2 February. The road to the bike grave yard winds up a hill outside of a little town called Charleston, Tennessee. Just as you top the hill the guys trailer is on the left and the road dives down into a valley with his property skirting both sides of the road. There is a cut off on both sides of the road, the one on the left is to his shop and the one on the left is an entrance for the utility companys to access the power lines. There are pieces of motorcycles and four wheelers on both sides of the road but this guy does most of his business from the utility cutoff. As I pull in I see him and some guy in the back of a pickup working on a four wheeler and as I crawl out of my jeep he looks up and says straight and simple, Morning. And it is, so nothing but a nod is required to acknowledge his remark here in Tennessee. I take my time and look around at the scattered bones of bikes looking to see if there is something new for me to pick over and I locate the two bikes I know are on the hill sides, one on each side of the road and they are in fact still there. As I ease back up to the pickup the stranger is between the two of us and the owner looks up at me while the guy is looking seriously at the engine of this four wheeler. I ask, May I go up and look at that 76 Wing by your place? as I nod my head in the direction of his dwellings. Yup he replies. Dogs up? I ask. Well you should have seen that strangers head snap up and look up towards the house. I swear to God you could hear it move like in one of those karate movies with that wind whistling noise. I saw the owners eyes light up with a smile and a smirk crossed his lips and a silent nod of appreciation as he replies, Yup, by the house, but he cant reach you from there. I smile and walk up the hill. God....I love Tennessee. Keeps me grounded, keeps me saying, Love Yall Mean It.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 19:09:17 +0000
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