In Memoriam - Steve Winters: 1945-2013

Steve Winters

My good friend and riding buddy Steve Winters died this past weekend from injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident on Saturday.

He leaves behind his wife Diana, two adult children, two brothers, and more friends than one can count.

Steve was a great bear of a man who lived and enjoyed life to the fullest.  He rode in Rolling Thunder, the motorcycle group that rides to Washington DC each year to remember the MIAs from Viet Nam.  He rode with honor patrols escorting the bodies of servicemen home for burial.

And no matter where he was, when it met a veteran, he always took the time to say a heart-felt thank you.

I was privileged to get to know Steve over the past five years - to become close friends.  That happens when you share thousands of miles on motorcycles and more than a few evening sipping bourbon.  In the past two years, we took four trips together -- the Tail of the Dragon & the Bourbon Trail in 2012, and New Orleans Jazz Fest and the Blue Ridge Parkway & Skyline Drive this year.  Weather necessitated taking a car to New Orleans, but all the other trip were on our motorcycles. 

On our trip to New Orleans, I introduced Steve to fried green tomatoes, crawfish ("mudbugs" he insisted) and street music.  It was his first time in the Big Easy, and before we left, he was already planning a return trip, this time with his wife Diana.

But of all our travels, the highlight was our recent 1,763 mile, nine-state adventure.  We rode the Tail of the Dragon (US 129) and Moonshiner (US 28), the entire 469 miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the 105-mile Skyline Drive through Shenandoah National Park.  

The trip fulfilled a dream Steve had for more than 40 years.  Since he was young and his family camped at Great Smokey Mountain National Park, he wanted to travel the entire Blue Ridge Parkway.  And he did.

Unlike so many deferred dreams, Steve told me on the last day of our trip that the actual experience exceeded his every expectation.  It was everything he hoped - and more.  

In trying to save Steve's life, physicians discovered an incurable cancer ravaging Steve's body - something of which Steve was unaware. He would have soon began to feel its impact, and it was likely he would not have survived until the next riding season.

Maybe God, in his wisdom, knew that Steve was not the type of man to waste away in a hospital bed.  Maybe He let him have that one last great adventure, the trip of a lifetime, before cancer deprived him of his ability to make that dream come true -- before God called him home.  

On our trip, Steve so obviously enjoyed every minute -- smiling, laughing, talking with people along the road, taking in the glory of the mountain overlooks, and just simply enjoying the road beneath his wheels. 

That's the way I will remember him.  

Every time I start up my motorcycle, I will think of Steve.  And I will miss him. 

Motorcycle Trip Day 2: Tail of the Dragon Video

The Tail of the Dragon is an 11 mile stretch of US 129 along the Tennessee / North Carolina border.  It includes 318 turns.

Thanks to the miracles of the GoPro Camera, my riding buddy Steve Winters and I were able to record some of our 6-day motorcycle trip on video.

I have edited the video from the Tail of the Dragon, added some music, and posted it on YouTube.  Click HERE to view the video. 

This video covers the entire Dragon -- all 318 turns.  It is about 24 minutes long.

Motorcycle Trip Day 2: Tail of the Dragon - On Board Shots

Below are on-board photos on the Tail of the Dragon -- an 11-mile,  318 turn stretch of US 129 on the Tennessee / North Carolina border.   

The GoPro video camera from which these still photos were culled, was attached to the windscreen of my Honda VTX motorcycle.  The angles reflect the angle of my bike as it went through the  turns on the Dragon.
  
The motorcycle in most of these photos is ridden by my buddy Steve Winters, whose GoPro was used.  The videos are being edited and will soon be posted on YouTube.

Enter the Dragon.  Sign on right warns of curves -- LOTS of curve -- for next 11 miles.

3-wheel Can-Am (on right). Saw surprising number of Can-Ams on Dragon & Blue Ridge Parkway

Arriving in Deals Gap, NC, end of the Dragon. Note the silver Dragon sculpture on the right.

Motorcycle Trip Journal Day 2: At the Gap There Be Dragons

Day 2:  Friday, August 30 - Part 2

The second day of our motorcycle adventure begins with the promise of sunshine and adventure ahead.  It does not disappoint.  But there are unexpected challenges ahead, too.

