In early 2002, my riding took a turn. I’ve always been into riding somewhere. For some reason, when I was a teenager, that somewhere usually involved a girl. Go figure. A few hundred miles from Daytona to South Carolina to see a girl. In winter. Without proper gear. I know some of you have stuffed a newspaper inside your jacket to stay warm. You’ve probably also stopped when the temperature climbed to 32°F just to stand in the sunshine and thaw out a bit. Yep, I’ve been there.
In 2001, I bought an old Yamaha 650 and rebuilt it into a bike for riding around the area where I was living at the time. Melanie had never been on a motorcycle. Before long, our trips started getting longer and longer. We’d grab an overnight stay whenever we had a free weekend, and we only had a few of those each year.
Then we bought a BMW K1200LT. Now that was a mile muncher, comfortable enough to tackle some serious days in the saddle. Back in Fort Myers, my circle of riding friends thought 250 miles was a long day. Our weekends soon turned into 2,500-mile adventures.
That’s when we discovered the Iron Butt Association, a group of crazies I never knew existed. And through them, we found the Motorcycle Touring Forum (MTF). These folks didn’t think twice about riding 400 or 500 miles just to have lunch with friends. We rode all over the country, sharing meals and telling lies. Life was good!
Then we discovered international motorcycle travel, and our riding with the group gradually came to an end. But the friendships we made never went away.
While we were back in the States, we learned they were celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Founders Feast. This gathering can happen anywhere in the country. This particular one was only 800 miles away, in Branson, Missouri. Well, that was practically in the neighborhood! We signed up.
The event runs from Monday through Friday, giving everyone the weekends to get to wherever the festivities are being held. Once there, the days are filled with riding. Folks head out on cloverleaf loops, some stretching over 300 miles, and return to the same base each evening. It’s what these people do. So, let’s get packed!
But which bike should we take?
I had both of my trusty V-Stroms, plus a Kawasaki Vulcan Nomad 1700 in the stable. We’d never taken the Nomad on a long trip, so naturally, that seemed like the perfect excuse to try it.
There was just one little problem. The Nomad isn’t exactly the ideal two-up touring machine when you load it with our full kit: camping gear, cooking equipment, tools, clothes, and all the other stuff we somehow convince ourselves we need. After a bit of pondering and rearranging, we managed to make it work.
We decided to take the long way and split the trip into two days. That turned out to be a wise decision, as temperatures along the route were climbing into the triple digits. As usual, it’s not too bad when you’re moving, keeping yourself wet, and running with all the vents open. But let traffic or a road diversion bring you to a stop, and suddenly you feel like a Thanksgiving turkey getting close to lunchtime.
We stopped for lunch at the Crossroads of the Blues, right in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. This historic crossroads is steeped in blues legend and is world-famous in music folklore as the place where Robert Johnson is said to have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his extraordinary guitar-playing talent. Since it was lunchtime, a stop at Abe’s Bar-B-Q, serving up barbecue since 1924, was a must. You can’t pass through a place like this without sampling a little history along with your lunch!
As we were leaving the restaurant, a couple of cool things happened. First, I spotted a sticker on the door left by a friend of mine, Kinga, better known as @onherbike. Apparently, we weren’t the first wandering motorcyclists to find our way here! Naturally, I had to add a 2WANDRRs sticker of my own to the collection.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, I spotted another familiar face. Sitting in a booth having lunch was Fletcher, a friend from the MTF whom I hadn’t seen in years. He was on his way to Branson for the MTF gathering, and here we were, crossing paths completely by chance. That’s one of the things I love about traveling. You never know who you’re going to run into, or where an ordinary lunch stop might turn into a reunion.
We rolled into the hotel in the early afternoon, and ours was the only motorcycle in the parking lot. Everyone else was out riding. Of course they were! That’s what this crowd does.
We checked into our room and headed straight for the hot tub. Nothing beats a good soak after a long day in the saddle.
Evenings followed a familiar routine: head out for dinner, then spend the rest of the night telling lies. The days were all about riding, either in a group or off on our own. The MTF flower sniffers love to ride, and we were no exception.
We chose three different loops for our riding days. This part of the country is beautiful, with plenty of elevation changes, twisty roads, and perfect pavement. A rider’s dream!
We had a fantastic time catching up with old friends and making a few new ones along the way. There’s something special about getting together with people you may not see for years, only to pick up right where you left off. The miles may separate you, but the friendships are still there.
After three days, it was time to head east toward the mountains of eastern Tennessee. By then, the temperatures had dropped to something much more comfortable for riding.
Unfortunately, my hip and back had other ideas.
By the time we reached the mountains, I was hurting so badly that I could barely stand after getting off the bike. Maybe it was the cruiser’s seating position. I really don’t know, but whatever it was, it was bad. And frustrating. We wanted to spend some time camping at one of our favorite places, Cherohala Mountain Trails Campground, so we decided to stick around for a day and ride a loop over the Cherohala Skyway and back.
The ride was beautiful, as you’d expect, and it was good to be in the mountains. But my body wasn’t cooperating quite the way I’d hoped.
After dinner at the Mexican restaurant in town, we checked the weather. It seemed a hurricane had formed in the Gulf (of Mexico or America, depending on who you ask) and was headed in the direction of our house.
Between the approaching storm and my increasingly unhappy hip and back, we decided it was time to quit playing tourist and point the bikes toward home.
As it turned out, that was a pretty good decision. Hurricane Isaias became a real doozy.
But that’s a story for another day.
Cheers,
2WANDRRs
See you on the road!
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