On reflection I realize that the numerous posted rules, all of which were flagrantly broken, were merely an attempt by the Loretta Lynn Ranch to avoid liability for any negative consequences. (My wife suggests a second purpose: to give the assembled the pleasure of having rules to break). The Ranch clearly loves the event and holds it annually, and the staff I met often remarked that it was their favorite event of the year. I can see why. The mood was one of liberty and fellowship, hundreds and hundreds gathered together to share their joy in a common way of life and the freedom of the highway. Rules were not strictly necessary in such a community anyway. I never saw anyone engaged in risky behavior that anyone tried to talk them out of, stop, or limit; but I also did not see any injuries in spite of all the risks being taken. These were skillful men and women, finally for a moment allowed to be what they were without the walls imposed safety restrictions.
My son, who accompanied me, remarked that this was the America he has heard about but was born too late to experience. I told him that he had experienced it growing up, but was just too young to remember how good it was: the old Scottish Highland Games experience was very similar, especially our group who were all bikers of one sort or another anyway. The Wild Highlanders' founding father was a former motorcycle club member before drifting South. The last time the blog says I mentioned them was 2007, when my son was only five.
This was, however, the Way Things Used to Be. Doubtless that also was one of the sources of my pleasure. For me the experience was much like being young again for a weekend; camping and sleeping on a single blanket on the ground; eating country cooking and at Tennessee truck stops like I often did with dad as a boy, and now got to do with my son; drinking beer around bonfires; freedom from rules but also from cares; the fellowship of a community of dangerous men who are nevertheless completely friendly and joyous companions as long as you are, yourself, a fit member of the community who behaves with honor.
Yet in a way it was better even than youth, as I am now of an age to be liberated from the anxieties of youth. I no longer have to worry if I will be accepted or if I will be perceived as authentic enough. I don't need to stress over finding love or if a woman will ever want me. All those things that made youth more miserable than it is sometimes easy to remember have been relieved by time and experience. I could enjoy this in a way I could never enjoy the old days, because I no longer have anything to prove.
One of the posted rules that was most regularly violated was the prohibition against carrying weapons. Once I understood the actual intent of the posted signs, I was glad to put a knife on my belt: I always carry one, and feel very odd without it, akin to if I had forgotten my pants perhaps. I brought a Buck knife for the camping trip, which is a good camping knife because it is stainless and easily replaced if lost. On Saturday night I was wearing it along with a Waylon Jennings t-shirt. I met another biker wearing the exact same knife on his belt, along with a different Waylon Jennings t-shirt.
"Clearly," I told my son the next morning, "I have come home among my people." He laughed and agreed, and then we rode back.
I mentioned that the health and safety were partly under my control, and of course they were. Skill in riding was important, but more important proved to be all that Wilderness Rescue and other rescue training. The heat in middle Tennessee at this time of the year was too much for my son, inured to mountain weather, and he developed a heat injury before noon on the ride back. All the endless hours of training were paid for by the ability to diagnose the injury on observation, assess its severity (mild but dangerous), and treat it appropriately with shade, water, rest, as well as vitamins and electrolytes. After an hour and a half he was feeling better; I then rerouted our trip to go through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, so there would be a quicker return to shade and the coolness of the rivers and stones. He was fine by the time we reached Newfound Gap and returned to North Carolina.
Newfound Gap
I have written about the music in other posts, but it was well-collected. I had never heard of any of the groups or artists, and worried they would be Nashville bro-country slop; but that was not at all the case. The event organizers deserve praise for choosing wisely a collection of lesser-known artists who were all of quality, some of them great quality. That was another thing that added to the occasion.
Overall, an excellent time. I am deeply grateful, both to the people who made it possible and to any divinely-oriented powers that might have been watching over all of us.
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