After talking with Scooter (see previous post), my riding buddy Steve Winters and I make a return trip to the Riverside Cafe, a rustic restaurant nestled between the mountains, a stone's throw (literally) from a sign declaring "You Are Now Entering Great Smokey Mountain National Park."  We  visited the restaurant one year ago when we made our first trip to the Tail of the Dragon, and found it worth a return visit. It is a pleasant familiar setting.

Li'l Sam

Our waitress is Samantha, or "Li'l Sam" as she is known, a short little spark plug of smiles and southern hospitality.  She serves us up a breakfast of steaming coffee, country ham, eggs, grits and fresh made-from-scratch biscuits -- or as Steve would say throughout the trip with an exaggerated southern accent -- "Beez-kits."

After breakfast, we attach Steve's Go Pro digital video camera to the front of my motorcycle.  We know what lay ahead, and we want to make an effort to capture it on video.  We spend time carefully lining up the camera for the correct angle.  Then we are ready.  It is time for the road.

We head east toward Marysville to pickup the Smokey Mountain Foothills Parkway.  The Parkway is a beautiful 20 mile stretch of unblemished 2-lane blacktop that winds among gorgeous vistas and overlooks, connecting the E. Lamar Alexander Parkway (US 321) to US 129 -- and the Dragon.  But the Foothills Parkway is more than just a connector route.  It is worth traveling just for itself.

We get to US 129,and stop at the Harley-Davidson store that sits in the middle of nowhere, just north of the Tail of the Dragon.  Like so many other motorcyclists, we stop and pick up souvenir shirts and trinkets.  

Then back on the bikes, Go Pro recording, we head to the Dragon.

Sculpture of Dragon, Deals Gap

The Tail of the Dragon is a legend among motorcyclists.  It is an 11-mile, 318 turn stretch of US 129 along the Tennessee / North Carolina border.   Its constant curves and switchbacks draw motorcyclists and sports car enthusiasts from all over the United States.  Even on a Friday morning like this, a steady stream of motorcycles of every type will take the challenge of the Tail of the Dragon.

With Steve riding in front, and me riding close behind with the camera running, we take on the Dragon.  I stay close to Steve for benefit of the video, and a few times I consciously locate my bike for the best angle as we ride.  My footrests drag three or four times on the undulating switchbacks, but it's not something I haven't done before. Despite many horror stories - mostly from people who have not ridden it - we enjoy the ride without incident or near-misses.  When all is said and done, the Dragon is simply a very curvy road. 

Me, Steve Winters & Tree of Shame

After a little less than half an hour, we roll into Deals Gap, NC.   In reality, it is nothing more than a cross-roads -- a landing spot with two restaurant / tee-shirt shops on either side of the roadway for those who have just traversed the Dragon.  

In the parking lot of the larger of the two businesses is the infamous Tree of Shame.  It is a big tree (not sure what type) that is literally covered with motorcycle parts gleaned from the Tail of the Dragon - remnants of motorcycles that didn't make it through all 318 curves.  

Many of the dented and scraped parts have cute messages written in marker from their former owners.  One simply says "Don't be stupid."  Others parts dangle in silent recognition to bikers who overestimated their talents, underestimated their speed, or simply lost concentration in the constant back-and-forth weave of the constantly-changing blacktop.  One of the more unusual signs you will ever see is posted nearby.  It warns:  "Watch for Falling Bike Parts."

Cindy

Steve and I have lunch.  We enlist the help of Cindy, an attractive vivacious woman with an incredibly engaging smile.  She steps away from her friends and takes photos of Steve and I -- "Steve Squared" as my assistant calls us -- standing at the end of the Dragon. Then she poses for a couple of photos herself.

I repack my camera into my saddlebag, Steve resets the Go Pro camera, and we  head out of Deal's Gap on US 28, the winding highway known alternatively as Moonshiner or Hellbender.  It's a beautiful, challenging, twisty ride, but without the intensity of the Dragon.  

On one of the curves, I make a small miscalculation on the apex of a turn, and the right half of my front tire edges into the grass along the roadside.  It wasn't all the way off the road, but it was close enough to get my attention - and maybe leave a temporary green wall along my tire for a mile or two.  In the more than 750 miles of twisty roads that follow before we head back onto the Interstate and head toward home, I don't make that mistake again.

