The Blue Ridge Mountains

I will be on PTO October 16-23rd. Returning on the 26th. Please try to keep it real while I am gone. Enrich lives and strengthen relationships in my absence. Thank you kindly.
Yours,
Douglas
In the untimely event of my death...you know what...I don't want to jinx this motorcycle trip.

My vacation officially started with that carefully crafted "Out Of Office" response attached to my work email account. A few days after returning from vacation, I received a gentle reprimand for said message. But never you mind because that couldn't take anything away from some of the best riding I've ever done.

My trip started on Friday. I left around 8:30am in temps that were around 45F. Facing 2 to 3 hours of highway speeds just to get to the twisty stuff, I was glad to be wearing my heated gear (homemade from an old electric blanket - thanks John!). I rode down and rendezvoused with my riding buddies in southern Missouri on some of the best roller coaster roads the Show-Me state has to offer, namely hwy 125. I logged 379 miles that first day. Saturday was more of the same....great weather, great roads, plenty of sunshine and clean riding. No contact with law enforcement and no memorable close calls.

Sunday was a long boring slog in the trucks from Eureka Springs, Arkansas to Cherokee, North Carolina. 750 miles. A long and boring ride for sure, but better than doing it on two wheels. We drove through the cotton fields of west Tennessee. It’s unbelievable how long Neal and I were able to argue over what exactly fallow cotton fields look like. Neither of us knows the answer but it didn't stop us from arguing our points vehemently. Another highlight of the day was me swiping a side of fried okra and baked apples off the empty table next to us at Cracker Barrel just before the bus boy arrived. Also impressive was riding in the truck with Neal while he towed that trailer across the mountain toward Asheville on I-40 in the dark. Concrete barriers on the left and a steady stream of tractor trailers on the right and Neal was steady as a rock behind the wheel of that big Dodge Ram.

Monday morning was a cold one in Cherokee, North Carolina. Cherokee is an Indian reservation in western North Carolina – right in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. Temps were in the low 30's that first morning and we were wiping frost off the bikes after we unloaded them. After getting the bikes situated and finding breakfast, we were ready to get out for a ride by noon. The first few hours of that first day were probably the worst of the whole trip route-wise. Neal later told me that at the red lights he was trying to get Jody and Joe to mutiny and leave me because I was leading such a crappy route. The route looked good on a map, but it just wound us from one tourist town to the next. We hit Sylva, Cashiers, and Highlands, which all felt like retirement havens for wealthy northerners. But late day paid off with some nice roads. Hwy 28 running south from North Carolina into South Carolina was good and tight and twisty. We even crossed a corner of Georgia that first day. Then hwy64 east out of Cashiers, hwy281 North, Road 1756 East, hwy215 North, and then hwy276 South back down to the BRP. 215 North was a nice descent down off the Blue Ridge Parkway and I recall being pleasantly surprised to come upon Lake Logan. Just a gorgeous, secluded, picturesque, little lake - one of several we passed. That memory stands strong for me. That would be a lovely place to visit again.

That evening, after a solid day of riding, I didn't hesitate a bit to hop back on the bike (in the cold and dark) to go out for a Subway sandwich for dinner. That struck me...that I didn't mind venturing out into the cold and dark on my motorcycle. Heated gear does wonders for one's courage. In fact, I jumped at the chance to go back out on the bike. That's not something I'd normally do, even when we're down in Eureka Springs for a rally. Usually the last thing you want to do is get back on the bike after riding all day. And that sandwich hit the spot. I was very hungry, and Subway felt like real food. Afterword, I geared up and went to McDonalds for coffee. It was fresh coffee to boot; God was smiling on me this day. After coffee and a little coffee to go in my trusty Nissan thermos, I was standing out in the parking lot looking up at those golden arches and.....nothing else. I was just standing there....letting the world wash up over me. On fortunate, rare occasions, sometimes when I'm pleasantly exhausted or just mentally empty....sometimes I can just be still and quiet and the world washes over me in a very zen sort of way. No inner dialog, no constant stream of judgments about this or that. Just a quiet calm and feeling the sensory experience the world has to offer. It may sound hokey, but those are cherished moments.

Tuesday, Neal needed to hunt down a place to mount a new front tire for him, so Joe and I backtracked to do the parts of the previous day's route that we hadn't done. Neal and Jody went south to Sylva for the mount and balance and had the bike back on the road by noon. After what I can only imagine was an embarrassingly glutinous brunch at the Pancake House in Cherokee, Neal and Jody ventured out on their own for a ride. They said they had come dangerously close to Pigeon Forge. Neal recalled being agasp at the throngs of people, tourists three-deep walking the sidewalks in Gatlinburg on a Tuesday at noon. It boggled his mind. "Don't these people work?!?! Why aren't these kids in school?!?!?!?!" I had warned them all beforehand that Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge are like Branson on steroids...a traffic nightmare...flypaper for a motorcyclist. Steer clear, I had cautioned them, so they rushed out of there the first chance they got. They made their way over to Cosby, Tennessee, where Jody somehow remembered from 5 years earlier that we had ridden hwy 32 and loved it. They may not have ridden as many miles that day, but Neal and Jody came back that evening with big smiles on their faces after riding hwy 32. Back and forth hand gestures describing the road and big wide grins is what I remember from their ride report.

