Thunder and a Street of Dreams
Posted on 22. Sep, 2011 by admin in Guest Articles, Gypsy Bikers
By Michelle Hope
My winter in Southern Cal had been wrought with much soul searching and inward reflection. The age-old question of purpose, direction, and is this journey where I belong? I have been five years on the road living off my 85 Honda Shadow. Was this nomadic adventuring an aimless exercise in futility? I needed tangible answers, as I could not trust this wanderlust to guide me along.
I was happy to be going with my road-dog Two-Lane across the country shaking
off the lichen of the long winter. I’d visit my daughter and grandson in Rock Hill, SC, then to the defunct Myrtle Beach Bike Rally now concentrated in Murrells Inlet, SC. The weather was good enough now to cross the country and, as usual, I would take my time to enjoy the ride. It was pleasant, as the questions spawned by the winters moss dissipated in the wind; reawakening that familiar freedom that recognizes the road as home. It felt right…
After a night in Tucson to visit my son and grandkids and a couple nights in Albuquerque at a friend’s, I was on my way. The wind was howling through New Mexico so I needed a sleeping spot that would shelter me from it. On cue, I found a structure in an abandoned RV park that would serve that purpose. After a restful night’s sleep, we were back in the wind.
Little did I know that this wind in New Mexico would be nothing compared to what lie ahead. Nature would unleash her fury this year. I would be grateful that the lessons learned on the road, sculpted by a few weather mishaps, would serve as wisdom in the coming days.
So it happened that from Texas to Georgia, tornadoes and thunderstorms would rule the skies and conquer the land. My first night in the storm, I made camp in Texas. My previous experience informed me that it would likely rain so I made camp in the high spot; put my tarp over tent and bike, and got in bed. I didn’t know until that night that my tarp would hold up rather well to nickel size hail bits thrown with fury from an angry sky. I was dry, and with appreciation that I would stay that way, went to sleep.
The next day I rode into Oklahoma, right back into the storm (did I say I had learned from previous mishaps?). This sucker was traveling the same way as me – Northeast. Considering the night before in Texas I opted to pull my tent and bike into lower, thicker brush; in spite of the poison ivy (wait wasn’t this also a previous mishap?). Although it rained very hard, the sky held back its frozen fury, ensured I would again stay dry I slept.
After riding into the storm for a couple more days, sitting out a cloudburst in Pine Bluff, AR, listening to the tornado sirens blaring, not being able to cross the small rivers that now rushed along either side of the highway to camp, and after being soaked with cold, wet rain I gave in and rented a motel room. The motel didn’t allow pets but made an exception for Two-Lane. The motel thing is a seldom occurrence for me but it seemed the severe weather warranted it. And I was right, I quickly realized after tuning the motel room tube to the Weather Channel that this was some serious shit I had been riding in. I was near the Arkansas/Mississippi state line in Helena, AR and quickly opted for a second night in the room. They kindly accepted my money and I watched in astonishment as the announcers pointed to Doppler hook echoes, debris balls, and tornadoes ripping through Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia. Was this a tangible answer to my winter inquiry?
The following day, as if nothing had happened, the sun calmly warmed the air and the world felt right again. I stayed my course, in part to see the potential outcome if I had persevered. The world was very wet, constructing a landscape of fallen trees with their once securely anchored roots now exposed, fractured trees seemingly snapped in half, scattered debris, and some small lakes where pastures had once served as livestock sanctuaries.
I looked at places I may have possibly made camp to see how vulnerable I
would have been and came to the conclusion that the room had been a good idea. Near the Mississippi/Alabama state line the cars started lining up for gas. While waiting my turn to fill my tank I began to hear stories of power outages across the state, people filling multiple cans for generators also conveyed the difficulty of finding gas in Alabama. I knew that Birmingham had been hit pretty hard but my course was north on route 278 so I would miss the worst of it. There were road crews peppered along the highway cleaning up debris and clearing the roads of splintered trees. A few gas stations with generators were pumping but not many. My route led me to the small town of Cullman, AL. It appeared they hadn’t had time to detour traffic from the devastated highway with any clarity. The town was visibly damaged, roads were closed and sections blockaded. Navigation was a little more than impeded so I asked a cop and he kindly instructed me how to get out.
Going around the town I found a gas station still pumping. I took my place in line and heard more stories of trees down, family members safe, roof and structural damages, chainsaws and tree branches… In a place called Holly Pond, countless trees that formerly offered solace from the hot Alabama sun now rested on the houses they once sheltered. I didn’t take pictures of the devastation, as it didn’t feel right to record these vulnerably tragic moments in the lives of the people affected. I rode through to Georgia where I spent the night in some muddy red Georgia clay that sucked up my kickstand until my bike was laying on its side (I am sure I had learned that lesson before).
The next day was again sunny and I was grateful. Sometimes traveling hard can get lonely and sure enough I was craving some camaraderie. I found it right there in Cartersville Harley Davidson on route 411 in the great state of Georgia. It was Saturday and there were bikes, people and free coffee so I pulled on in. I would also need a back tire soon so I thought I would just take a look at the used ones, usually piled in the back of the dealership, to see if any would fit. Probably not going to happen as my Shadow takes a 15-inch rim, which is not a common Harley size. But hey I’d look anyway.
