Rachel arrived about the same time our music show was over. She'd decided to drive down Saturday night, sleep on the extra bed, and we'd all get an early start Sunday. Nobody had warned her about my hacking and coughing. Besides,we sat up till midnight watching some great shows on CMT about the outlaw movement in country music, laughing and talking about anything and everything.
Cliff still hadn't figured out how he was going to load an 800-pound motorcycle onto a high-off-the-ground four-wheel-drive pickup, when we got up Sunday morning. Rachel found a place behind the motel that might put the pickup bed on a level with the ground, but when the truck was backed up, there was a huge gap. We had a flimsy board, barely wider than the motorcycle tires, that Cliff was going to try and push the bike up, with mine and Rachel's help. I had little hope for this plan working, and my feelings were right. The bike slipped off the board no sooner than we'd started, and there was no way the three of us could back it up and start over.
Ah, but God puts angels in the most unlikely places. A man had come outside the motel to smoke, came down to assess the situation, and told us to wait while he went to get another man. It turns out this father and son were both Gold Wing riders, and they sympathized with our plight. They and Cliff, together, came up with a plan that worked, and we got our precious cargo loaded.
I've learned that motorcycle riders everywhere have a special bond. They help one another. Trust me, Cliff and I intend to carry on that tradition.
We got home safe and sound, with Rachel driving most of the way. I decided to waive her babysitting fee for last week... do you blame me?
As soon as Cliff figures out the problem with our Honda, we'll be back on the road, weather permitting. This has been simply one more adventurous chapter in the storybook that is my life. Would you believe we're already laughing about our Branson experience?