Long Before Forums Were Cool: How a Mailing List Shaped My Motorcycle Life

Back in 1998, I bought my first new motorcycle – a gleaming red Honda VFR. Actually, I ordered it in late ’97, and spent the next few months obsessively scouring the internet for every piece of information I could find about it. Somewhere along that rabbit hole, I stumbled upon the VF/VFR listserv.

Known to insiders as simply “the list” or “the big list,” the VF/VFR Listserv was hosted on a university server at cs.wisc.edu and run by the ever-patient John Perkins. It was a digital campfire for riders around the world. You didn’t just sign up – you joined. And suddenly, you were part of a tribe bound by more than displacement and torque specs. You were in.

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Where the Road Really Began

It wasn’t long before that email list led to the first of what would become many group rides. These weren’t just casual meetups – they were multi-day events with routes that felt like they were curated by road whisperers. Some members earned nicknames like “Routemeister” (RIP) or “Mapmaster,” legendary for their uncanny ability to assemble dream rides. Routemeister, for instance, could be five states away from home, talking to a local about a killer stretch of twisties – only to find out the local had never heard of it, even though it was two miles from the guy’s house.
I rode hundreds of miles following Dave, learning more and more about what the VFR was capable of and miss him dearly.
Greg (“Mapmaster”) possessed similar talents, but added his own unique twist. His approach to travel seemed to find the least direct route between two points, and fill it with as many sights and experiences as possible. Heading from his home in southwestern Pennsylvania to meet us in New Hampshire? Sure – but he’d find a way to take in Alaska along the way.

The list was the birthplace of WDGAH (We Don’t Give a Hoot), a lovingly irreverent response to the then-corporate-feeling Honda Hoot. What started as a “I’m going to be in Lake George this weekend, anyone want to ride?” post turned into a gathering that took on a life of its own. You can still find echoes of those wild weekends at wdgah.net. One rider summed up the early vibe perfectly when he recalled telling his wife: “Hey hun, I’m going to ride up to Lake George to spend the weekend riding with a bunch of guys I met on the internet.” 0.o
This was the late 90s – before smartphones, social media, or the dot-com blitz made that idea sound even halfway normal. Stay tuned for more on those events in a future post, or three.

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ATGATT and the Gospel of Good Gear

The List drilled into me something I now hold sacred: ATGATT (All The Gear, All The Time). Through ride reports and crash stories, I came to understand not only the importance of good gear, but what actually qualified as good. And yes, there was a healthy dose of public shaming for those who showed up unprepared – all of it borne out of genuine concern for our fellow riders. I also learned about things like air ambulance costs and the value of optional insurance coverages. When I had my own close encounter of the BDC (brain-dead cager) kind, that hard-earned knowledge quite literally paid off.

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The Good, the Bad, and the Threaded

Of course, no online community is without its drama. Flame wars erupted. Oil threads – those damn oil threads – broke out like clockwork. Even today, anytime I see a post that begins with “What oil do you…” I instinctively reach for my Nomex underwear and duck. Pity the poor noob who would join the list only to ask what tires everyone recommended.
Debates over WD-40 were another hallmark – was it the gift of the gods for chain maintenance, or the devil incarnate in a blue and yellow can? Opinions were as strong as they were stubborn. And then there was Lemon Pledge: dismissed by outsiders, but revered by insiders as the ultimate secret weapon for polishing plastic bodywork to a brilliant shine.
But those debates taught me how to read between the lines, how to recognize signal through noise, and occasionally, how to step in and cool things down (or, in some cases, walk away).

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Friends for Life (Really)

The most important thing I got from that list wasn’t riding tips or gear advice. It was people. Some of my closest friends to this day – people I’ve ridden with since the Clinton administration – first introduced themselves via ASCII signatures and carefully formatted ride reports. We’ve camped together, broken down together, raised toasts, raised tents, and in some cases, raised money. This, too will come up again.

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More Than Just Roads

Thanks to the VF/VFR list, I not only discovered some of the best roads in North America, I learned how to find them – how to read a map like a rider, not a commuter. I learned how to stitch together twisty segments and quiet detours into something that flowed. Something that felt like a journey.

I learned how to be part of a group ride. How to lead one. When to pull over. When to push on. And most beautifully, how to turn a personal passion into something bigger than myself – like supporting causes such as AngelRide.

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The Legacy Lives On

When the original list went offline after a content dispute, I was fortunate enough to get the member list from John and reboot it on Google Groups. It’s mostly quiet now, like a well-loved road that doesn’t see much traffic anymore. Other forums, social media and the fading of the VFR from its place of prominence in the sport touring market have taken their toll. But it’s there, at groups.google.com/g/vfr-list and I keep it around because it remains a community I feel connected to and the impact still echoes in every ride I take, every route I plan – or don’t – and every friend I meet on two wheels.

It’s not just a mailing list. It was the spark for a lifelong journey – the kind that keeps unfolding, one ride at a time.