They came upon us completely by Accident. Joe and his friend Will were up from Florida for some great mountain road riding. Trailering their bikes to Asheville, North Carolina, they had packed their gear, left the truck, and gone in search of adventure on two wheels. Serendipity dropped them into the Newport, Tennessee, KOA looking for a campsite to spend the night.  It also dropped them in the midst of the BMW ROK’On Classic Motorcycle Rally. They weren’t looking for a rally. They had never heard of us or our annual late summer gathering. Will was riding a BMW and Joe a nice Suzuki, but that really wasn’t important, anyone on two wheels was welcome. The campground operators offered them a campsite, but then steered them towards us. The fee was better and we would feed them. Even two total strangers from Florida couldn’t pass up a deal like that.

Will wasn’t sure at first but Joe seemed to like the idea, so they paid their registration fee and pitched their tents. One bowl of Dave’s famous white chili and Will thought it was a heck of a good idea after all. No one is really a stranger at the ROK’On rally, and honestly no two people that love the lore of two wheeled motorized travel are really strangers. They’re simply friends that haven’t been introduced.  Joe and Will were soon introduced and among friends long missed. They fell right into place.  They enjoyed the food, had conversations about travel and motorcycles, and watched the movies in the Club House. Jack Alltop stayed up late Friday night with Will to watch the end of “The Worlds Fastest Indian” he had missed earlier in the evening. Movie over, Jack closed up the Club House and Will hit his sleeping bag, no doubt thinking of Saturday’s route of exploration.

Saturday dawned bright and clear. With fresh coffee brewing and flapjacks sizzling on the griddle in the clubhouse, Joe and Will had a hearty breakfast. Once fed they moved about the camp ground, tidying their site, putting some things away, talking to others about the day’s riding ahead. Will planned the day’s route, as he had spent many years in Boone, North Carolina, working with antiques. What that route was we couldn’t say. What we do know is that eventually Will and Joe ended up on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Parkway is a motorcyclist’s dream road. Smooth sweeping turns through tunnels of shady trees that give way to broad open views of smoky mountaintops and green valleys below. The speed limits are low by motorcycle standards, but the traffic is light, there are no trucks, and slowing down is good sometimes. We all need to do that once in awhile and enjoy the road, not just use it to get from point “A” to “B”. That’s exactly what Will and Joe were doing Saturday afternoon.

Joe was riding along behind Will.  He watched as Will arced smoothly through the curves of the Parkway. It was after a particularly nice set of such curves that it happened. Joe said they came out of the turns onto a long straightaway, and when everything seemed so right with the world it all suddenly changed. Will’s bike wobbled, then went down. Will tumbled and slid to a stop while his bike skidded to rest further down the road. Joe came up on Will and immediately checked for a pulse, he found none. He tried to rouse Will, no dice. He quickly looked over Will’s riding gear; he was fully covered in protective pants, jacket, gloves, and boots and hardly a mark on any of it except a scuff on his helmet. Soon other travelers arrived on the scene and offered aid, but it was no good, it was too late. Will was dead. Joe was stunned. In a few hours we were all stunned by the news. Our new friend, so long unknown to us but so recently acquainted, was gone.

How Joe made it back to the Rally site I have no idea. I am not sure I could have. Not that he couldn’t navigate his way back to Newport, but that his mind functioned enough to ride period. He came back and found himself surrounded by friends; friends that suddenly found themselves in mourning for a lost fellow rider - a family member. Will was not just Joe’s friend, he was a motorcyclist, and he was one of us. He was our guest; our friend, a fellow enthusiast. Details trickled in about Will’s accident over the evening and into Sunday morning. Apparently Will was struck by a massive heart attack, or perhaps a deadly stroke. Joe commented how smooth a rider Will was and that the fall had no “reason” behind it, he just seemed to slump over and fall.  Something of an impromptu wake was held Saturday night for Will. Joe had lost one friend but had gained many others, and they made sure he did not spend Saturday night alone.

Joe had a couple of other problems to deal with now.  As it turned out he and Will had only been riding together a few weeks. They had traveled to Asheville in Will’s truck. All of Will’s possessions were part of the investigation and his truck would also have to remain in North Carolina for now. Joe had to get home and he was going to be riding all the way now. He would have to ride back to Florida alone. ROK members sat down with Joe around hot coffee Sunday morning and helped him plot a route home. They talked him into making it in two days, not trying to push through in one. US 441 would take him almost directly to his house, he wouldn’t have to push, and he could take his time and reflect on all that had taken place. We wished him well and saw him off. Joe’s would be a long solo ride home that had not been expected.

On top of everything else Will was something of a loner. A “Free Spirit” Joe called him. The Police were having trouble finding any next of kin. We knew he was living in Micanopy, Florida, but that’s about all we knew. Suddenly it seemed Joe wasn’t the only one all alone, but so was Will. Lying in a morgue in North Carolina and no one knew if he had relatives or friends to come claim him and his possessions. The Sheriff came and packed his gear up.  Hopefully someone out there that cared for him will get Will’s things.  Hopefully somewhere out there he had other friends that will make sure he is taken care of in the end.

Since that fateful afternoon we have learned that next of kin was found for Will but we have not been given any details. Joe made it home mid day Monday calling in as he had promised both Sunday afternoon and upon arrival home. He stopped by the Coffee House where he had met Will and gave the news to the only person they both knew.

I have often wondered what would happen if I was involved in an accident or if suddenly struck down as Will was.  A long way from home, out along the road and no one knew me. Would my family know? Would friends ever hear what had become of me? It should give us all some pause to think. It could happen to any of us, anywhere at any time. I’ll be making sure my identification is always on my person. That contact numbers are there for who ever to find. I want people to know who I am, but more importantly I want the people who really care, the people who love me to know.

When it’s all said and done I have to admit one thing. Not many of us get to choose how or when we die. It is a fact of life that we will die sooner or later. It is the one absolute unavoidable truth in life. All roads eventually lead to that final destination. When it is my turn to go, I realize I hope to be as lucky as Will. Lucky to die you ask? No, but as stated before we all have to die. But to be lucky enough to die doing the one thing I love almost more than anything else in this world would be a rare and precious thing. To have the last thought in my mind to be “Damn, I nailed that corner…”, to have the last feelings to be the one of pure elation of rounding the curve in the road to see a beautiful vista, to feel smooth road beneath my tires, to feel the acceleration of the engine beneath me, that is pure heaven. I have to admit, I can’t think of a better way to go out.

copyright - Tim Pruitt 2007