"Just Out Seeing the Country"

RON TURNED his head to avoid the spray of loose sand as the semi eased by. A cloud of black smoke swirled after the truck, leaving the smell of burned diesel oil. He had ridden the Interstate since early morning and had had enough. About a mile farther he banked his Norton onto the sweeping curve of an exit ramp and out to a two-lane blacktop road that went who knew where.

The road was essentially straight, but dipped and rolled with the countryside. After a few miles the monotony of the interstate was forgotten and the pure pleasure of riding was returning. He gunned the bike up the gentle hills and then throttled back to listen to the exhaust as he glided down the other side.

As the air got a little cooler and the sky began to redden, thoughts of food

and a growing tiredness interrupted the quiet ride. Since it didn’t look too promising for a town, the possibility of another cold meal and a night in the sleeping bag was fast becoming a reality. Slowing down, he rode on for a few miles and began to look a little closer at his surroundings. He soon spotted an unpaved road that separated a plowed field from a stand of pines. Braking hard he turned carefully onto the graveled surface and proceeded at a slow pace, switching from side to side over the grassy hump to miss the worst washed out areas. An old, rail fence, in a sad state of repair, ran intermittently along the wooded side. Soon the road began to rise and the trees thinned out. About a quarter mile farther he swung sharply off the road, geared down, gunned the bike over a half buried fence rail, and made a slow circle through a clearing

that was dotted with scattered trees.

He picked a spot near a large pine tree, where the ground was covered with needles, and switched off the bike. It was so quiet that the loudest sounds were the creaks the engine made as it cooled down. He hung his helmet on the handlebars, stretched, and wiped off the day’s accumulation of grime with a little water from his canteen. After clearing an area of loose branches and pine cones, he unrolled his sleeping bag and lay back on it, tired and not looking forward to a meal of canned beans and crackers. As he rested, thoughts of a campfire and the promise of a cup of hot coffee brightened the setting.

He got up and started to gather wood, but stopped at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Soon a ’57 Chevy pickup ground noisily to a halt near where he had ridden over the fallen fence. The truck was battered and the faded red paint was spotted with dried mud. The driver grabbed a 22 caliber carbine from the rear window rack, slammed the door, rounded the truck and headed in his direction.

"Just Out Seeing The Country"

Trials And Triumphs Of An Intrepid Road Tourer

Bob Miller

Ron muttered “crap” softly to himself and dropped the firewood he had gathered. The stranger, dressed in sweat stained work clothes, stopped when he got within shouting distance and yelled, “Jes’ what the hell you think your doin’?” Shifting the rifle to the other hand, he proceeded to advance and continued loudly, “Come in here trespassin’, breakin’ down a man’s fence!” When the two were a few feet apart, Ron quietly replied, “The fence was already down and I didn’t think anyone would mind if I....”

“Well I mind,” the stranger interrupted. “This here’s my property and I

don’t want no drifter I ain’t ever seen hanging around, so pack up all that stuff and get movin’!”

Ron stared for a moment at the angry, weather reddened face and concluded that he had managed to thoroughly unhinge the local landowner and decided that any argument was a waste of time. He shrugged, held up one hand in a peaceful gesture and said, “Look, if this is your property and I’m making you all that miserable, I’ll move...so relax!”

As he slowly began to gather his gear, the stranger looked a little confused at the lack of an argument and after a few moments shuffled over to get a better look at the motorcycle. As he carefully

surveyed the lines of the black and chrome machine, he continued in a normal tone, “Seen you when you come up the road...the house is up on the hill. Can’t be too careful...been readin’ about them motorcycle gangs, riots, killings...real hell raisers.”

“Yeah some of them are pretty bad,” Ron replied, as he rolled up his sleeping bag.

“Where you headed?”

“No place in particular, just seeing the country.”

The stranger squatted down with the rifle in his lap and gazed up as Ron cinched the sleeping bag to the luggage carrier. “That’s a real fancy machine,

""~J

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see it says Norton....where’s it made?j^ “England.” W

“You buy it over there?”

“No, I picked it up in San Francisco when I got out of the service.”

The stranger paused and said thoughtfully, “We got a boy in the service, stationed over in Germany. Wrote home that he bought one of them BMWs.”

“Yeah, the BMW is a nice bike,” Ron said, as he glanced around the area to make sure he hadn’t left anything.

The stranger rose, kicked at a pine cone and said, “Can’t be too careful.” “Yeah, can’t be too careful,” Ron replied, as he mounted the bike and began to buckle on his helmet.

“How fast will she go?”

Ron smiled to himself at the standard question and gave his standard reply, “Oh, about 150—that is if she’^^ tuned up right.”

The stranger flashed a grin that indicated he knew he was being kidded and said, “Had me a ride on a motorcycle once.”

Ron switched on the ignition, cracked the throttle and hauled down on the kickstarter. The engine didn’t catch.

“Uh, say, guess I got a little riled up. Sorry I was yellin’ and all.”

Ron nodded and got in position for another crank.

“You know, I don’t guess it would hurt none if you wanted to stay here tonight...gettin’ dark and all.”

“No, thanks, I’ll just move on.” Ron replied.

“Now wait, you might as well stay, can’t really hurt nothin’...in fact, I’d be obliged if you would.”

Ron settled back in the saddle anc^^ looked at the stranger a little skeptically.

The stranger grinned sheepishly and said, “Why don’t you come on up to the house and park that motorcycle out in the shed. Like I was sayin’, this ole boy had a big Harley and me and him had been out drinkin’ one night, when he says, ‘Let’s take a run over to Crossville.’ Say, you had anything to eat yet? Well, I climbed on the back and off we went weavin’ all over the road. We just ate, but the missus ain’t put the food up yet. You like collard greens? I reckon there was some biscuits and ham left too.... Well we was really hightailin’ it when we went around this bend and come up on an ole Ford stalled right in the middle of the road. You could us^^ the boy’s room tonight if you want to^P ain’t nobody used it since he left. Well I figured we was done in so I closed my eyes and this ole boy laid her down and we must’uv slid.... Say, did you ever drink any real corn?”