I hated to make Katei give up the Veggiecycle but it was my only talking motorcycle and being I was going to be on the lam I figured it would be nice to have someone to talk to. I've never really minded winter riding here in the Piedmont of North Carolina but by the time I made my way across the state line into Virginia I was beginning to notice the air getting colder with each increase in altitude as I made my way north towards the Blue Ridge Parkway.
The 109 mile long section of the Parkway from Floyd, Virginia to West Jefferson, North Carolina lies along some of the highest and least accessible areas east of the Mississippi River. It's also home to dozens of cousins and friends I've known my entire life. Not all of them would risk letting a fugitive stay in their homes but I knew not a one would run me out of a barn, silo or the woods out back should I need to hide a few days. And as the G-men and Revenuers had long known, finding folk in them hills that didn't want to be found was really hard to do. It had taken the Feds 5 years to find Eric Rudolph, the Olympic Park Bomber whose actions killed 2 people and wounded 150 more. I was accused of rustling just 1 cow and really didn't believe a lot of government resources would be put into finding me as long as I stayed far from Guilford and Alamance Counties.
When I got to Jefferson, North Carolina, I looked up my cousin, Truit Weaver, who owns Yamaha of Jefferson and had him hook me up with some good used knobby tires for the Wackemall 750. Now I could go places no police car could ever go.
Nights were cold in the mountains but I've plenty of experience with winter camping along the Blue Ridge and found the hardest part to be getting up to relieve myself early in the morning before the sun comes up. Yes, I know the younger readers among you are wondering why I would even consider getting up before daylight on such cold mornings but those of you who are my age understand it just has to be.
One morning while out walking I discovered any number of animal tracks in a mud slick along the trail. Thinking I might want some fresh meat instead of the jerky that was wrapped up in my saddlebags I studied the tracks to see what was there. Opossum? Too greasy for my low cholesterol diet. Squirrel? Not enough meat. Raccoon? Rabies, no way. Rabbit? now there's a possibility. Bear? I was bent over looking at the cleanest bear track I had ever seen when I heard a very deep growl coming from just behind my back. This can't be good I thought. This can't be good at all.
Very slowly I stood erect and turned to face the mighty animal. It's growling continued even more menacing that before. When I finally turned to where I could see it I realized I was facing not a bear but a dog, a giant dog of the Heinz 57 variety as heavy as a Mastiff and as tall as a Great Dane standing less than 5 feet from me and looking very angry. And even though my handgun was locked up in my saddlebag back at the Veggiecycle I remember feeling very relieved. "Hey there, Big fellow," I spoke in very hushed and nonthreatening tones. "If you'll be nice I'll give you some jerky."
I didn't wait for an answer but instead reached into my pocket, waved the jerky long enough for him to catch the scent and gently tossed a piece of jerky past the monster. It only took him a few seconds to decide which was the easier meal. The next piece I tossed a little farther away.
When I got back to my camp site the monster of a dog was laying by my fire pit wagging his tail. It looked as if I was going to be sharing my breakfast and riding to the nearest town for supplies sooner than I had expected. I scratched him behind his ears then started pouring water into some dehydrated eggs. Meanwhile the Veggicycle was beginning to get upset because I had allowed him to get dirty.
Is that rust there on my chrome?
Why are my pipes so blue?
Why are my tires so very thin?
Oh what am I to do?
I'm growing old before my time,
my spark is getting weak...
"Seriously," I asked, "You're upset because you're a little grungy? I haven't had a shower in almost a week."
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," the motorcycle said. "The aroma isn't exactly pleasant..."
"Oh, come on," I interrupted, "you can smell too?"
"Well not in the same way you do," the motorcycle explained, "but I do have all 9 senses."
"Nine senses?" I asked, "How can you have... Oh, never mind."
Back in Greensboro, Roch Smith Jr was keeping the lines of communication open by combining news, blogs, Twitter, government surveilance and more at Greensboro101. As much as the aliens hated Roch's indy media aggregator they had been unable to close it down despite years of their best efforts. Sadly, some alien going by the name of Justin Bieber had managed to woo little girls into wasting much of Roch's bandwidth communicating their affection for Justin Bieber but other than having to weed out that crap, all was okay with our communications system. Besides, what's a communications system without a little bit of interference during times of war?