Wednesday was all about breaking Neal's Tail of the Dragon / Deal's Gap hymen. And that we did. Pics were taken, t-shirts were purchased, dragons were slayed, and a boy became a man. Honestly, there are many roads in the area that are as good as "the Dragon" or better. But you have to ride the Tail of the Dragon at least once, and we all enjoyed it. From there, we moved on to the Cherohala Skyway. Or as Neal calls it, the Cherry Cola Skyway or the Chupacabra Skyway. Not to be confused with the Deepak Chopra Skyway. Much like the Blue Ridge Parkway, the Skyway winds through the woods with no particular destination in mind and with no commercial traffic or services detracting from the spectacular view. The leaves were perfect in some spots on the Skyway, maybe a little better than on the Parkway.

At the farthermost point of that route Wednesday, the fellas turned and headed back toward the reservation. I peeled off and headed through Vonore, Wears Valley and on toward Pigeon Forge area where I could make my way over to Dandridge. I had worked it out with my sister to stay the night with her. I live 800 miles from my extended family in East Tennessee and I only see them twice a year usually, so I couldn't stay that close to my real home without visiting. I surprised my nieces and nephew; they didn't know I was coming. My sister fed me well and it was a rich, albeit short visit. For whatever reason, bouncing around to another location for one night made the trip feel different...like I was on a cross country road trip. And the only thing extra required was a clean pair of underwear, ipod and phone charger, and my meds tossed in the tank bag that morning. It felt more like an adventure bouncing around like that...like I could have gone anywhere if I wanted to. It felt like taking a different way home from work. That bike will go anywhere I point it.

I was up before dawn on Thursday so I could leave my sister's house when they all left for school and work. I was pulling out of the driveway at 7:30am. Shortly after that, I stopped to snap a photo of the sun rising over Douglas Lake. I meandered my way over to I-40 to cross the mountain on the interstate. Temps were maybe around 40F that morning, but it got VERY cold as I climbed across that mountain. It was bitter and unpleasant, but my heated jacket liner kept it from being pure misery. I did 80 cold cold miles that morning before 9:30am. I rendezvoused with Jody and Joe in Maggie Valley. I told them I had a route planned for the day and they didn't question me at all about the details. Implicit trust in me as ride leader. I give them kudos and thanks for that.

And a hell of a circuitous route it was. We took 209 over to Hot Springs, then found our way up to Erwin, then south toward Red Hill, then north AGAIN to Roan Mountain, then south back to Bakersville. I intentionally tried to keep us moving and at a pretty good clip until we hit our northernmost point for a second time. I didn't want to dawdle and leave any room to back out on any part of the ride. And I am grateful we got it all in because it was a phenomenal day of riding...probably one of the best of my life. I am sure I have ridden better in my day, positive that I've stayed off the brakes and felt better in the corners for it. But for sheer scenic beauty and great, twisty roads, that day will rank amongst the best of my life. We saw no traffic to speak of, the weather was sunny and gorgeous, and the route was top notch. Riding through holler "town" after holler "town" felt like we were riding the Isle of Mann TT race. At one point, I thought...If I fuck this corner up, I'm gonna wind up on the roof of that person's house. We rode next to a stream half the day and we were climbing and descending mountains the other half. Tiger Creek Road up near Roan Mountain was its own fun little adventure. It branched off the main highway and doglegged back to it within 15 miles. It ran past a tiny lake and then the road turned downhill and became a single lane of asphalt with leaves cascading down the sides of the road. It was like we were walking a small, paved, zig-zagging trail through the woods. The ride up Roan Mountain was a fast, heavenly ascent. I recall listening to "Bird's Lament" (DJ Kicks) as I climbed in elevation. Pressure was building in my ears but I didn't swallow to "pop" them, so the noise of the bike got quieter and quieter. The music became more clear and dramatic. It felt like a wonderfully edited scene in a movie as the engine and exhaust noise faded and the music grew louder as each corner came at me and I made my way up the mountain. To make it more memorable, Roan Mountain is the only climb that truly scares me. Some of the vistas feel so high that all I'll dare is a speedy glance over into the valley down below. Every road on Thursday's route was a winner. And that's part of what made it such a great day of riding. We'd ride some awesomely tight and twisty road, and then the next road would be as good or better. "It never ends," Jody and I kept saying to each other. On hwy197 South, toward the end of the day, we hit a section of gravel as the road crested the mountain. I think we stopped for all of 5 seconds, and then we just motored on. It was 5 tight miles of gravel road, but nothing that posed a serious threat. We did hit stop and go traffic in Asheville, but then we hopped on the Blue Ridge Parkway and were sailing smooth and free in the mountains again. We took the BRP back to Cherokee. It was late in the day and we were just trying to get back to the hotel before dark, but I had to stop to take a picture of the sun setting on the Blue Ridge Mountains. I had ridden 400 miles that day, from sun up to sun down. That deserved a photo. I snapped a pic and Jody snapped a pic. Maybe I have had better days in the saddle, but I certainly could not recall any. Still can't. I logged 1900 miles in six days of riding.