So I pulled in, girl on a packed up bike, traveling alone, with a dog on the gas 
tank. That doesn’t always draw attention (although I can’t see how it wouldn’t) but today it did so I had some instant comrades. It was nice and so were the chatty folks I had the pleasure of mingling with. Interested in what I was doing, I guess my story was passed along to a few others. Of course Two-Lane was an instant celebrity because he is so damn cute.
Soon one of the sales people, actually, the floor sales manager, Sonny Farmer was introducing me to one of his customers, John. He asked me the story of my motorcycle and I told him of the miles it had, the oil it not only spit out the exhaust but also the many quarts it consumed along the way, and the work I had in it. I had changed the motor the year before but it was an old ’84 motor with 22,000 miles that sat a really long time. Needless to say it needed some top-end work.
Well John had ideas. He took me to an ’03 Dyna and asked me what I thought of 
the bike. I asked him if he would add that to his current collection, and he said, “I wasn’t thinking for myself”. That pricked my ears a bit, but I didn’t dare consider this man was thinking of me. That would be a huge and improbable assumption to make; after all. We talked awhile more and it came to seem like that was his intention. I sat on the Dyna but John didn’t like the way it fit me, the tiny saddlebags, or the enhancements it was bragging. Honestly, I didn’t either, but what do I know. I finally got up the nerve to ask him if he was going to buy me a bike, and sure enough he was thinking about it.
Life became such a blur that I don’t remember who did what from then on out. One of the sales people pulled out a Suzuki Boulevard that had been traded and John lit up. This is what he was looking for. It was a small touring model and it seemed to work perfectly for this girl on a packed up bike, traveling alone, with a dog on the gas tank.
Next thing I know I was trying this bike on and testing the ride. Now I got to say, I didn’t merit this generosity. The graciousness of John and the people at this Harley dealership was amazing. I was propelled forward in a humbling mental fog of overwhelming proportions from an old red ’85 Honda Shadow to a black ’07 Suzuki Boulevard. My mind went blank; my emotions besieged with silence as intense gratitude stay locked inside unable to find its way out of this organic blocked container. I was dumbfounded.
Little did I know in my cursing fit the night before as I was trying to pick that ole Honda up out of the muddy red Georgia clay it would be the last night I’d spend with that bike.
John said to me “So, here’s the deal. I will trade this bike for yours, keep your old bike in my garage until you want it back, then I will ship it to you wherever you are”. Is this guy an angel? The deal was on. I unpacked the Honda, and John helped me pack the Suzuki. I think the challenge of making it all work was fun for both of us.
We were all exposed to such a marvelous demonstration of generosity and grace beyond words; some expressed the Tao with tears while others were compelled to give. There was an understanding we shared that this was indeed a miracle orchestrated by a conductor of supreme excellence. Everything fit together, perfectly written, directed, and performed; each moment in harmonious rhythm as we participated in this sacred concert of dreams, questions, and answers fulfilled; the givers, receivers, contributors and watchers; all were blessed.
I was presented, in turn, with thoughtful gifts from customers and Harley employees alike, a new pair of Harley gloves, a 12-volt cigarette lighter to charge my cell phone, a signed bandana (which I wear proudly) from the employees of Cartersville HD, and a dealer T-shirt.
With my new bike packed, people gathered around it for an emotional prayer circle, the flowing of tears, and a final thank you. Still stunned, I thought it was time to leave. I didn’t know what else to do actually. So I rode away. I rode away in ignorance of just how much all of this would affect my life.
In the five years I have been out on the road, I don’t remember feeling as secure as I have in the past few months since this happened. Not only knowing the machine is in good working condition but also knowing that something else is looking out for me. I got my tangible answer to the soul searching I had engaged in most of my winter. I know where I belong. I do it now with a deeper gift of an inherent awareness of freedom and the responsibility to share it, a non-tangible sense of security that was brought about by a tangible answer to an age-old question.
The recognition that my life somehow inspires others is a gratifying notion. You see in John’s case he loves motorcycle travel; he had been planning a six-week trip, (which he is probably on right now) if my memory serves me right, to Canada and more. I mentioned how moved I was by him and the people at the Harley Davidson, and I was informed how I had touched them also. Go figure, this lowly slave to freedom, this wandering nomad, this girl on a packed up bike, traveling alone, with a dog on the gas tank may actually inspire and touch the lives of people along the way. I just can’t ask for a better purpose than that. I trust now, that my life is guided by a purpose, that we are all bonded through our humanity and that if you show up in the right place at the right time and meet an angel named John, you are a very fortunate human being.
Michelle Hope & Two-Lane
http://www.facebook.com/FreedomsLowlySlave
A special thank you to Cartersville Harley-Davidson, and their staff. You have shown kindness and hospitality to a kindred spirit, an act that truly reflects well on your business and family. And a special thank you to John the Angel for your graciousness and the charity you have shown. God bless you all!