Of course, that wasn't the only thing going on in Greensboro. While I was gone, the Hellphone came and I wasn't there to stop it.
Continue to New Blood.
What evil lurks in the heart of men? The Veggiecycle kn... Wait, wrong story.
The 109 mile long section of the Parkway from Floyd, Virginia to West Jefferson, North Carolina lies along some of the highest and least accessible areas east of the Mississippi River. It's also home to dozens of cousins and friends I've known my entire life. Not all of them would risk letting a fugitive stay in their homes but I knew not a one would run me out of a barn, silo or the woods out back should I need to hide a few days. And as the G-men and Revenuers had long known, finding folk in them hills that didn't want to be found was really hard to do. It had taken the Feds 5 years to find Eric Rudolph, the Olympic Park Bomber whose actions killed 2 people and wounded 150 more. I was accused of rustling just 1 cow and really didn't believe a lot of government resources would be put into finding me as long as I stayed far from Guilford and Alamance Counties.
When I got to Jefferson, North Carolina, I looked up my cousin, Truit Weaver, who owns Yamaha of Jefferson and had him hook me up with some good used knobby tires for the Wackemall 750. Now I could go places no police car could ever go.
Nights were cold in the mountains but I've plenty of experience with winter camping along the Blue Ridge and found the hardest part to be getting up to relieve myself early in the morning before the sun comes up. Yes, I know the younger readers among you are wondering why I would even consider getting up before daylight on such cold mornings but those of you who are my age understand it just has to be.
One morning while out walking I discovered any number of animal tracks in a mud slick along the trail. Thinking I might want some fresh meat instead of the jerky that was wrapped up in my saddlebags I studied the tracks to see what was there. Opossum? Too greasy for my low cholesterol diet. Squirrel? Not enough meat. Raccoon? Rabies, no way. Rabbit? now there's a possibility. Bear? I was bent over looking at the cleanest bear track I had ever seen when I heard a very deep growl coming from just behind my back. This can't be good I thought. This can't be good at all.
Very slowly I stood erect and turned to face the mighty animal. It's growling continued even more menacing that before. When I finally turned to where I could see it I realized I was facing not a bear but a dog, a giant dog of the Heinz 57 variety as heavy as a Mastiff and as tall as a Great Dane standing less than 5 feet from me and looking very angry. And even though my handgun was locked up in my saddlebag back at the Veggiecycle I remember feeling very relieved. "Hey there, Big fellow," I spoke in very hushed and nonthreatening tones. "If you'll be nice I'll give you some jerky."
I didn't wait for an answer but instead reached into my pocket, waved the jerky long enough for him to catch the scent and gently tossed a piece of jerky past the monster. It only took him a few seconds to decide which was the easier meal. The next piece I tossed a little farther away.
When I got back to my camp site the monster of a dog was laying by my fire pit wagging his tail. It looked as if I was going to be sharing my breakfast and riding to the nearest town for supplies sooner than I had expected. I scratched him behind his ears then started pouring water into some dehydrated eggs. Meanwhile the Veggicycle was beginning to get upset because I had allowed him to get dirty.
Why are my pipes so blue?
Why are my tires so very thin?
Oh what am I to do?
I'm growing old before my time,
my spark is getting weak...
"Seriously," I asked, "You're upset because you're a little grungy? I haven't had a shower in almost a week."
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," the motorcycle said. "The aroma isn't exactly pleasant..."
"Oh, come on," I interrupted, "you can smell too?"
"Well not in the same way you do," the motorcycle explained, "but I do have all 9 senses."
"Nine senses?" I asked, "How can you have... Oh, never mind."
Back in Greensboro, Roch Smith Jr was keeping the lines of communication open by combining news, blogs, Twitter, government surveilance and more at Greensboro101. As much as the aliens hated Roch's indy media aggregator they had been unable to close it down despite years of their best efforts. Sadly, some alien going by the name of Justin Bieber had managed to woo little girls into wasting much of Roch's bandwidth communicating their affection for Justin Bieber but other than having to weed out that crap, all was okay with our communications system. Besides, what's a communications system without a little bit of interference during times of war?
Of course, that wasn't the only thing going on in Greensboro. While I was gone, the Hellphone came and I wasn't there to stop it.
Continue to New Blood.
What evil lurks in the heart of men? The Veggiecycle kn... Wait, wrong story.
