Having safely negotiated the exit we headed off down some very nice back roads. The apparent temperature dropped immediately and we welcomed the cooler air. We commenced winding our way South at a steady minimum pucker factor pace (we brought the women, OK?!). As a group these guys are pretty fast cruiser riders and most cruiser riders with less than many thousand miles of asphalt under their tires find it unnerving to try and keep up. I generally ride my GPz and run off and leave ‘em without trying, but this day I had my hands full on the ½-ton Mothership negotiating switchbacks with these grizzled graying proto-squids.
We came to a stop sign and Rainman made it clear he was going to need fuel soon. All concurred and we pulled into the nearest store with pumps, a grocery/hardware store/fuel stop.
Two things should have set off alarm bells.
1) The clerk was having major trouble operating the computer/cash register/ scanner machine. He was getting it done, but man he was slow. Not halting but SLOW like he was overloaded.
2) There was a tanker truck in the lot. NEVER, EVER, EVER buy fuel when there is a fuel delivery being made. At best the fuel in the bottom of the tank is old and dirty, at worst the new stuff has kicked up all the sediment from the bottom and you just pumped it into your tank.
3) I was thinking, “Man the ol’ Mothership sure is runnin’ great!”
We all partook of refreshments inside, Sundrop!, and saddled up. The road got really twisty from here on and 180 degree switchbacks with 10 foot elevation changes were the order of the day. While merrily negotiating some of these the Mothership backfires, clears and goes on. Hmmmmm. A few miles later and the same thing occurs but this time it slowly sputtered to a halt. Shit!
I noticed I had extremely dim indicator lights on the dash. No power. Frank came back and borrowed Jumper cables from a nearby house and hooked ‘em to his RoadStar which was starting to backfire from bad gas. We got the Mothership running and I took off for a gas station the fellas had spotted up ahead. While I was running for the station before it died again my jacket fell off the back. No biggie the rest are right behind me, they’ll get it.
I made it to the station and when they pulled in behind there was no sign of the jacket. I commented it was odd someone would be that quick driving by snatching something like that. Apparently not. As my wife and I were waiting for the tow truck we saw a boat being hauled by when a cushion fell out. Immediately the car next car slowed and the driver snatched it off the pavement without even stopping. Must be the local income generating activity. Next to ‘earning’ disability that is.
We had taken a wrong turn, well…. Rainman had, and ended up northeast of Knoxville in Maynardville, TN. Folks I am not exaggerating when I tell ya’ the menfolk looked like OakRidge had dumped nuclear waste in the area. They all had a blank, tilted look, at least one limb twisted or held oddly, gimped in some way, and plenty of tattoos. They were scaring my wife, so I reminded her I had eight .45s in each magazine and one in the pipe with which to play zombie killer if the opportunity presented itself. No such luck.
The other riders in our group deserted us like the heartless bastards I know them to be. (Actually, I had a hell of a time gettin’ ‘em to leave. I think Frank just wanted to see the .45 again.). People in Maynardville talk like they live 50 miles out of Knoxville, them what talks that is. We found we were about 10miles out if that. We completed our three hour wait for the incompetent tow truck driver and grabbed a motel in Knoxville. Next day we got a rental car and came home to get the trailer to bring the Mothership home.
I have to say I have yet to see a more dim, unfriendly, put off, bunch of ‘tards as what occupies east Tennessee in all my born days. Welldigger spoke thusly of these folk in the past and I discounted it as disgust with a particular person or small group colouring his perception, I was wrong. I know a lot of country folk, hell I AM country folk! I know a lot of hill folk, too, and most would give the shirt off their backs to help someone in need and most are a fair hand mechanically. But these sons of bitches just look at ya’ with those “no one’s home” glass eyes. I don’t sense they got much more than plant level awareness going on. If I ever happen there again I‘ll shoot the first hobblin' cocksucker looks at me that way and figure a ride by shootin’ and a drive by thievin’ makes us even.
The rest of the group had a good, though wet ride. I don’t suppose I can get any of ‘em to write their travelin’ up as they don’t go in for such highbrow doin’s.
Everything above is gospel and you'll go to hell for disputin' it.
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