'We lost someone unique': Family remembers man in fatal motorcycle crash

Tonya Manuel was riding right behind her husband the day of the fatal motorcycle crash.

Michael "Tony" Rushing, 50, was less than half a block ahead of Manual after 7 p.m. June 9 when she saw him crash into an SUV. She jumped off her bike, put a shirt under his head — he was not wearing a helmet — and turned him on his side as blood poured out of his mouth. He wasn't responding. 

“It was the worst thing that I ever had to experience in my life," Manuel said. "It’s like every time I close my eyes I still see it.”

The next day, Rushing's family saw the influence he had on the people around him. 

Over a hundred people and about 60 motorcycles were at their home. A community of motorcycle enthusiasts rallied in support. 

Tony's sister, Tessa Abbott- Rushing, said the family didn't even plan the vigil. Friends "just did it."

Thousands of people attended a visitation, and the funeral was packed, too.

“A theme that I got from everyone who spoke at the funeral was the fact that Tony almost had an innate sense that people were struggling," said, Charles "Skip" Rushing, Rushing's cousin. "There were times in my life where I would hear from Tony and he just knew that I needed to talk to him."

Rushing, a former pastor, said he could feel "we lost someone unique." 

'Tony never really burdened anyone'

Tessa Rushing said she always admired her brother for his hard-working, disciplined nature. She said he was always trying to improve himself, which is why he went back to school to become an electrician later in life.

Two benefits have been planned for Rushing, one for June 22 at Highland Park Country Club from noon to 4 p.m., and another at Donna's Garage on July 19 from 7 p.m. to midnight.

John Munoz said he wouldn't have his Harley if it wasn't for Rushing, who turned his use of a motorcycle to save money on gas to a love for motorcycles.

He also turned him on to PBR beer, and they spent their 10-year-long friendship grabbing and riding bikes together. Munoz said 

“He always had an ear for someone to talk to him about sorting out problems," Munoz said. "Tony never really burdened anyone with anything that he might’ve had problems with. He always was more of a listener than anything.

Rushing comes from a "motorcycle family" and picked up biking from his uncles. He had a black 2011 Street Glide Harley Davidson and a more recent Harley Davidson FLTRXS Road Glide with a specialty candy gold flake. 

He would ride around with one of his chihuahuas, Bug. He called Bug his "teapot" pup since he had become too big to be a teacup. 

“He didn’t like being boxed into a car. He liked the freedom of a motorcycle," Munoz said. "It was total freedom. He wore a helmet on the interstate, but around the city he wanted to be free.”

Outside of biking, music, specifically blues, played a large role in Rushing's life. He taught himself guitar and would often play with Skip Rushing. 

Skip Rushing said they often played Black Crowes' rendition of "Driving Wheel," which "still profoundly moves" him, especially when Tony would play it. 

“Music was everything to Tony," Skip Rushing said. "It was the lens by which he viewed reality. He had a song that connected to all the aspects of his life, so that whole music component was vital for him.”

Well-known Des Moines blues musician Bob Pace played a few songs on acoustic guitar at the funeral. He added in "Gospel Blues," one of Tony's favorites of Pace's originals. 

'The yin to my yang'

Rushing and Manuel met while working at Tone's Spices, where Tony Rushing worked for 27 years. They started going back and forth. insisting one was older than the other until finding out they had the same birthday. 

She described Rushing as her soulmate and the "yin to her yang." He called her his "breath of fresh air." She said they met at rocky times in their lives that they helped each other through. 

Manuel said they always had breakfast and coffee together. Even when he was working night shift as a mechanic, they would meet at the end of his "graveyard shift," the beginning of her day. 

Manuel said the weather was perfect to ride again for the first time in a while on June 9.

Manuel hadn't ridden on the back of a bike in about a year and wanted to ride on the back with Rushing. But he said, laughing, "No, those days are over. You're riding your own."

Manuel said Rushing was riding fast. Two stoplights behind where the accident took place, they stopped. 

“I was like, ‘Babe, we need to go home. You know we need to slow down, pay attention.’ and he was like, ‘All right, babe, I’m going home. I love you,’” Manuel said. 

They rode off. Manuel watched a light turn red as Rushing went into an intersection and crash his Harley into the SUV.

Police say Rushing was speeding and ran the red light. The SUV driver was not injured.

Friends and family said Rushing was a cautious rider, which made the accident even more surprising. Manuel said he always preached the importance of being aware of the cars around her while riding.

She said he constantly revved his engine to let cars know he was there to avoid accidents. 

“He’s been riding for years and years, long, long before my time in that world,” his cousin Alisia Myers said. “Always very responsible. I don’t understand what was different that day."

Skip said the family is struggling with a juxtaposition between the man they loved and admired and "that one mistake.”

“None of our characters can be judged by one mistake. I’m grateful no one else got hurt, I’m grateful Tonya wasn’t on the bike," Skip said. “I just want people to know that this man’s one mistake is not the totality of his life.”

Manuel said, like many bikers who lose someone to an accident, eventually she will ride again.

“I know I will, because he wouldn’t want me to stop. I know he wouldn’t, Manuel said. “And everyone that was here (at the vigil), they’re like, ‘When you know you’re ready, we’ll come and get you, and we’ll ride together.'”