I wish you the best of times. A time like I had many years ago, followed by the good times that I had at Inzanes.
A story to get you in the riding mood (like you need help doing that
)
I recently came across this story that I wrote about the BRP trip. I added some words, fleshed it out a little, and thought the VRCC might like to read it (again).. I can’t do rides like this any more but I can relive them
The title doesn’t sound like much . Some folks here can do 1600 miles in two days. However, when I look back in years, it seemed like a worthwhile accomplishment. at the time.
A Southern Ride, 6 days, 1600 miles
The time was 1949. I was three years out of high school and Vic, my high school buddy had made plans for both of us, a motorcycle trip.
Vic had a spankin’ new Matchless 500 cc spring frame thumper and I had a 1946 Matchless thumper of the older persuasion meaning a hard tail. The idea was to take a week to ride south of the Mason Dixon line. And so we did.
Vic and I loaded up our cardboard suitcases, put them on our luggage racks, and left Ft. Wayne on a nice sunny day. When we stopped for lunch in Muncie, we found that the foot part of the kickstand on Vic’s Matchless was gone leaving only the stub. He had committed the sin of not getting out the wentworth wrenches and gone over the nuts and bolts before he left. Through the rest of the trip I either push started him or he had to kick start using only the stub, hard to do. We continued on to Mammoth Cave Kentucky the first day, 300 miles of standing on the pegs when riding over expansion joints. My knees had to take the place of the missing rear suspension. My butt was yet to be hardened and my knees had yet to stop shaking.
The second day we started out in nice weather, but it didn’t last. The rain started so we pulled over to the side of the road and got out the rainsuits. These were one piece war surplus coveralls that smelled like a wet canvas tent and felt and looked like duct tape.(and just as sticky). They were, however, 100% waterproof but didn’t breathe. Riding into the wind we looked like a poor man’s version of the Michelin Man. The suits ballooned up as the wind came through the leaky cuffs.
Going through Eighty Eight (great name for a town) ,and then Summer Shade. It was raining hard; the irony was not lost on me. Just down the road a piece we started descending into Burkesville, Red clay was running across and down the road making for an arse puckering situation. Putting the icing on the cake we had to wait for the four car ferry to take us across the, what I believe, was the Cumberland river. The bright spot of the day was when we stopped at a Mom and Pop filling station where ‘Pop’ had to hand pump the gas from an underground tank into a glass reservoir marked in gallons and then gravity drain it into our tanks. Evidently, no one had told him about Mr Bowser’s invention.
After the crossing we found a restaurant and stopped for coffee. Four cups later and a couple of sweet rolls, we decided to continue on and not stop at Pall Mall, Sergeant York’s birthplace..
Wonderfully, the rain had quit and we stripped off the rain suits having gotten just about as wet inside from the sauna effect.. We stopped in Oak Ridge for the night and relaxed. My rear, by this time, was either numb, or it was breaking in. My knees were still a little shaky.
The next day was routine until we came upon this miserable winding road leading to Gatlinburg. It evidently was a magnet for all the underpowered primitive RV’s. Our thumpers made short work of them as we could easily pass them when the road was clear. Once in Gatlinburg, there were plenty of motels to pick from, all of them being Mom and Pop operations in 1949.
The next day, we rode through Smoky Mountain National Park and back. Traffic was almost nil, letting us enjoy the curves and straight-aways at the pace that we wanted. This is where I first understood what the ‘Rhythm of the Road’ means. Combining the Rhythm with the beauty of the Smokies, was a great experience!
The second day, we rode it again with one change. Vic was leading and I was slowing so that I could look up at Mt. Laconti. I should’ve been looking down, I ran off the road. I immediately low sided the bike (or maybe the wet grass did) so I wouldn’t end up in the tree line. No damage to me or the Matchless. Vic, of course, kept on riding on out of sight (He didn’t look much in his rear view mirrors). I had no problem uprighting the bike as it weighed about 350 pounds, in fact I did such a good job that I flipped it completely over so that it was laying flat again with the wheels pointed toward uphill. That really got to me. I uprighted it again , kick started it into life, jumped on, pulled up on the gear shift for first,, engaged the clutch……..and got nowhere, the tire was spinning in the wet grass.
About this time, Vic had come back and was looking down at me. Apparently it was funny to him (but not to me) A few choice words got him to come down and help me push it back up the hill and back on the road.
We continued on curving our way to Clingmans Dome but when we got there we decided to turn around and go back to Gatlinburg. Out of the blue, I got this bright idea.
Lessee, it’s all downhill from here so why waste gas. Vic thought I was nuts (he was right) but led the way and I followed him with the engine Off, the tranny in third gear, and the clutch disengaged. All the way back to Gatlinburg, all I heard was the wind and the chain. Dumb? Oh yeah, but fun!
On to the uncompleted Blue Ridge Parkway. Then, as now, it was a beautiful ride except that we would just start enjoying it and would have to get off because a segment was unfinished. Off and On, Off and On. I remember going through Canton NC and Spruce Pines, among other towns in a zig zag fashion. I also remember coming around this blind curve and having a line of gravel piled four feet high in the middle of the road for about a mile. Unfortunately, I ended up on the left side of the road with Vic on the right. Luckily not much traffic so I joined him again when the gravel disappeared..
After mile after mile of curves and construction, we decided that it was time to head for home. We headed north somewhere around Bristol and took the best route back to Indiana crossing over the Ohio river at Madison, Indiana. I still remember stopping on route 7 at the top of the hill overlooking Madison and seeing the bridge over the Ohio River. Today, that view is gone because of the trees and development of homes.
A very nice trip back when drivers were more courteous and careful about motorcyclists.
Vic, my buddy on that trip, has been gone for over twenty five years now but the memories live on in my mind, GOOD memories!
Wayne, solo1