We ease through Moonshiner, then wrap around the southeast corner of the Smokey Mountain National Park.  After a short stop for fuel and ice cream, and a quick consultation with a map, we head out to Cherokee, NC and the beginning (from south to north) of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Sign in Deal's Gap store.

Cherokee, NC is located just outside the southeastern entrance to the Great Smokey Mountains National Park.  I have been through Cherokee before, but it was years - maybe decades - ago.  But present-day reality meets the low expectations of my memories.  

Gaudy signs advertise a wide variety of trinket shops that crowd along the roadway.  Everything is touted as Indian "this" or Indian "that."  As we pass by, there is even an Indian in full headdress hawking merchandise to passing tourists in front of a shop loaded with tacky nick-knacks, most likely made in some sweat shop in Bangladesh or Cambodia.

The entire town seems out of a 1950s time warp.  It's not the best image of American Indians . . . or America.

It's about 3 p.m. Just beyond the gaudiness of Cherokee, we see the sign we've been looking for.  We make a right turn.  A wooden National Park Service sign declares "You Are Entering Blue Ridge Parkway."  

After a little over 500 miles, we have arrived at the place where our journey truly begins.

Motorcycle Trip - Day 2: Scooter

Day 2 - Friday August 30.

Scooter.  That was all the name we ever got from him.  But it was enough.

"Scooter"

He had the room next to mine in the Hendricks River Breeze Motel, the little mom and pop survivor from the 1950s where we stayed in Townsend, TN, just outside the Great Smokey Mountain National Park.  

My riding buddy Steve Winters first noticed Scooter's 1990s vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle the night before - not because of its style or age or particular beauty - but because of the disassembled fishing rod neatly attached to the chrome cage surrounding its hard-case saddlebags.  In all his years of riding, Steve had never seen someone traveling with a fishing pole so cleverly attached.

In the morning, toweling accumulated dew off our bikes, we met the owner of the bike -- and the fishing pole.  Scooter.  He was rather small, particularly when compared to Steve and me.  He was likely in his mid-50s, but maybe a touch older - or even younger.  It was hard to tell.  His face showed a weariness, not so much of age but of life, with a graying scraggly beard and worn deep set eyes.

Scooter was traveling alone.  He did so regularly.  He stayed at the little out-of-date motel in the shadow of the Smokey Mountains six or seven times a year.  Sometimes fishing.  Sometimes taking in the beauty of the mountains.  Sometimes just riding.

But always carrying his memories. And always solo.

On that sunny morning full of promise, standing over our motorcycles, we talked of life, and love, and death, and going on even when your heart is ripped out.

Scooter lost his wife 10 years ago in a car accident.  

They met at her uncle's general store in rural southeastern Ohio, not far from where Scooter still lives.  They were young -- she was only about 13 and he was only a couple of years older.   From the time they met, they could talk to each other, connect with each other.  They became friends.  By the time she was 15, they were together as boyfriend and girlfriend.  When she was 20, they were married.

They didn't have any children.  They lived on a small farm near where they grew up, and were happy.  They both loved to explore the world on their motorcycle.  They rode the highways and byways of the eastern United States, including the entire Blue Ridge Parkway. 

They had a special routine.  Whenever either one drove someplace, that one would always called the other to say "I'm here safe."  

So 10 years ago, when Scooter's truck was in the shop, his wife insisted that she drive him to work rather than Scooter taking his motorcycle. She dropped him off, but Scooter never got the call from home that she had arrived safely.  He borrowed a co-workers car and set out along the path she would have traveled through the winding roads of southeast Ohio.  And he found her.

A deer had run into the path of her car.  When she hit it, she lost control and crashed head-on into a tree.  "I found the accident," he said, the pain still in his voice. "She was gone."

She was 43.  They had been married 23 years, and been together for 28. 

Scooter now lives in a trailer in southeast Ohio, still not far from where he grew up - where he and his wife had that small farm.  He removed the passenger seat and even the footpegs from the motorcycle they had shared for so many journeys.  In its place, he put a home-made luggage rack.  No one else will ever ride as his passenger.

And now he rides over the roads of the southeastern United States that for so many years he shared with his wife.  Only now he rides by himself.  Still, he says that his motorcycle has been his salvation, riding with his thoughts on those winding roads.

Friends have suggested that he should find someone.   Not someone to take his late wife's place but a companion, someone to be with him, to have company.  

