On Saturday morning, September 5th, six bikers met at Kidd Jones in Chandler to begin a week-long trip to Tennessee, North Carolina and South Carolina. After praying together and kissing our families goodbye, we pulled out. Our tanks were full of gas, our bellies were full of food and our spirits were full of excitement and anticipation.
The weather was beautiful, the bikes were running good and all was right with the world. About every 130 miles, we had to stop for gas, so late in the afternoon we arrived at our first layover, Meridian, Mississippi. The Motel 6 said they were full, although there were only a few cars in the parking lot. We got the impression they don't like bikers (that is the only one we had a problem with), so we went next door to their competitor, where we were welcomed with open arms.
On Sunday morning, one of the bikes wouldn't start. All but one of us (I'll let you guess which one) pushed it around the parking lot until we decided it wasn't going to start. We needed jumper cables. The Lord provided and there they lay in the back of a "Red Neck pick-up." (We only borrowed them for a minute.) The bike started and we were on our way. After a breakfast at the Waffle House, we hit I-59 and headed for Chattanooga, Tennessee.
Just out of Tuscaloosa, our leader, Ray Moore, left the Interstate in hopes of finding a church. I was thinking, "There can't be a church down this road." Suddenly, there was a big church. We had arrived at "Evergreen Baptist Church." The ushers met us in the parking lot and invited us to take a tour of their new facilities. It was beautiful and the pastor and people gave us a "down home" welcome. After the service, they followed us into the parking lot and said, "Y'all come back."
Late that afternoon, we rolled into "The Choo Choo," (Chattanooga, Tenn.) This time, we stayed at Motel 6. The next morning, after a trip up Lookout Mountain, we headed for our destination, Tellico Plains, Tennessee. We spent that night in a cabin at the KOA Campground, and I almost froze. It was cold! The next morning, I walked out on the porch in full leathers and saw Robert McCurdy sitting there wrapped up in a blanket looking like Kawliga. That's the first time I ever saw Robert wrapped in anything! He very seldom wears a jacket.
After a good ole mountain breakfast in Tellico, we hit the Cherohala Parkway and headed for Robbinsville, North Carolina. Just out of Robbinsville, we pulled off into a graveled lot and I dropped my bike. Now I have been riding motorcycles for 45 years, and have dropped a few bikes, but this was the first time I dropped one on me.
A Harley Davidson Ultra Classic, fully loaded, weighs in excess of 800 pounds. I was calling for help, and I got it. The bike was lifted off my foot and I stood up. I was able to walk, but just barely. I could ride and did, to the closest motel.
While I lay nursing my foot, the other riders, Ray Moore, Steve Goodrich, Robert McCurdy, Calvin Morris and Don West rode the infamous "Tail of the Dragon." It's a stretch of U.S. Highway 129 that crosses from North Carolina into Tennessee. It has 318 curves in 11 miles of North Carolina into Tennessee. I'm told, Don West scraped his floorboards in every curve; I don't know. I was nursing my foot in Robbinsville.
I found that just because you can't walk much doesn't mean you can't ride. I threatened my friends with loss of life if they called Brownsboro and told anyone about my foot. I knew I would have to tell my wife, Charlie, when I got home, but right then, what she didn't know wouldn't worry her. We all agreed, "What happens in North Carolina, stays in North Carolina. " (At least until we get home.)
That trip was the ride of a lifetime, and I was with five of the best men I know. I'll tell you more, later. `Til then, watch for bikers, and look for us on the road. May God bless you.
Bill Hamilton
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