Waking up and trying to walk straight.
Meeks looks like that guy that shot all of those photos of the Outlaws in the sixties. Portrait of an American Biker.
We found a breakfast buffet that was packed out with trikers that decided to ride up the mountain that morning. We were so nervous that Kyle pissed his shorts.
We proceeded to follow a trail in search of a place to swim. We heard water, but couldn't see any.
Boom. Through the trees, we spot paradise.
Despite it being in the mid 90's outside, the water was cold. Mountain springs, dawg. I have footage of a gnarly jump that I'll post later.
It's really cool to find places like this. It makes you want to start on the beer.
We decided to leave the mountain and find a new place to camp that night. On the way out, Duane's shifter bracket broke in half. It would have been sketchy to ride, and Bowles showed up in his truck anyways. He decided to ride his bike in the back of the truck. Here's a photo of him standing up to surf.
We came down the north side of the mountain, so we kept heading north.
Living it. The Alabama countryside that does not have meth is really pretty. The meth part just rules. Rock N' Roll.
Nice smile you smart ass little shit. This road is highway 9. If you ever see it, ride it.
Remember Ryan coming along with a broken foot? Well, apparently all of the miles had taken a toll on him, so he had Robby ride his bike. Robby has been living in Texas and Colorado the past year or so. It was rad to put miles on the bike next to the dude.
We rolled up to a campsite that Joe and Brandon knew about. It was unreal. Right on the river pretty much in a boulder field with plenty of trees to hang our hammocks from. It was occupied.
We left that beautiful site and searched for a different one. We ended up finding a dirt road that had a potential campsite about 4 miles down it. Now, I love riding rigid motorcycles. I never complain about "suspension" and I like it better than swingarm bikes. In this case it was different. It would have been hairy to ride a dirt bike down this road. I was miserable. No control for us on rigids and losing all of our gear. I broke my kick stand by casing a boulder on Chauncey wrecked in some deep ass dirt, fucking himself and his bike up. Anyways, we finally made it to the mythical campsite, and it was amazing. We had a bunch of dark liquor and every time a bottle got opened, the cap got thrown in the fire to insure that we finish it.
We cooked hobo stew. It was super good, except maybe for impatient Moon who rushed his. Dinner is served.
Nothing like a hot meal after being on the road.
We got drunk.
I got hoisted up in a tree.
So did Mosley.
Bowles got the most drunk I believe. Pals.
Fuck this road.
We found another swimming hole the next morning that seriously ruled everything.
Then we headed home. Maybe this weekend we'll do it again. There's no reason that us or any of you can't. It's cheaper than going to a bar.