The Hitchhiker
by Paul Forrest
Friday, November 29, 2024
Daytona 1995, the year Scott Russell crashed his Muzzy Kawasaki in the International Horseshoe on the 2nd lap, yet magically came back and passed the entire field to win the race. It’s also the year I had my one and only chance encounter with the legendary Malcolm Smith.
As a kid growing up in the cold and snow of Pennsylvania, Daytona in March meant three things: warm sunny days, racing, and the chance to demo ride shiny new motorcycles that Manufacturers had lined up just outside the track near International Boulevard. Back then, demo rides didn’t start until Wednesday, and the 200 was run on Sunday. So my days between Wednesday to Saturday were packed with strolling the pits to check out the latest racing machinery, watching time trails, and enjoying lots of demo rides on the streets of Daytona.
All racing activities and demo rides closed promptly each day at 5pm. So after another warm glorious day of walking the pits, taking pictures of my racing heroes and their machinery, and demo rides on motorcycles I couldn't possibly afford, I began the trudge back to the rental car.
Just before exiting the demo area to continue walking down International Boulevard, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A well dressed older gentleman asked if I could give him a ride to the Holiday Inn a few miles away where he was staying. As you can imagine, my mind starts spinning. Years of parental warnings of never giving rides to strangers came flooding through my cerebral cortex, and occasional news stories of hitchhikers dismembering helpful strangers gave me pause. Never in my life have I given a stranger a ride.
Yet, here I was saying “Yes” to this stranger against all my survival instincts. He appeared to be old to my 34 year old mind, and in retrospect he was only 53 at the time, ten years younger than I am now. But it was something else that gave me encouragement that this guy was safe: He looked vaguely familiar.
I’ve got a collection of hundreds of motorcycle magazines dating back to the late 1970s, but all street bike magazines, no off-road material. And none of them prepared me for who this guy was. After unlocking the car, we both got inside, and I paused before starting the engine and asked this stranger a question: “You look somewhat familiar, and I should probably know you, but who are you?” That’s when this stranger extended his hand to me and said “I’m Malcolm Smith, glad to meet you”.
That’s when it all clicked. Malcolm, the legend sitting in my car, and stupid me had no idea up until that point who he was. It reminded me of the Movie “Howard and Me” from decades ago about the hitchhiker in the Nevada desert that ended up being Howard Hughes, one of the most well known (and wealthiest) humans on the planet.
I don’t remember much after 30 years about what we discussed in the ride to his hotel, except that I excitedly had lots of questions, and Malcolm was happy to answer all of them. But I do remember a couple things. Malcolm said he enjoyed his life, his family, and riding his motorcycles. And I remember how he made me feel. He didn’t use his fame to request a ride to the hotel, instead he simply and humbly tapped me on the shoulder. He never mentioned who he was until I asked him. His humility is what sticks with me all these years later.
Fast forward years later to January 2018, visiting my niece and her Military husband at Camp Pendleton just north of San Diego. Anytime I travel somewhere new, I visit local motorcycle dealerships. A Google search shows that Malcolm has a dealership only 40 minutes away. I had to go on the chance that Malcolm was there and I could meet him again and remind him of our encounter in 1995. But is was not meant to be. His family runs the dealership, and Malcolm was coming in maybe once a week for only a few hours. I shared my Malcolm story with one of his kids at the dealership. The response was “ yes, that sounds like my dad”.
Every one in a while, you might get the question “who is the most famous person you’ve ever met”. For me it’s Malcolm. There are other people I’ve met that might be more of a household name, but none of them made me feel the way Malcolm did. His humbleness and kindness are what I remember most about Malcolm Smith.
Larry Lawrence's File Cabinet
Mal' had a ride this time.
All racing activities and demo rides closed promptly each day at 5pm. So after another warm glorious day of walking the pits, taking pictures of my racing heroes and their machinery, and demo rides on motorcycles I couldn't possibly afford, I began the trudge back to the rental car.
Just before exiting the demo area to continue walking down International Boulevard, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A well dressed older gentleman asked if I could give him a ride to the Holiday Inn a few miles away where he was staying. As you can imagine, my mind starts spinning. Years of parental warnings of never giving rides to strangers came flooding through my cerebral cortex, and occasional news stories of hitchhikers dismembering helpful strangers gave me pause. Never in my life have I given a stranger a ride.
Yet, here I was saying “Yes” to this stranger against all my survival instincts. He appeared to be old to my 34 year old mind, and in retrospect he was only 53 at the time, ten years younger than I am now. But it was something else that gave me encouragement that this guy was safe: He looked vaguely familiar.
I’ve got a collection of hundreds of motorcycle magazines dating back to the late 1970s, but all street bike magazines, no off-road material. And none of them prepared me for who this guy was. After unlocking the car, we both got inside, and I paused before starting the engine and asked this stranger a question: “You look somewhat familiar, and I should probably know you, but who are you?” That’s when this stranger extended his hand to me and said “I’m Malcolm Smith, glad to meet you”.
That’s when it all clicked. Malcolm, the legend sitting in my car, and stupid me had no idea up until that point who he was. It reminded me of the Movie “Howard and Me” from decades ago about the hitchhiker in the Nevada desert that ended up being Howard Hughes, one of the most well known (and wealthiest) humans on the planet.
I don’t remember much after 30 years about what we discussed in the ride to his hotel, except that I excitedly had lots of questions, and Malcolm was happy to answer all of them. But I do remember a couple things. Malcolm said he enjoyed his life, his family, and riding his motorcycles. And I remember how he made me feel. He didn’t use his fame to request a ride to the hotel, instead he simply and humbly tapped me on the shoulder. He never mentioned who he was until I asked him. His humility is what sticks with me all these years later.
Fast forward years later to January 2018, visiting my niece and her Military husband at Camp Pendleton just north of San Diego. Anytime I travel somewhere new, I visit local motorcycle dealerships. A Google search shows that Malcolm has a dealership only 40 minutes away. I had to go on the chance that Malcolm was there and I could meet him again and remind him of our encounter in 1995. But is was not meant to be. His family runs the dealership, and Malcolm was coming in maybe once a week for only a few hours. I shared my Malcolm story with one of his kids at the dealership. The response was “ yes, that sounds like my dad”.
Every one in a while, you might get the question “who is the most famous person you’ve ever met”. For me it’s Malcolm. There are other people I’ve met that might be more of a household name, but none of them made me feel the way Malcolm did. His humbleness and kindness are what I remember most about Malcolm Smith.
Danny Coe
— ends —
