2nd Annual Teddy Bear Run
The cold settled in early that morning, and the fog rolled through Lemoore thick enough to blur the streetlights. Riders pulled in shaking mist from their jackets, their breath hanging in the air like smoke. No one complained. No one even flinched. We had already been pushed back a week, and everyone knew why. Rain and sick kids do not mix, so we took the delay in stride and showed up ready to make this one count.
The night before the new date, a handful of us met at LifeWay Church in Lemoore to set things up. The fireplace filled with a mountain of teddy bears, big and small, soft and wild, staring out at the room like a fluffy army waiting for orders. A nearby table held blank cards for riders to write messages to
the kids. Snacks were ready. Coffee supplies stood in place. Everything was lined up for an early, cold morning.
The setup from the night before was ready and waiting, simple but solid. Then the women of the church arrived early, took one look around, and said, “Watch this.” In no time, they turned a basic continental layout into something made with love. Cocoa, coffee, tea, pastries, cookies, and thoughtful little touches filled the room with a warmth and more love than 7am should be capable of. By the time the first riders walked through the doors, it felt like they were stepping straight into a hug.
Riders began arriving in quiet trickles. A few early engines. A few sleepy smiles. Then the trickles became waves. Leather and denim filled the
lobby. My helper Linda did everything she could to keep me anchored. We checked in pre-registrations, handled day-of signups, handed out patches and meal tickets, and sent each rider to the fireplace to choose their bear from the mountain of fluff. Some knew instantly which one they wanted. Others stood there for long moments, letting the right bear choose them.
Before we left the church for the hospital, we took a moment for someone who should have been there with us. The 2nd Annual Teddy Bear Ride was dedicated to Scott Yarborough, who passed away on November fifteenth. Scott was a huge part of our community, and he wanted more than anything to be part of this
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Sarah Jackman WRITER
PAGES 7-10
Jackman
veteran owned and operated CC BIKER & MOTORSPORTS
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ride. His name carried through the room from the moment we gathered, settling into every heart. His memory rode in every mile, in every smile, in every bear delivered. Everyone who knew him loved him. Everyone who loved him missed him. And he was part of this ride, as surely as if he had been right beside us.
While the blessing and morning message began inside, it was time for me, Linda, and my daughter to head to Valley Children’s. And yes, we were in my car. A biker magazine article where the author shows up in a Kia should be illegal, but practicality wins sometimes. The fog still lingered across
the roads, low and stubborn, but the riders behind us were not swayed one bit.
We arrived early at the hospital to set up near the helipad. Even before the bikes came in, the air felt charged.
Kids had been thinking about this parade for days. The route from the helipad to the parking lot is short, only about the length of a football field, but it becomes something huge when the riders roll in with the bears.
Kids pressed their faces to upstairs windows. The ones who made it to the pavilion waved like their arms were made of springs. Riders rolled slowly, bears strapped everywhere. Bright colors. Soft fur.
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After the parade, riders parked in the lot and climbed off their bikes. Engines clicked softly as they cooled. Then everyone moved with purpose. Straps were undone. Bungees came off. Bears were lifted from seats and saddlebags. Cars handed out their
extras. Soon the walkway to the pavilion was a steady stream of riders and volunteers carrying piles of stuffed animals so tall that some had to peek around them to walk.
A few riders were invited to bring their bikes directly onto the pavilion. The rest
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Big personalities bouncing with each inch of movement.
2nd Annual Teddy Bear Run
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gathered nearby with their armfuls of bears. Once those engines went quiet, the pavilion shifted into something new. It did not feel like a hospital space. It became a place made for joy.
Kids approached from every direction. Some stood with parents. Some rolled forward in decorated wheelchairs. Some came with shy smiles that brightened the closer they got. In those moments they were not patients. They were simply kids enjoying a day built for them. Some had arms so full of bears they could hardly walk, but they waddled proudly, refusing help because those bears were theirs and they were not letting go of a single one.
