I remembered stopping for gas and water, but I could not stay in one place for more than two minutes. Going day and night, the rolling hills of Tennessee around midnight is where it happened. I was laid down, feet on the back foot pegs, chin just inches above the gas cap, squinting through the fog of the valleys.

The growl of the engine simply quit. The rear wheel slowly broke loose and wanted to go right. The chain sprocket rattled. I don't know why, but I pulled in the clutch and the only sound left was wind.

Spying an underpass I hit the brakes and stopped underneath. Swinging out the kickstand I stepped off and removed my helmet. After taking a few breaths, I returned to the bike and tried to kick the engine over. It was frozen solid.

Exhausted from the last two days, I reached into my backpack and pulled out a sixteen ounce can of Coors beer I was saving for my friends in Jacksonville and gulped about half of it before realizing I could not remember when I had last eaten. A large truck blasted past, I threw down the beer and got mad.

Turning the bike around I pushed it back up about seven hills and two miles before reaching the previous exit ramp and an all night gas station.

A nice guy inside recognized my dilemma and offered a chair and plenty of talk. "See that van out there?" he pointed. "Bet you can pick it up for about $150, but don't tell'm I said so." he really wanted to help. As luck would have it, there was a KOA campground just across the interstate. As soon as the sun came up I headed for it, but not without getting the phone number of the seller of the van. Setting up a tent in the way back of the campground, I finally fell asleep.

Later that morning banging trash cans woke me up. I washed up as well as I could and headed for the office. "I need to speak with the manager" I inquired. "Certainly, just a minute." A thin bald man appeared after a few minutes. "Can we talk on the side?" I asked. "OK." What else could he say. I told him about my bike blowing up and assured him that I could send off for some money and purchase the van across the road.

He knew the owner and surprised me by agreeing to help. I told him I would work for my keep and stay out of the way of the other campers. This kind soul agreed to help me out as long as I helped him. We shook hands and he took me to meet his nephew who was spending the summer. Sam was almost my age and worked as cleanup on the grounds and trash facilities. Sam and I quickly became friends and I helped him work around the area that day.

The next morning I did what needed to be done. Called my parents and asked for $300 to buy the van and take my broken bike home. Quite a surprise to get a call out of the blue for them, and the obvious asking for money. The good folks who ran the campground knew the owner of the van and gave me a ride over to his house.

He was a young guy, about my age and was selling the van before going into the military. He accepted my offer of $250 and I picked up the money at a local Western Union. We agreed to meet the next morning and head to Nashville where his sister would notarize the title over to me.

That night I bought a case of beer and set down by the outskirts of the campground where I was staked out and whiled away the stories with Sam. This would be my last night at the campground.

Next morning I met Joe, the owner of the van, at the gas station. We drove to Nashville and he signed over the van, I gave him $250 and his sister notarized the title. Downtown Nashville was cool, with its hills, government buildings and easy going traffic.

I dropped Joe off at his house and hurried back to camp. Sam helped me load my bike into the van and I said a warm goodbye to my gracious hosts. I filled up the tank with gas and counted my remaining forty bucks. I figured I had about 1000 miles to go and at 250 miles per tank was four tanks, at $10 per tank I had better not waste anything. I bought a large bag of roasted peanuts, some bread and several apples at a local grocery store. The van was great and I took it easy trying to conserve gas.

The drive to Florida afforded me time to wander over the last six weeks in time. I had started my journey full of hope and enthusiasm. With less than $500, I saw the country and found out that people are just plain people no matter where you are. Jacksonville was not very different from many other cities and towns that I had visited. I now know that I could have taken any one of these cities as my new place to live.

I decided that my destiny was my own making and I felt much better about it. My thoughts wandered to fixing my bike and perhaps fixing up the van and selling it for a profit. I wondered what could have happened. The motor would not turn over, either forwards or backwards. An inspection through the spark plug entrances revealed nothing. Oh well, plenty of time to tear the motor apart.

I stopped near Atlanta and had dinner of peanuts, bread and an apple at a rest stop. These rest stops had become my home for the last two months. I decided to sleep in the van that night somewhere south of Atlanta.

Awaking in the early morning light I began a long hot ride south on Interstate 75, the east on I-10. The most boring ride available in the piny northern woods of Florida. I knew the streets of Orange Park were calling my name. It was time for me to make something of myself.

I arrived at my parents house near dark and was happy to be home. They were happy to see me and I promised right away to re-pay them with the sale of the bike or van,whichever came first. I retold some of the lighter moments of my voyage. Late that night I began taking the bike apart to find the source of my troubles. After midnight, I fell asleep in the van.

I awoke to the sound of my Dad going to work and attacked the bike right away. Following the shop Triumph manual, I finally wrenched the cylinders off and fell back in shock. The left piston was fine, but the right one was missing! Simply a connecting rod existed. No wrist pin and no sign of a piston.

After a few minutes I did the inevitable. Extracted the motor from the frame and cracking the cases open, revealed a million shards of steel that used to be a working motor. I made an inventory of required parts and headed to the phone. As luck would have it a Triumph shop on the Southside had a bored cylinder and matching piston with rings. Total cost $75.

When my Dad returned home I showed him the news. He graciously lent me the money, again, to get back going.

I worked for the next week replacing broken parts on the bike and finally got it running. Placing an ad in the paper for $600 for the bike, I began looking for a job.

Three days later I sold the bike, repaid my Dad and began working on the van. I painted it Forest Green with a paint brush, and built a bed and paneled the walls. I put a stereo and speakers inside it before running out of money.

It was really time to get a job. Time had come full circle. I was back into a life of self sufficiency and creating my destiny.

THE END (of this story)

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