White Rose's Adventures

R.I.P. Trapper John, I am going to miss you sweetheart!

I didn’t know Trapper John for very long, only 3 years, but he was not only a huge part of my biker family, I considered him my friend. I remember the first time I met him and Carole. It was after I had shattered my wrists and the first time I was back on my Harley; the Gulfport Blowout. We had been friends on BoN for a while but I really didn’t know who he was. I was new to the biker world since I had only been riding since the summer of 2007. Several of the BoN people were going to meet at the rally and we were keeping in touch with each other because the weather forecast didn’t look good for that weekend. The Wednesday before the blowout really kicked in, I rode down to Gulfport to help set up the PGR camp with our states caption, Ed. It was Thursday when I got a message from Trapper on BoN through my phone. He asked if I was still going to the Blowout since it looked like it was going to rain all weekend. My response to him was, “Hell yea, I am already down there. Come on down we have the party started!” Through several other messages I told him were we were camped, when he planned to be there and made plans to meet. Saturday morning here comes this guy on a bike & a woman on the back riding right up into camp. He stopped and asked where White Rose was. We exchanged hugs and greeting and he rode off. One of the ladies in the PGR asked me if I knew who he was. I said yeap, “He is Trapper John. I know him through BoN.” She laughed and told me that he had made her left breast famous back in the 70s. I got the whole story and realized that Trapper was a bit of a legend in the biker world.

Later that day we all met up again and got to talking about a guy that I had met through BoN and gone out on a date with. Trapper laughed and told me to not take it personally that the guy had decided that it would be better that we remain just friends. He said it was the guys that was missing out on something great! (I love him for his personal support.) He and Carole talked me into going to Bama Bike Fest and the Faunsdale Bike Rally later in the summer. In the picture above you will see the sing he made and hung at the Bama Bike Fest. “No Shirt, No Shoes, Good Service.” That was Trapper. I think he could talk just about any woman out of their shirt. But he was always respectful of the people he took pictures of. If they let him take a picture, but didn’t want it on the internet or in a magazine, he respected that and you would not find a picture that he took of that person anywhere.

Being a single woman I was concerned about attending the rallies by myself. Trapper and Carole told me that I was welcome to camp with them and that they would watch my back. And that they did. Trapper would tell me where it was ok for me to hang out at a rally and where it wasn’t. We would ride around the rally on our bikes and have to make numerous stops before we got back to our camp. Everyone knew Trapper and everyone loved him.

Trapper told me about the Slapout Blowout at Harleywood, which is a little north of Montgomery and told me I should go. I was a bit nervous about going to the gathering since the only people I would know there were him and Carole. He assured me that the guys in the Dixie Biker Association were good people and that I would have a blast…and I did. Other than Carole tripping and breaking her arm, it was a great weekend in the woods. He even talked me into entering the “Strut Your Stuff’ contest and his pointers are what helped me win it against a 19-year-old.

The last rally I went to with Trapper and Carole was Faunsdale last fall. The cancer was taking a toll on him but all of us there were determine to make sure he had fun. Carole, Sandra (another BoN person) and I harassed the “rally virgins” as he watched and laughed. We danced around the fire and had a night that I will never forget.

The last time I saw Trapper was this past June when I was on my way to Deal’s Gap to spend a few days of riding. I knew he was not getting better and the cancer had spread. I had planned to call him and Carole when I got to Montgomery so I could visit for a bit before riding on. Half way between my house and Montgomery I noticed that I was blowing oil from some where. I washed the bike south of Montgomery and rode up I65 to I85. I figured I would get close to where Carole lived, stop and check it out and then call and go see them. I didn’t make it. In some ways I think God had his hand in what was happening that day. Something told me to pull off and check the bike sooner than I had planned. I removed a piece of engine chrome and found that I had a split oil line. I called Carole and she didn’t answer. So I called Trapper and told him I needed help. I told him where I was and he said, “You are only a mile and a half from my house.” I knew he lived somewhere in that area but could not remember how to get to his house. He gave me directions, I put more oil in my bike and made it to his house. He took me to get a line and helped me put it on the bike. We talked, laughed and I cried. Our conversation that day told me that he was tired and that he had come to terms with what was happening in his body. When I rode away a couple of hours later, I knew that for him, he was trying to decide when enough was enough. I let him know the I would not be made at him if he stopped the chemo and meds. He was my friend and though I didn’t want to see him give up and not have him in my life anymore, I also didn’t like seeing him in pain and suffering. I told him that I loved him no matter what he decided to do.

I will always have some of the most wonderful memories of Trapper and doing the rallies together. I am going to miss my friend. And though my pillow will be stained many nights for my loss, I know I will always have those great memories to remember him by. I also know that my friend is no longer in pain and in a better place. Trapper John touched so many people both personally and through his pictures. And though I really didn’t know him long and have not seen the many, many pictures that were published in the biker rags, I knew the man and called him friend. I love you Trapper John and I am going to miss you. But I know you will always live in the hearts of all those that you have touched over the years and you will always be in mine. Rest in peace sweetheart. Enjoy the ride to heaven and give ‘em a little hell!