Earlier this year, it all came home to roost. With Schilling unable to attend New Blue's unveiling in New York or its ceremonial AHRMA race at Daytona, Ducati and NCR arranged to have a bike shipped to California for him to see. That much Schilling knew. But what he didn't know was that behind the scenes, some two dozen Cycle employees and contributors-from the late 1960s to its days with Schilling at the helm-rode, drove and flew in from across the country to surprise the man Neilson described as "the real brains behind the magazine and the finest editor I've ever known." Deceptively lured to a casual lunch at a friend's house, Schilling had scarcely taken a sip of his pinot noir when a thrumming sound permeated the neighborhood. It grew louder, with the jingling of a dry clutch thrown in, and suddenly a flash of silver and blue appeared on the front walkway, then darted inside the front door, through the hallway and right smack dab into the living room. Jaw agape, Schilling watched in amazement as Neilson himself rapped the throttle, blasting the entire house with sound. A massive grin on his face, he shouted, "How ya' doing, Schiller?" as almost the entire brain trust of Cycle, hidden outside, streamed in and around him. Dry eyes were few.