But Scooter just shakes his head.   With a gentle touch, he tugs on the chain around his neck.  A golden ring dangles from the chain. "I still wear my wedding ring," he says.

Scooter politely declines our invitation to join us in riding the Tail of the Dragon.  I take his photo, but he also shakes his head when I offer to send him a copy.  "I've got pictures. You keep it."  

And he takes off, his fishing pole strapped to the side of his bike, riding solo.  The same way he always rides.

Motorcycle Trip: Dragon, Blue Ridge Parkway & Skyline Drive: Day 1

Author's note:  The following is the first in a series taken from the journal I kept on my recent motorcycle trip with my riding buddy Steve Winters.  Here are the basic stats:  1,763 miles.  Nine states.  628 photos.  One close encounter with a bear.

So here's the daily account that I kept each evening, and sometimes in the early morning.

My Honda VTX, packed for travel

Day 1: Thursday, August 29, 2013

Everything packed and loaded on to my 1300 cc Honda VTX-R cruiser.  Planned start
time of 7:45 am delayed by one-half hour due to dense fog.  Very heavy fog from Muncie to New Castle. (Wouldn't be the last fog we would see -- or the worst).  Followed large truck for a while, thinking drivers are more likely to see the truck than a solo motorcycle.  Cleared south of New Castle, but rolled in again as approached Rushville.  South of Rushville, the fog burned off and sun came out.

Met up with Steve Winters at Amaco station in Greensburg.  For ease of reference, I'll call him Winters so readers won't confuse what my assistant refers to as "Steve squared."

With Winters leading on his Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic, we headed south on US 421.  Passed the tree growing out of the Courthouse in downtown Greensburg and the Damm Theater in Osgood.  

South of Versailles we got waived over by a State Policeman.  He was courteous and friendly.  Checked our motorcycle endorsements and gave us a verbal suggestion to slow down a bit.  He waived us on and wished us well on the trip.  Winters promised to watch the speed a little closer.

We crossed the Ohio River on the new bridge at Madison.  The sun sparkled on the water like infinite stars twinkling in a north Wisconsin sky.  I slowed to take in the beauty of the water.  To the east, a solitary tug slowly moved a barge against the current, heading up-river toward Cincinnati.  To the west, smoke stacks stood out against the crystal blue sky, puffs of white steam billowing upward into continuous regenerating clouds. 

Once across the river, we headed through the gently rolling hills of northern Kentucky.  Corn stood in late summer brown with only touches of summer green.  A few fields of tobacco shimmered golden against the rich green countryside.  

Passing through small towns, we hit first real twisty stretch of our trip, a section of US 421 that runs into Frankfort, KY.  We stop in Frankfort at a Mexican restaurant that Winters recommends.  We try the daily fish special and it is surprisingly good.

Then we are on to the Interstate for the first time in the trip.  We take I-64 a short distance to Lexington, where we pick up I-75 south.  The wind and the heat of the day increase as we head into mid-afternoon.  It makes riding more strenuous.  In fact, the fatigue of traveling hundreds of miles on the Interstate in the heat and wind is second only to the day of riding the Blue Ridge Parkway in dense fog and rain.  But that is yet to come.

"4 Egg-citing Days": 
World Famous Chicken Festival

We stop in southern Kentucky at a McDonalds.   In the parking lot, a gaudily painted truck announces the upcoming  "World Famous Chicken Festival" in Laurel, KY, home of the first Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant.  

Walking out of the restaurant, we talk for a moment with a guy in his mid-40s, obviously traveling by motorcycle.  His cruiser is on the small side for interstate travel, and isn't loaded with traveling bags.  He has a large gym bag attached to the back with bungy cords.  He tells us he is from the Detroit area and is headed to Huntsville to visit his ex-wife.  It seems that despite the legalities of the divorce, he still is carrying a torch that makes it worth an 800 mile motorcycle trip -- each way.

As we get ready to pull out, a couple pulls in on a Harley touring bike.  They are headed to Gatlinburg for a vacation.  The guy seems in his mid-30s; the woman a bit younger.  For her, it is her first trip by motorcycle.  She admits to being hesitant about traveling so far, but is enjoying the trip.  The big Road King is much more comfortable than she expected, but after hours on the bike, she gives her backside a massage and rather sheepishly admits  that her butt is starting to ache.

