The staff was cleaning up to go home by the time I finished eating so I thanked them, grabbed some strawberries to go and went back out to the truck. Then I unwrapped the tarp covering the old motorcycle. "Are we there yet?" it asked.
"Just like a kid," I laughed, "No, we're not there yet."
"Where are we?"
"You don't know?"
"No, I don't."
"Good," I said, "let's keep it that way."
"So is this your secret shop?"
"No, this was dinner for me and a nap for you."
"A nap?" it asked.
"That's right, a nap." I disconnected the battery cables and re-tarped the Wackemall 750 nice and tight.
Now I had an actual destination high in the mountains of Virginia. My thinking was that with the battery disconnected they'd be unable to track my travels. As far as they knew my trip had ended in Gable, South Carolina but I intended to be a couple hundred miles away from Gable in the very near future. I fired up the old Ram and pointed it north, this time taking the most direct route I could find to Dugspur.
Once I got to Dugspur I tracked down my old friend, Drew Donnell. Drew and I had been neighbors many years ago. Drew had been all over these mountains, knew all the locals and would be able to help me find a place to camp while I tore down the old motorcycle. A place where no one would find me.
With the help of another friend, BR Newman, Drew got me way up on an old logging road as far as my truck and trailer would go. It was there I would set up camp. BR brought me a few cans of old lead based paint that had been left over from when his family had owned the Newman General Store back before most of us had been born. He had recently found it and had planned to haul it to the Carroll County Hazardous Waste Disposal next time it came 'round but our thinking was that a few coats might help shield radio signals to and from the Wackemall. Drew came back with huge rolls of industrial sized aluminum foil that we hung on the inside of the tent as well.
Both offered to hang around and help and I know for a fact both are quite good at these things but BR and Drew both have families who depend on them and I didn't want them to take the risk should the motorcycle explode or someone track me down high on this mountain.
Then, when everything was buttoned up and I was reasonably certain there was no chance a radio signal would get through I hooked a battery to the Wackemall 750 and it began reciting yet another of its poems.
my seat was worn threadbare
stopping only for gasoline,
sometimes gasping just for air..."
I remembered that trip along the length of the Andes with Veggie. Well, that is, I remembered part of the trip. The new Harley-Davidson I was riding at the time wasn't tough enough to make the entire trip and I ended up hitching a ride for me and my motorcycle in the back of an old pick-up truck traveling north while Veggie continued southward to the tip of South America. I had always hoped to finish that trip but I guess it was never meant to be as I came up about 3000 miles short and never got back to South America. "This is an unusual looking shop," the motorcycle said, "It's small and looks almost as if it's some sort of tent. And why am I still on the trailer?"
"Because I've no lift here and I can't pick you up by myself."
"Wooley, Donny and Steve didn't come with you?"
"Nope, it's just me and you."
"So what happens next?"
"I'm going to spend the next few days taking you apart, piece by piece until every piece has been disassembled and inspected."
"But I thought you were going to restore me, not take me apart?"
"Dis-assembly is the first step in any real restoration," I answered. "Every part must be examined for excessive wear, cracks, flaws or anything that might cause failure. Anything found wrong will be repaired or replaced so that you can run just as long as you did the first time around."
"You still don't trust me?"
"Yeah, that too," I laughed, "And here you can't hurt anyone but me. Good night," I said as I again unhooked the battery cables.
Continue to New River Valley.
