A few years back my son-in-law bought a 1994 BMW K1100LT. We nicknamed it Big Blue. He rode it for a few years, then bought the ideal bike for his physical stature: a BMW GS Adventure with an 8+ gallon tank and a 34” seat height. He sold me Big Blue. I rode it for a few years, less and less each year. Big Blue is a fat lady at 695 pounds dry.
In 2019 oldest son, Roger, and I attended a rally called Sidecars in the Smokies held at the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge in Robbinsville, NC. By Saturday Roger announced that he wanted to come next year. Then the pandemic reared its ugly head. As the date for the 2021 rally neared, he was more and more excited about it. Then he suggested that we talk to his younger brother, Chris, about selling Big Blue to him and the three of us go to the rally. The last time Chris rode a motorcycle was in the eighties, so he was obviously rusty. I noticed right away that he was unsure of himself at parking lot speeds. I was sure he would gain enough self-confidence along the way.
Chris didn’t have many of the necessary equipment, such as jacket, pants, gloves, etc. I gave him one of my pants, his mother offered the use of her motorcycle jacket, and a pair of gloves were a present from Roger. Chris opted not to take the jacket and, against our advice, took the top case and packed it full of stuff, raising the center of gravity even higher.
We were planning on camping at the rally, so the nine-person tent went into the trailer, along with other camping equipment. The weather wasn’t all that great at the beginning. It was barely above 50 degrees, and the skies were threatening. We were heading south, so it was bound to improve.
Roger met us early evening, coming from Pittsburgh. The next morning, we started for the next leg of the trip, hoping to reach Harrisonburg, Virginia before stopping for the night. It was a straight shot on Route 81 and our spirits were high. I led with Roger at the back, leaving Chris in the most protected position, the middle.
Then the temperature dipped a little and the wind reared its ugly head. It was gusty and blew from the right, at times strong enough to move the rig and me half-way into the left lane. Chris did fine, although he admitted to a strong dislike to those same eighteen-wheelers. I might add at this point that Chris was starting to be cold. Lesson learned. The weather forecast for our destination didn’t look promising. After riding through a few showers, at the next gas-stop I decided to scrap our plans and asked Mary to call the campground and change our reservations from a campsite to something under cover. It was here that Chris dropped Big Blue. He forgot to put down the side-stand. Another lesson learned. We checked into the motel and asked for a roll-away bed.
We woke up to a chilly morning. The temperature didn’t get above sixty for the rest of the day. We made our way to the rally. I was outside when I saw Chris drop the bike again. He was on gravel, his feet slipped, and the bike was down. People came rushing to help him up but the damage was done. In trying to prevent the bike from falling, he stretched a tendon in his right leg. He couldn’t even sit on the bike without severe pain. Maybe, it’ll be better tomorrow. We checked into the bunk House and occupied one of five beds in there. He felt no better on Friday, so I emptied the sidecar and gave him a ride to the nearby Bryson City for lunch. It was an organized ride and the thirty-plus rigs made quite a spectacle.
Saturday started with rain and cool air. A ride to Maggie Valley was planned, visiting the Wheels Through Time Museum. We opted to stay behind, exploring all the possibilities for getting Big Blue home. None seemed plausible. I suggested
Saturday night was set aside for the dinner. There were about eighty of us gathered in the main room of the building. After dinner, the results of the Chinese auction were announced. There were quite of few prizes to be given out, and as time went on, I became quite embarrassed. It seemed like every third prize was claimed by our table. Earlier in the day I was complaining about forgetting my baseball cap. Roger won three, I think, so he gave me one. The three of us amused ourselves by discussing a long list of stupid questions asked of us sidecar drivers. At the head of that list is “Where is the button you push to separate the sidecar from the motorcycle?”. As luck would have it, there were two of these in the auction and my sons filled their bags with tickets. We won both, as well as a quart container of liquid car wash, two microfiber towels, a $47 denim shirt with a nice embroidery of the main building in the back, a tee-shirt for great-granddaughter, Keegan, a gift certificate for a night’s stay at one of their Conestoga wagons and a nice rain jacket for Mary. I also won the oldest driver award and when the 50/50 ticket number was announced, my thumb was resting on the winning ticket.
Chris talk to someone at the front desk. A solution emerged: “Leave the bike by the front entrance for as long as you need to. We’ll keep an eye on it and won’t even charge you for it.” WOW! That’s what I call Southern hospitality.
Chris wasn’t the only one to learn lessons. The three of us decided that next year we will stay at a Conestoga wagon, so I won’t have to drag the trailer behind,
Wagon ho!!! We’ll be sleeping here next year, God willing.
Over a month after the rally sons, Roger and Chris rented a trailer and drove down to the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge today and picked up Big Blue, which remained complete and unmolested for almost a month. Thank you, Ironhorse Motorcycle Campground