One mother pushed her child in a wheelchair and moved carefully through the crowd. Howie the Bear, our mascot, walked right up to her and chose a bear just for her. Not the child, but the mom. People often forget the caretakers when someone gets sick. They carry so much weight. Seeing her face soften as she hugged that bear was
one of those small moments that lodge themselves into your chest and stay there.
A boy climbed onto one of the pavilion-parked bikes with help from his dad and the rider. His small hands wrapped around the grips and he went very still. When the rider explained that opening the throttle felt like flying without leaving the ground, the boy drifted into a daydream so vivid you could almost see him lift off. His face softened into quiet wonder. I knew instantly he’d remember that moment for the rest of his life.
Parents joined in. They shared memories of bikes they once owned or still hoped to ride someday. Riders answered with patience and warmth. Conversations blended together easily. Caretakers stayed nearby, ready to steady a kid or scoop up a fallen bear, but mostly they watched the magic happen around them. Bears were dropped, rescued, traded, and hugged again. A caretaker tucked a bear under
a boy’s arm and promised it would stand guard while he slept. He believed her without hesitation.
When it was time for a group photo, we gathered everyone together. First, we took one without the kids so we could share it publicly without worry. Then the families asked for another with the kids front and center. We moved, squeezed in, adjusted a few bears, and took a second shot meant only for them. Those photos will never be posted anywhere, but their families will treasure them. They took home the moment exactly as it was.
After the kids returned inside, the riders relaxed.
Rooster’s BBQ Pit fed every hungry biker with tri tip, beans, macaroni salad, and drinks. It was the perfect reward for a day well spent. By the end of the event, riders looked content. Full stomachs. Warm hearts. Bikes loaded. It was not exhaustion settling in, it was pride. The kind that stays with you for the rest of the day because you started your morning doing something that mattered. As for me, I ended the day sweaty, wrapped in an oversized bear onesie, and unbelievably fulfilled. Every year we hope this ride grows bigger, better, and more special.
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Visalia Harley-Davidson Bike Night
Richard Tilley EDITOR
On Thursday, October 30th I went over to Visalia Harley Davidson to support their Bike Night. When I arrived, there was only like 30 bikers there so far. I walked around taking a live video to highlight what vendors were there. They had a taco truck, a beverage truck and a couple ladies selling cookies. Bikers were walking around talking with one another outside, when I went into the store there was a lot of folks walking around checking out all the goods they had for sale.
I had won a raffle item from the last time I was there, so I went to the sales counter to see what we won. Which was a t-shirt, I purchased more raffle tickets for the new raffle to show support. I took the tickets and dropped them into different bags in hopes to win more prizes. Soon I will know if we won anything.
I went back outside and now there were about 50 bikers there and more were riding in. The staff was setting up games for tonight’s bike night. They had a tire throwing contest, bobbing for apples and a costume contest.
There was several contestants for the tire toss, the winner ended up being a young girl around 10 years old and she was so thrilled that she had won. After while the Apple bobbing contest was gonna start. They had 4 or 5 contestants going for the
50.00 gift card prize. They were all trying hard, but only one could win and that just happen to be Shayne Smith won prevailed as the winner.
I was starting to have a harder time breathing, so it was time for me to head on back home. Before I left, I went
over and purchased a few cookies and then over to the taco truck and got a couple plates to take home. I had a good time socializing with several different bikers and got a few pictures. I really enjoyed my time at the bike night and glad I was able to
at least go for a little bit.
I was told they will have one more bike night this year in November and then will start up again nest year.
Thanks Visalia HarleyDavidson for putting such a fun Bike Night together.
CVMA® 7th Annual Veterans Ride
Sarah Jackman WRITER
By Sarah Jackman
Clawson Motorsports was already buzzing by the time I rolled in. I’d shown up later than I thought I was supposed to, which seems to be my signature move at these things. My bad. Even so, walking into a packed lot felt like stepping straight into a hug. Brotherhood pulsed through the whole place. It didn’t matter what patch you wore or which club you came from. It only mattered that you were there, willing to put in the miles for veterans across the Central Valley.
