motorcycle club he belonged to for more than 10 years, the Yankee Beemers. This object took a life form of its own. The enduring object that will be most remembered about Professor Fred Tausch is his treasured and timeless 630,000-mile BMW R60/5.
Like the man, it had already achieved legendary status many miles ago. Itself, forever a story on two-wheels. "The key is to never wash your bike," he'd say, "the mud and dirt keeps it from leaking." He would know. His 1970 R60/5 ran on its original wheel bearings and its engine was never rebuilt. "Only the brake pedal shows some wear."
Story has it that BMW's advertising agency contacted Fred about posing for a print display ad that pictured riders on their long-distance machines. Madison Avenue wanted Fred to wash his bike. He told them, "What you see is what you get."
Story has it that BMW, which had over time sent Fred several bronze medallions for achieving 100K (twice), 300K, 400K, 500K and 600K mileage milestones, offered Fred a free trade up: a brand new shiny pristine resplendent beautiful BMW motorcycle direct from the factory in Berlin in exchange for his ragamuffin 1970 R60/5. You can guess what he told those guys.
Story has it that Frugal Fred, who rode wearing a tweed jacket, slacks and plain black street shoes, rode in the winter with a sliced-open tire inner tube draped over his lap to keep out the cold, the bottom of it melting on his heads.
Story has it that Fred was known for his riding style as set-it-and- forget-it Fred. Clock the speedo at 50mph and leave it there. Don't slow down through town. On trips to rallies, guys would pass Fred not once, but many times. It was the Tortoise and the Hare story retold.
When the guys got to the rally site, there was Fred, his tent already pitched, his pipe already smoking, relaxing with legs crossed, a group of onlookers gawking at his miraculous bike, wondering how it got there, how it beat them there.
And these guys would invariably shut up and start listening. Listening to Fred telling stories.
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