After a delicious hamburger dinner at Eddie's house, he, Robert, and I headed north, departing the home base around 7:45 pm. The trailer was loaded just right as far as weight distribution with four bikes inside and it tracked perfectly behind Eddie's truck.
About 100 miles up the road Eddie pulled into a rest area to check on the bikes to make sure they were riding okay. Good thing he did so because my ST had somehow managed to turnover to the left and was resting on Robert's Harley-Davidson. Luckily there was no damage done to either bike and we were able to right the ST and re-strap her in a more secure (so we thought!) fashion. Problem fixed, we resumed our northward travels.
Throughout the night we made several stops for gas, breaks, food (Eddie & Robert, not I!), and a nap that was cut all too short by a convenience store clerk that banged on the truck window and demanded we vacate the premises.
Eddie searched in vain for nearly two hours for a Huddle House before finally succumbing to his hunger pangs and settling for a meal at one of the many Waffle House restaurants that seem to dominate Interstate exits. Both Eddie and Robert reported being dissatisfied with both the cleanliness (or lack thereof) of the restaurant and the food that they were served. See, I knew what I was doing when I opted to nap in the truck while they ate!
Somewhere in far northern Georgia it was my turn to drive again and I held that position until we arrived in Dillsboro/Sylva, NC, where we proceeded directly to the Huddle House so that I could have breakfast. Of course, I was not alone in this repast as my two traveling companions had more than recovered from their earlier (otherwise known as “first”) breakfast, and they had no problem whatsoever tackling the rare – but ever popular -- “second breakfast”.
With this whole Huddle House breakfast thing behind us, Eddie took over the driving duties in order to get us up the mountain and to position the trailer in the cramped conditions one finds at mountain cabins.
Having been a long-distance truck driver for many years, Eddie is supremely qualified to handle complex backing duties in cramped conditions. And, I must add, Eddie did an excellent job of getting that big truck/trailer rig into place at one of the two cabins where we are staying for the week. Of course, once the trailer was positioned was when we discovered some misery.
You see, my ST1300 had fallen over to the left again. I was absolutely shocked to find that my bike had fallen over a second time on a single trip. In fact, the first fall was surprising enough, but to have it happen twice in the same trip was absolutely shocking. And, sadly, this time we weren't so lucky in the damage department.
This second fall resulted in one of the small side plates on my ST popping off and falling to the trailer floor. Luckily, this plate was not damaged and the little plastic rivet that secures it in place was also unharmed, so it was a quick fix. There was some scratching and scuffing of the body plastic in the vicinity of this plate that won't be easy to fix, but I can live with it. Because of the rain, I have not removed the ST from the trailer to check for other damage, but I am hopeful that the ST is otherwise intact.
That brings us to the saddest portion of this tale of woe: Robert's Harley.
In the second fall, my ST landed on Robert's bike and the left handlebar weight on my ST went straight into the top of the Harley's front fender with all the force that a 600+-pound bike can muster in a short fall. The end result is a nasty dent in the top of the Harley fender that cracked the clear-coat and the paint all the way to bare metal. In short, the fender is toast; it will require massive repair or replacement. Fortunately, the Harley is ridable so Robert doesn't have to miss out on any riding that we do; he just has to do it on a blemished motorcycle.
The cause of the second fall appears to be rooted in not getting enough compression on the front forks of the ST. I opine thus because the strap holding the bike's right front came completely unhooked from the metal loop in the trailer floor. I surmise that the bike must have been compressed on its forks by a dip in the road that we hit at speed, which in turn would have caused the strap to loosen enough to let the hook come out of the loop.
No matter how it happened, the end results are not pretty and I feel pretty bad about Robert's beautiful Harley taking a beating at the hands of my ST. I am also a bit concerned about the condition of the ST and what I may find once she is rolled out of the trailer. I am optimistic, mind you, but a bit concerned nonetheless.
Now, in further reflecting on this matter of double falls on a single trip, I am given to consider that this is either another bad omen that is telling my I should have stayed home, or it is the ST's way of reminding me that she is a highway bike built to log miles and not meant to be sequestered into a trailer. Or, perhaps, it is just a sign that I have been stressed and pushed to much to meet deadlines and commitments related to this trip and the resumption of same that put me in the trailering mode.
No matter what the deeper meaning may actually be...if there is even a deeper meaning at work here...I have decided to be extra vigilant and careful for the coming week of riding these beautiful mountains. About seven years ago I was bitten pretty hard by a semi-famous dragon that calls these parts home. The lessons of that incident are not far from my mind as I type these words and contemplate the variables that have brought me to this moment and put my bike over on her left side twice in the same night. My attentions shall be keen, my caution appropriate to the situation, and my limits shall be kept firmly in my mind as we embark on our week of mountain riding.
The other three guys (Boyd, Glenn, Lloyd) should join us here at the cabins later today. It will be good to meet up with them again and hear their tales of what I missed these past three days as they worked their way southward from Front Royal, Virginia.
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