Everywhere I looked, someone was greeting someone else with a handshake or a laugh. Riders leaned over handlebars to admire each other’s bikes. People shared coffee and teased their friends. Others checked tire pressure or adjusted gear for
riders who needed a hand. The whole scene looked like one big family reunion. A loud, chaotic, leather scented family reunion. I’d have loved to stay for the opening ceremony, but once again I’d managed to sign myself up for the part of the event that pulls me away from the group ride. This time my mission was parking duty in North Fork. One road. Limited space. Guaranteed chaos when hundreds of bikes rolled in. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s necessary and it keeps businesses from having their driveways blocked by a wall of motorcycles.
Swag and I rode up together. I wasn’t on my usual bike because I still need a new headlight. No windscreen meant a workout for my shoulders and arms. At
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CVMA® 7th Annual Veterans Ride
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seventy five miles per hour, I felt like I was in my own personal training session. My trainer would’ve been proud. The city faded behind us, concrete giving way to trees. Flat roads turned to rolling hills. Hills turned to curves. Gray turned to green. The higher we climbed, the more the air felt like freedom settling into my lungs. Sometimes the ride itself reminds you why you’re part of this community. This was one of those times.
When we reached North Fork, a few guys were already there. We ducked into the Buckhorn Saloon so I could grab a cold Coke, as usual. We sat on the patio, watching the quiet before the storm. A little girl was setting up a lemonade stand on the sidewalk, lining up cups and handmade signs. She looked so determined that I had to buy a glass. Coke and lemonade don’t mix, by the way, but she was sweet and proud of her work, so I promised we’d tell riders to stop by.
Then the rumble started. First a pair of bikes. Then a handful. Then the thunder rolled in, echoing across the whole town. Riders came from both directions and the street filled fast. We used hand signals because yelling over engines and music wouldn’t work. Most riders followed directions. A few were on their own timeline, which is fine. Not everyone in the horde was part of the event and some
needed gas. But guiding at least three hundred twenty bikes into safe, tight, organized parking in a one Road Town felt like a small miracle.
A dozen riders called out thanks as they parked. Others were focused on getting to the saloon for lunch. I can’t blame them. It was quite a sight to see so many bikes packed into that narrow stretch of road. Bars full. Patios full. The little girl at the lemonade stand lit up every time a rider stopped for a cup.
North Fork emptied in waves as riders geared up again and headed for the final stop. Wakehouse Woodfire Grill & Barrel waited down the road. The party stops. The raffles and prizes and live music stop. The unwind and let go stop. The safe space for veterans and their supporters to just be people for a little while.
I arrived early again and found the quieter version of Wakehouse. The bar was calm. The lot was still open. I parked easily, checked in with the CVMA auxiliary members, and helped sell raffle tickets. I grabbed some tacos. I mingled. All the small rituals that make these rides feel like home. Then the bikes arrived.
The sound went from casual chatter to a roar in seconds. Music turned up. The crowd
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CVMA® 7th Annual Veterans Ride
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thickened. Conversations grew louder. Patches from every corner of the Central Valley filled the space. Riders packed the bar. People lined up at the raffle tables. It was the kind of energy that reminds you why these events are so important. Riders weren’t there to show off. They were there because the causes mattered. Beyond the Barracks. Wreaths Across America. Support that stays local and meaningful.
It was loud. It was crowded. It was joyful. It was exactly what a veteran’s fundraiser should feel like.
When the raffles were wrapped up and the music mellowed, people began to peel away. Boots on pavement. Helmets buckled.
Engines start one by one. The crowd thinned and the last conversations faded into the late afternoon sun.
Riding home felt peaceful. No rush. No assignments. No chaos to manage. Just miles to let everything sink in. Satisfaction settled in quietly, like something earned. Money was raised. Riders were happy. People came together for something that matters.
And for a moment, heading down the road at my own pace, I could finally soak in the pieces of the day I hadn’t had time to feel earlier.
Sometimes that’s all you need to end a long, beautiful, chaotic day on two wheels.
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