Leaving the McDonald's I count down the miles to the Tennessee state line:  54,  33,  21,  14 . . .  It's a habit I will follow through much of the trip.  

We pass by Jellico, TN, where last year when traveling to the Dragon, we had to take a twisty up-hill / down-hill detour where one side of the Interstate had collapsed off the side of the mountain, taking one truck with it. 

As we ride through the mountains in northeastern Tennessee, I watch a beautiful array of billowing white clouds with blue-gray underbellies.  I'm suddenly hit with the presence of Don Green.  He is my former father-in-law who died only a few days before our trip.  I thought the world of Don.  He was as good a man as I have ever known.  And for much of his life, he rode a motorcycle.  

I'm not much of a believer in such things as people's spirit visiting you.  But the feeling that came over me was an overwhelming sense of his presence, of looking down on our motorcycle adventure with contentment.  It was something more than a fleeting thought, and it has left an indelible mark upon me.

We hit mist and some spitting rain as we went through a mountain pass closely surrounded by heavy truck traffic.  But it lasted only long enough to put some beading water on the windscreen and my face shield.  We did not bother stopping to put on rain gear, and in a few miles we were back in the clear.

Hot Rod's 50s Diner in Maryville, TN

We stopped for Dinner at Hot Rods 50s Diner in Marysville, TN, about 30 miles southeast of Knoxville.  We had dinner there last year when we first rode the Dragon, and enjoyed it so much that it was a required stop on this trip.  

Katie, a pretty 20-something waitress, took care of us.  She was bright and talkative.  We found out that the friendly waitress we had the year before had been fired for pocketing money from the till.  We also discovered the tattooed music notes on her neck,  and the thin bar piercing that stretched across the top of her ear.  

Katie, our star server at Hot Rods 50s Diner

Then she stuck out her tongue  and smiled to reveal a thick post piercing her tongue. 
Winter's asked, "What's that for?"  She rolled her eyes a bit, and I told my riding buddy that would tell him later.

Leaving the restaurant, a 60ish couple approaches us.  He is a big man who retired from the military to the hills of southeastern Tennessee.  But he is a Hoosier by birth, growing up in Paoli.  I suggest that he needs to go back and visit the refurbished West Baden Springs Hotel, and both he and his wife seem interested.

It's then that his wife comments that her husband's motorcycle was totaled only the day before.  Seems he was riding his motorcycle when a dump truck backed into it -- with him on it.  Somehow he avoided being hurt even though the entire front of the bike was crushed.

We spend time talking about motorcycles.  He suggests several motorcycle rides which he thinks are far superior to the Tail of the Dragon.  Winters and I politely take his suggestions and note them for future trips, but we know that this trip is planned out.  

From Marysville, we head east 20 miles to our stopping place for the night, a small mom & pop motel at the foot of the Smokies in Townsend, TN. Its already dusk as we race the darkness eastward, riding along a winding highway between deep woods and mountainsides, the highway protected from rock slides by metal barriers.  The mountains are in front of us, rising in deep Persian blue through a thin veil of haze.  Above the peaks, lit by the last rays of the setting sun, is a towering bright-white cumulonibus cloud, with its anvil top dwarfing even the giant mountains.  Lightning flashes in the cloud.  

Finally, darkness all around, we arrive at the Hendricks River Breeze Motel.  The elderly owners are already off to bed.  We pick up the keys to our rooms in an envelop taped to the office door.  "Pay us in the morning," a scrawled note says.

I find my way to my room (there are only about 8 rooms, all in a line).  I unpack then take a long cold shower, washing away the heat and grime of the road.  I try to drink a beer we picked up at the local convenience store, but I'm just not in the mood.  I lay down and try to sleep, the feel of the road still rumbling through my hands.

The Long and Winding Road -- Blue Ridge Parkway & Skyline Drive

Along the 469 miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the 105 miles of the Skyline Drive, the black top weaves along ridges and up mountainsides, turning back on itself, enveloped in a canopy of green, then opening onto vast vistas.  It is artwork created by stone, and green and blacktop, an interplay of man and nature.

 

Taking a Closer Look Along the Blue Ridge Parkway & Skyline Drive

When traveling the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive, even by motorcycle, it's easy to get lost in the expansive breath-taking views of the mountains and valleys.  But if you take time to redirected your focus a little closer, you'll find some awe-inspiring sights that are so close you can touch them.