Someone once asked me, “Hey Ambrose, what do you do when you get lost on your motorcycle?” My standard reply to this question is, “You never get lost on a motorcycle; you just find new roads to ride.”

Traveling down Highway 82 a couple of weeks ago I had just this opportunity. I had just turned off Highway 41 in search of new horizons after finishing a search of my music library, and finding some old friends to take with me. I also found cruising speed, Billy, and some glass houses.  

The weather was spectacular, and so were the tunes. This winding stretch of heaven made chills run up and down my spine as I tried to twist the grips off the handlebars. Springtime is finally here, and so were the thoughts of no more cold weather. The time to compile some new cruising music over the winter sure made me appreciate the old jukebox on the bike.

It wasn’t long before I found Highway 64 and with it came a rock and roll fantasy.  I rocked along as we rolled through the curves. Gossburg, Tennessee virtually jumped up in front of me as we passed Jernigans Branch road and all of a sudden I felt as if I was knocking on heaven’s door. We stopped for a short stretch and as I looked at the old country store in the crossroads, I could only imagine  the stories that were passed back and forth over the years. As we saddled up and started off again, you could almost hear the slam of the screen door.

Downshifting into second gear, we turned onto Burke Hollow Road, the screaming eagles bellowed their low growl and once again we were running against the wind. As we passed through Donnell Chapel we merged onto highway 99 and it was a great feeling knowing that I was born in the USA and had the freedom to do this.

The busy community of Dillton caught us off guard as we passed through town running through the jungle: but as we rode by the local constable, he merely gave us a thumbs up and a smile; he must have been in the wind himself in past years.

We racked up the miles and watched the sun drop lower in the sky, as we were  so far away from the troubles of daily life. Stretching one foot over the highway peg, the white lines of the highway seemed to connect and the long straightaway of 231 gave me the opportunity to blow the cobwebs out on this much-needed ride. It was like a cleansing of the soul.  

Turning back west on Highway 64, third gear gave me the needed boost to get to that magical speed. As the sun set on the horizon, I really didn’t want to give it up. But, realizing that I couldn’t make it to Amarillo by morning, I packed it in and headed for the Grove. The fresh smell of the honeysuckle signals the beginning of spring and the best days of riding. It was good to put the pencil down, and throw a leg over.

J Walter Ambrose is retired from the construction industry. He is a published author of three novels including the most recent The Secrets of Bryson’s Grove. The writer and his wife Robbie live in College Grove. For the last several years, Ambrose has been a contributing editor for two international monthly publications.