Kyle Petty Charity Ride: Off and riding across country (cont'd)

DAY 4: PARK CITY, UTAH

Kevin Kane Photography

NASCAR.COM's Josh Pate -- out of the car (and off the bike) -- breaks with the riders for dinner.

In between bites of authentic Idaho potato during Sunday's lunch break, Gilbert Pritt walked up casually. My conversation with Rutledge Wood ended, and I turned to Gilbert and his wife. I had dinner with the couple the first night of the Kyle Petty Charity Ride, so I figured we were just going to chat.

"My wife and I figure if you let her drive your car, you can ride with me on the motorcycle for a leg of the trip," Gilbert said. "I just want you to be able to experience it from the bike and why all of us love to do this."

I like offers I can't refuse.

The Pritts and I talked about the logistics of it all:

• I'd need to clear it with the ride's coordinator, Diane Hough. She was on board.

• I'd need a helmet -- Kay from Chick-fil-a came through with one to fit my giant skull.

• I'd need a leather jacket -- again, Kay.

• I'd need some gloves -- Gilbert's wife let me use hers.

The plan: At the next fuel stop in Ogden, Utah, I'd give up my keys, put on my gear and figure out how to get on the back of Gilbert's Harley for my first time on a motorcycle. Not easy. Five men lifted me up and sat me down before helping me adjust to the new environment. Having cerebral palsy, hiking a leg over a steel horse doesn't always come in the "how-to" manual.

Gilbert gave me the Cliff's Notes of riding shotgun -- basically, don't overreact when he leans into a turn. The siren sounded. Five minutes before departure.

"You ready," Gilbert asked.

"Ready."

As the ride pulled out of the filling station for the final leg of Day 4 into the Utah mountains, we deliberately were one of the last to hit the road. No need to interfere with the ride just because we want to have a little cycling experiment.

The wind was cold, just like they warned. But it wasn't overbearing, despite the dropping temperatures as we climbed in elevation. My chapped lips didn't agree.

But the beauty? Incomparable.

I had spent the last two and a half days trailing the Charity Ride in an indiscrete Pontiac. I kept my hazard lights on and had a pair of wingmen -- Alton in the Chick-fil-a cow car and Rob in the Racing Electronics truck -- so local authorities knew I was legitimately with the ride. I enjoyed the scenery along the way, especially Idaho. I got emotional when I saw families standing roadside and waving, many of whom I'm sure rearranged their schedules to get a glimpse of the ride rolling through their town.

But up here on the motorcycle, I became part of the ride (something no objective journalist should do ... blah).

About that time, one of the motor patrol riding with the group rolled to our side and handed us a radio.

"Josh, we're going to take you to the front and we'll fall in line there," said one of the patrolmen on the talkie (I've met them, but under yellow vests on matching bikes, they're stealth).

"10-4," I said.

Gilbert put the hammer down and we started passing riders. Within minutes, we were within sight of Rutledge and Diane in the pace car. Don Tilley was in his traditional spot leading the pack (more on Don before the week's out). Gilbert and I weren't sure what to do, but, as awkward as it was for the both of us, Don waved us by. We were leading the Kyle Petty Charity ride as it rolled in for the night in Park City, Utah.

My legs are sore this very moment. My lips desert dry. And my shirt soaked from wearing two jackets on a mild afternoon. Everyone asked the same question: "How was it?"

It reminded me of the conversation I had with my mom (on Mother's Day, no less) just minutes before Gilbert asked if I wanted to ride. The premise: You can read words or information about something but in no way does it resemble the experience. Traveling on the Kyle Petty Charity Ride (90 miles spent on Gilbert's Screaming Eagle) and understanding the bond between riders and workers beats any word on this page. (Continued)