Thru the Peephole: Musings on the Strange, Interesting, and Maddening Characters We Meet “On the Road”
By Allan Gereg of St. Clairsville, Ohio.
Chapter 7: “Mr. Jack” and Bib-Overalls at “Low-retty Lynn’s”
Maybe it’s time to “lighten up” a bit… the last chapter turned into something of a Soap Box column, but almost everyone reading about our Canadian Adventure can relate and has similar stories to tell, don’t you?… It Ain’t Only Roses that You Smell “On the Road”… there’s Rottin’ Garbage in Some of thos Dark Corners!… or maybe Rottin’ Grits… which brings me to my next story–a little bit of Southern Exposure. (what a smooth segue, ay?)
It was 1981, the year Doug and I decided that we would become “Rallyers” (or is it “Rallyists”?) Since it fit into our plans, we wanted to try the MOA National Rally at Hurricane Mills, Tennessee. In ’78, we headed down below The Mason-Dixon Line via the Blue Ridge Parkway, but this year we wanted to… Immerse Ourselves in Grits and Biscuits and White Gravy… just get knee-deep in the stuff! We definitely had the opportunities… Down South, grits come automatically with every meal (dessert?)… you usually have to request not to have them if you’re not fond of the rather bland, pastey flavor. (Sherwin-Williams and other Home Improvement stores could make a mint–look at this combo–packaged grits for wallpaper paste… and served for breakfast, lunch, and dinner at their in-store snack bars! No?!)
In the middle of July, we were headed south again on the Blue Ridge Parkway… I think most will agree that it’s hard to get tired of ridin’ the Parkway… every few years, it’s good to get back (this might be our year…). Once to Asheville, we left the “Blue Ridge” and toured thru Maggie Valley and Cherokee… beautiful countryside… big, wide valleys full of green, fertile bottomland surrounded by the tree-covered Smokies… picturesque!… I Could Stay Awhile in this Country! But after one night, press on we must!! Time is a Fleeting Commodity… sometimes (like at work!) you can’t wait for it to fly by… other times… (like while on the bike of your choice - BMW, do tell?) you want to stop the hands on the clock… to squeeze in every sight and sound and make them last forever! Ultimately, what we have left is the memories of the good times, hopefully aided with photos and writings like this feeble attempt to conjure in the reader’s thoughts, memories of past tours and acquiantenances.
Anyway, we headed up into Tennessee Territory, traveled thru eastern TN and Red Copper Country, then southwest with our sights set on Lynchburg. Surely, every Red-Blooded A-meri-can knows the legend for which Lynchburg, TN is famous… The Jack Daniel Distillery! Seriously, this is one of the best tours I’ve taken - well-organized and guided by a Good Ole Southern Boy (who probably has a PhD in Economics!). The “shtick” plays well though, with plenty of “ya’ll’s” and that famous Southern Hospitality and Charm… Yes ma’am, ya’ll come back now, y’hear? That Southern fella told the stories of Mr.Jack from the beginning of the business to the Cave Spring where comes every drop of water used to make the whisky. It was here at the statue of Jack Daniel, where the guide turned the tables on us… he asked the tour group to gather ’round Mr. Jack… pulled out a camera and photographed us! (a copy of the photo was later sent to each of us as a souvenir!).
Our Southern Gentleman explained an interesting fact about the differing qualities of Jack Daniel Whiskey. What makes the Black Label a smoother and mellower whisky than the Green Label? I always though it was the age… I assumed that Black Label was aged in the barrel for more years than was the Green Label… Not!… actually, both whiskys are aged equally… it is the outer barrels as they are stored, row by row, in huge tin-roofed warehouses that produce the Black Label whisky… since they are more exposed to hot summer sun and cool,crisp nights, which make the whisky “work” in the charcoal-lined, oaken barrels The barrels in the middle, or interior rows of the warehouse aren’t exposed to as much temperature change and the whisky doesn’t “work” as much, thus producing a slightly inferior (and cheaper costing) grade of whisky!
Who’da Thunk It!!!
Well,by this time, we were seeing a lot of BMW’s on the highway headed toward Hurricane Mills. We talked to a number of riders at Jack Daniel’s… even a couple of French Canadien from Nova Scotia! In the morning, we made it to the small town near Loretta Lynn’s Campground, site of the rally, and stopped at a little diner for breakfast (of course, by necessity requesting hash-browns in lieu of the omnipresent grits!). When finished, we went out to ride the short distance to the campground… As we walked to our bikes, there stood an old farmer next to his battered pick-up, eyeing the bikes… is he gonna spit tobacco juice on us or smile? Ah, oh!!… “Purty bikes!… Ya’ll goin’ up to Low-retty Lynn’s?”… Hey, he ain’t such a Bad Guy Afterall! We got to the campground, found a site and watched the people pour in … as ya’ll remember it was hot and crowded!
We woke up the next morning,… hardly refreshed… too hot to sleep… needing a shower… and some breakfast. We decided to ride out somewhere to eat… we went clear to Camden before the diner parking lots thinned of BMW’s (couldn’t wait in crowds… had to Eat!). As we sat waiting for our eggs and grits (?) we overheard other BMW riders talking… a middle-aged fella in big bib-overalls (he looked as close to being as round as he was tall!) seemed to be doing the talking… and as we eavesdropped, his demeanor belied a much different personality. We struck up a conversation with him and his group, learning that they hailed from Roanoke. We discovered that this Rather Rotund Pea Planter rode a new R100RS! And Ride It, He did!… with Fuzzbuster in place, he said he, “jist loved cruisin’ ’round ’bout 90. Hell, Ya jist cain’t make no time a’dawdlin’ along at 65 or 70!” He bragged as to the short time it took from Roanoke to here, “Why yes, I had ta leave the Missus home to watch the bi’ness so’s I could come fer the weekend… got ta head back Sund’y, early… I jist got no time…”
Well, well, what’s the old saying?… you can’t always tell a Book by its Cover?… True, so true… And Who, disguised as Clark Kent, a Mild-Mannered Reporter… Wages a Battle for Truth, Justice, and the American Way! I guess there’s a little, tiny bit of Superman in all of us… if you just want to take the time to look!
